Send in the Clowns

I don’t know exactly how many fears exist, I am certain that any book professing a complete listing has yet to meet everyone on the planet.

If you do a search for such a list you will probably chuckle at some, shake your head in disbelief at others and possibly have compassion on people who may be paralyzed by things you and I wouldn’t consider an issue.

I have often read that one of the top fears is public speaking, ahead of spiders, Teflon and even death.

I have my own personal nail biters but being the center of attention is not one of them, especially if fueled by a Yuengling lager.  Bring on the lampshades.

I will reveal my all time greatest fear, entering a roomful of only-women. No I do not fear women, my life overflows with them.  Wife, daughter,daughter-in-law, mother-in-law, sisters, sister-in-laws, granddaughters, nieces, friends, neighbors and coworkers you name it they are all around me and I love them all. 

The gender itself is not the issue it’s when they all get together in a room and a man enters, any man, and you can actually hear something click in their mind and it goes like this: “a man just entered a room, we are all having fun, we need to give him something to do”! 

The equation is this:  Women having fun + man enters room = man works. 

I am certain if George Clooney enters a roomful of women they all say, “Wow, he’s really hot, now give him a tool belt and send him on his way”. 

Eventually they will say that.

In the 1980’s a new term, Courlophobia, was termed to address an issue that many people had, namely the abnormal fear of clowns.  I don’t understand why it took so long to find a name for something that causes uneasiness in many people, after all clowns have been around for a long time.

When I was a kid clowns were everywhere. I do not know why it took a whole generation or two to decide that they were not good for us.  Clowns were to be loved.  They did magic tricks, pratfalls, climbed into tiny cars, had squirty flowers, they juggled, rode unicycles and had faces painted with big red smiles, almost as much color as Aunt Esther’s lipstick.

Clowns had some really bad press in the past few decades.  Serial killers were party clowns, killer clowns were the subjects of horror movies, and even Ronald McDonald was getting a bad rap for promoting happy meals that contributed to obesity in children.

My mother was a fan of the clown.  She often told me that one of her favorite comedians, Red Skelton, painted clowns.  While still in the womb my mother decided a paint-by-number clown picture would be just perfect to adorn my nursery room.

Here it is for you to see.

I never thought it was harmful, he appeared so benign and friendly but a family priest refused to enter my room without 1^st sprinkling with holy water and Sandy, the family mutt, my best friend and protector, would cower and whimper next to my crib each night.

My wife convinced me to get rid of it after she swore she saw his lips moving.  I tried everything but nothing seems to destroy it. 

It is buried; face down, in a trunk in the backyard. It does keep stray cats from digging in our garden.

I am not convinced that I suffer from Courlophobia, but recently I was about to enter a local convenience store and was stopped short of entering because of this sign:

Unicycles-Yikes!  There may be clowns in here.

I didn’t bring any holy water so I left.

BTW-Here is probably the 1st McDonald's commercial featuring future weatherman Willard Scott as Ronald.

Gotta love the hat!

                         http://youtu.be/QIuXv7Y8QA4

Nerf Recess

7,185,258,720

This is the current, up to the second world population when I began the blog you are reading.  The count is live and actively updating as I write.

My humor is usually self-effacing.  I often find this type of humor preferable over lampooning the foibles of others. 
The following is a code of humor that I strive to strictly follow:

·        I am a moron and deserve to expose my idiocy to the world.

·        There are 7,185,258,719 others on the planet who are just as dumb.

·        If anyone does not realize they are equally as goofy, especially those in authority, or members of the Royal class, it will become my duty to inform them.

I normally do not like to comment on political correctness gone amok, especially while the latest blurb is the hot news item of the moment, but the nanny state police at the Weber Middle School in Port Washington, Long Island New York truly deserve an award for the most dumb*** decision of the year, possibly beating out any made by the King of Nonsensical, the nanny of New York City, the almost ex-mayor Bloomberg. That is a feat very hard to topple but they may have accomplished the task.

For those among us who do not follow the CNN news of the nano-second, the aforementioned school administration has decided to ban all but Nerf balls from the campus recess.

The web was all goosebumpy about the news. Political pundits could not lampoon the school administration enough.  Parents of little children panicked wondering if this ban may cause a tsunami of new rules causing their little ones to become less active and more obese.

Lets face it; having a catch with a Nerf ball necessitates standing 4 inches apart.  For crying out loud you can just hand the thing to one another.  How fun is that?

People were calling the radio stations, Tweeting, Blogging, and E-mailing Congress.
 
WHAT KIND OF STUPIDITY IS THIS?

Well gang, it appears the ban is only temporary.  There is construction underway at the campus and there are safety and damage concerns.  The ban will be lifted when construction is completed.
 
But what about the children, what will they do?

We are talking middle school age kids here, 12 to 14 year olds, the “age of know-it-all brilliance” for youth and Purgatory for teachers until they can get a better assignment or win a lottery and escape the torture.

I was once a middle school kid at St. Attica’s, and so were my friends.  I still recall those glory days and our own bad behavior.

Sorry Weber Middle School in Port Washington, Long Island New York. You did not qualify to overtake the mayor of New York for the most dumb*** decision of the year. 
Old Bloomy reigns supreme.

And your building is secure, for now.

While I blogged 11,437 new morons joined the planet.

Welcome aboard!

Hamburgers for Cyborgs

Batman, the Caped Crusader, the Dark Knight, yes I am a fan!

The fascination began in early childhood.  Friends read Superman, Daredevil, Spider-man but not me, I was always loyal to the Bat.

It was not just that Bruce Wayne was a disturbed wealthy vigilante fighting crime without any real superpowers; it was all those gadgets and machines he owned. These really reach deep into the psyche of all guys.  We love toys and never grow out of it.  Women don’t always understand this, but it is really true. Sorry ladies, you will need to love us in spite of this flaw. We will always be just older versions of our younger selves.

Our adult playthings may develop into tools, cars, airplanes and various collections or hobbies.

When I was a kid I recall going bowling with my father and as we were leaving he gave me money to make my own dinosaur in a machine called a Mold-A-Rama. For a small fee I could select and produce a chosen creature and watch as it was being created in an injection molding vending machine. (See link)

http://mold-a-rama.com/index.php?p=1_1_Mold-A-Rama

A few years’ ago I watched a video about an upcoming technology, the 3D Printer. I am hooked but it is out of my financial reach.  Just today, while awaiting an eye appointment, I was interested in a Readers Digest article about the possible future applications of 3D printing. Yes making plastic parts and toys made sense, clothing and medical limbs were a little unusual, but creating food seemed too futuristic.  Printed edibles may make sense on the day we become cyborgs.

In the early days of the cell phone, I had a sister who made a call from my driveway announcing her arrival.  The technology was the size of a human thighbone with a battery pack as big as a steamer trunk.  The 15-second phone call probably cost about 11 bucks but it was new and attention getting.

I can only imagine that the current price of a 3D burger would run around $400.

I’ll wait till I am a cyborg.

Here is a video on 3D technology.  Go max out a credit card.

The Fisherman's Tale

The Fisherman’s Tale. (Author Unknown)
There was a businessman who stood at the pier of a small coastal village in Mexico. A fisherman docked his small boat, where he had several yellow fin tuna. The businessman complimented him on the quality of his catch. “How long did it take you to catch them?” he asked. “Only a little while,” the fisherman replied.
“Why don’t you stay out longer and catch more fish?” the businessman asked. The fisherman said, “Well, I’ve caught enough to support my family’s needs for today.”
“So what do you do with the rest of your time?” asked the businessman, slightly incredulous. The fisherman said, “Hmm… I sleep in, fish a little, play with my children, take a siesta with my wife, and then in the evening, we stroll into the village to sip wine, play guitar, and spend time with our amigos.”
The savvy businessman scoffed. “I have an MBA, so let me help you. If you spent more time fishing, you could buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats, and eventually you’d have a fleet. And then, instead of selling to a middleman, you could sell directly to a processor and eventually open your own cannery and brand. You’d then control the product, so you’d need to leave this little village and move to Mexico City, then on to Los Angeles, then eventually New York City, where you’d run your enterprise.”
The fisherman quietly listened for a bit, paused, and then asked, “How long will all this take?” “Fifteen to twenty years,” replied the businessman. “Starting and growing a business takes time and dedication.”
“Then what?” the fisherman asked. “Then you’d retire,” answered the businessman. “You could sleep in, fish a little, play with your grandchildren, take siestas with your wife, and in the evenings stroll into the village to sip wine, play guitar, and spend time with your amigos.”
“But aren’t I doing that already?” replied the fisherman.

Three Sales Stories

A farmer walks into a car dealership.  He is wearing dirty coveralls, his hands and face could use a washcloth and soap, his appearance shouts that he just recently hopped off his tractor and strolled on in just before closing time.

“It’s your turn Les” said the older, more seasoned salesmen sitting around the desk and taunting the young rookie, snickering as he approached the old man. .  After all, their experience and wisdom gave them the skills to size up and qualify any walk-in, and Les being the new guy had to experience his own disappointments if he were to one day become a top salesman.  They could read a walk-in by appearance alone, and knew the poor old farmer had no money.

I make it a point to always buy from the same salesman/saleswoman if they have been helpful and courteous.  After all, I have worked as a salesman and know firsthand the importance of establishing a bond with the customer.   I had developed a relationship with a salesman at Radio Shack, a store where I frequented often.  My first visit was usually to browse and then I followed up a few days later with a purchase, usually from Tim, the top salesman.  Tim knew my history, and I was always certain to make my purchase on the days he worked so he could benefit from the commission.

Over the years I have purchased at least 5 computers from Best Buy as well as Audio equipment, Tablets and numerous other items.  The sales staff changes frequently so I usually give my business to any staff member who approaches me for assistance. I never see the same face.

Twenty years passed and I began a one-year journey as a car salesman.  Les, now the seasoned professional took me under his wing and imparted his experience onto me.  He taught me a very valuable lesson on prejudging a potential customer.  It appears that the old farmer who strolled into the showroom long ago was not only ready to purchase a new vehicle; he was buying two, for cash!  Later that week the farmer was so pleased with his purchase, and the help he received from the young salesman, he referred a few other members of his family and some friends.  By the time I met Les, decades later, he was perpetually busy, customers constantly calling, visiting, purchasing and referring their friends and neighbors.  Les was now actually selling cars and trucks to the grandchildren of his original customers. He learned very early never to prejudge, show kindness and consideration to all, and be mindful that those who came by to “just look” would often return later to buy. He was also friendly to the customers of the other salesman. Les outlasted all the others; eventually their customers becoming his.  He was quite successful and a pleasure to know.

I had cash in my pocket and returned to Radio Shack ready to purchase the expensive organizer I had my eye on earlier in the week.  I waited patiently while Tim assisted other customers, not in any real hurry as I had time and wanted Tim to be able to make as much commission as he could that evening.  While gazing at my future purchase beneath the glass counter I overheard one of Tim’s customers offer to wait while he could assist me because they were still uncertain of their readiness to buy.  Tim told the couple he would continue on with them because I was “just a looker, never a buyer”.

At that point I left the store, angry and humiliated as I drove miles away and plopped down my payment for the exact item giving another salesman a nice commission.  I never purchased from Tim again.  He eventually left the business.

I am not the most tech savvy person, but I am eons ahead of most people my age.   No I am not a 20-40 something but I can talk shop with most of the Best Buy staff, and if I don’t quite understand something I quickly catch-on.  I am like  that old farmer, a much younger store staff sizing me up on entrance, usually preferring to deal with customers their own age, and possibly thinking they would have to explain too many things to me.  The lucky sales person who will eventually approach me makes a commission that very day. I am always ready to buy.

I tip for service

Pizza is a health food. If you disagree you are wrong.  Issue settled.

I have 2 favorite pizzerias, one at each end of our town.  I know great pizza when I eat it, my bathroom scale will confirm this, but I have curtailed my consumption limiting myself to infrequent celebrations, such as full moons, a new Geiko commercial, getting out of bed etc.

Recently I had to visit both locations and was shocked to see something missing, a “tip jar”.  I know these exist in pizzerias, I watched Seinfeld, and I was shocked and quite frankly pleased to see the missing non-humanoid handout.  If I sat down and ordered a meal I would surely have shown my appreciation.

I am aware of the need to tip for good service.  The newspaper delivery guy and the mailman both receive a Christmas tip.  The AAA mechanic who changes my tire or tows my car is appreciated and so are delivery and service people. 

I am always more than generous with wait staff and others who bring food to my table and I never complain or send food back.  I like my meal without “additives”.

I do, however, consider it offensive to ask for a tip when all you do is grab a doughnut off the rack and expect additional consideration for just handing me something very quickly in between your Tweeting and Instagrams.

How much should I tip the Dunkin Donut Clerks for 5 ½ seconds of donut wrangling?

At least if you want a tip, hold your hand out proudly. Do you really expect a monetary reward for handing me a frozen Buster Bar?  Just by taping your cheesy plastic cup beneath the drive thru window does not warrant notice. I would expect you to do some kind of fast food Trick-or-Treat”; sing something or recite a poem.

I have considered making my own tip jar to hang around my neck and to expect a little “sweetener” for just doing my job.

 I could just sit in my little cubicle and wait for Joe Carter, my boss, to bellow out “Gerard, where’s the Johnson Report”.  I could just shake the coffee can and point with an attitude that says “you’ll get the report when I see some loose change”.

Of course it takes a lot of chutzpah to request funds for services not rendered, or at best using minimal effort.

What will happen when the Cyborgs finally take over the future?  Will they too require some palm greasing?

Maybe we should begin today to practice tipping inanimate objects in order to embrace future events.

Let's begin by hanging cups from the refrigerator ice-maker, self-service gas pumps, maybe even the bank's ATM machine. 

Look out for the future tip line on the Amazon order review page.

 

911 Remember

                     Rebuild Underway
                            

                 9-11-01
               Remember

Grandgirl starts school today

My eldest granddaughter just started 1^st grade today.  Unlike her Poppy (my pet name) she has been ready for full time school for the last 6 years.  My belief is that most children today have far surpassed our generation in general intelligence and reading ability by the time they begin school.

Maybe I should just speak for myself. 

In my granddaughters case her parents (especially her mother) worked closely to teach her skills that I know I never had at this age.  We saw photos of her widely smiling and enthusiastically waiting for the bus to arrive.  We spoke with her this evening and she was so excited about her class, her teacher and school in general.

On my first day of school I ran away. 

I went to a Catholic elementary school (St. Attica’s) and there were 8 grades.  My mother hired a neighbor girl, Suzanne, who was in the 8^th grade, to walk with me.  I was instructed to hold her hand. I was no baby and this was never part of my agenda so I broke away, ran fast and somehow found myself following other kids who I assumed were going to the same school.

At day’s end we were all assigned to a line that would have us walking in formation to our individual neighborhoods.  I knew Suzanne would be waiting so I jumped into the wrong group and ended up in very unfamiliar territory.

Suzanne, in tears, sat at my house with my mother until I somehow returned safely.  I had not seen her so upset since the time she was babysitting and my brother (Johnny Fangs) chased her around the house trying to bite her.

That first day had other traumas especially the dungeon-like classroom, the cold and dampness of an English castle and my first grade teacher Sister Chewbacca.
I am truly pleased that my grandgirls are being made ready for their journey through education.  Hopefully they won’t follow in the footsteps of their Poppy who, when invited anywhere, always checks between sofa cushions, car seats and glove boxes for loose change.

The Granny Parakeet

It finally happened this past Sunday. We were about to embark on a shopping trip and there it surfaced on our television just as we were about to leave.

Many years' ago we lived in an apartment and the landlord was adamant about just what pets were permitted.  Dogs were verboten, indoor cats with extreme reservation and smaller creatures were OK as long as they were not poisonous and could not slink out of their enclosure.

Our kids were curious about critters and they too wanted something to "boss-around" so we had made every effort to bring nature out of it's environment and into our living fun house. 

We had cats that survived many years, as well as fish, turtles, mice, lizards etc. all "apartment size" and needing care.   

We did purchase one creature that never made the grade, Tonto, our beloved parakeet.  The kid at the pet store, Lenny the bird expert, was introduced to us by the store owner.  In retrospect, that owner knew just what he was doing as Lenny had all the up-sell skills and sales pitches as good as they get at any appliance store or car dealership.  By the time we left Bird World of Pennsylvania we lugged around enough bags making us appear as if we were on a safari.

Tonto had to have not only bird food, he needed a large cage, water feeders, mirrors, toys, some scratchy thing to sharpen his beak (I learned the hard way that I should have left THAT piece in the store), perches and a plastic female "parakeet-love interest" to perch alongside him. 

We believed it was so Disney-like. Here we were and all these critters could live in harmony, lions laying down with the lambs, all was right with the world everything peaceful and loving.

It turns out it was certainly cartoon like but not Disney, more in the order of Warner Brothers-Looney Toons.  It was Sylvester and Tweety Bird playing out right before our eyes. Cat chasing bird, bird striking cat with a frying pan, cat putting bird in mouth, bird lighting candle causing cat to spit out bird, feathers and fur flying all over the place.

Something went very-very bad, and needed correction.  Last in-first out so Tonto went packing and found a good home.

Our nest is empty and we are free to roam without having to care for neither youth nor pet.  Grandgirls visit along with their stuffed animals, but all that remains at the end of the day are the two of us and some dead plants.

So what happened this past Sunday?  My wife saw and ad on TV that turned her into my grandmother.

I take after my grandmother and buy anything I know my grand-girls will like.  There is no need to spend hundreds of dollars when the girls will get a kick out of the singing wall fish, bubbles, a perpetual drinking bird, dominoes or some other cheap cheesy little dollar store toy.  

I recall my grandmother buying a cheap-o toy from a magazine ad.  It offered 100 dolls for $1.00.  Since she had about a zillion grandchildren, and usually a few were always hanging around, she knew that some of the girls would surely like the dolls.  I don't think she expected what she was going to get but her granddaughters happily played with them.

My wife, on the other hand, is very careful in her toy choices.  Each selection must meet strict standards for playability, design, color, engineering and the soccer mom seal of approval.  Her purchase usually involves "easy payment terms" and much assembly required.

Well there it was on the television and she just knew my cheesy antenna was now focused on the latest gotta get for the grand girls. To my shock and amazement she agreed with my selection and was racing me to dial the 800 number.

"Perfect Polly", the parakeet, is touted as the World's Perfect Pet" (that's a mouthful).  Polly is life size and very realistic, sits either on a perch or your finger and moves both her head and tail while chirping.  Just 2 AAA batteries, no food, cage or anvils to drop on the head of a stalking putty tat.

I cannot believed we finally agreed on a purchase.  I just hope the girls like it.  If not, I'll seek out Tonto and see if he could use another "love interest".

I dare you to view this commercial without laughing. Yes, it is unbelievable, really stupid and I bought a green one.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gpYlff6NqY


Continues below

Polly and the Pirate

(Now it is Thursday August 15, 2013)

A two-legged Pirate walks into a bar and he’s got a one-legged mechanical Parakeet on his shoulder.

   

The bird has a golf tee replacing the missing appendage.

The bartender says to the Pirate “Hey Buddy, what’s the deal with the one-legged Parakeet”?

The Pirate replies “ARRRRRRRRR I bought her at a cheap “As-Seen-On-TV” display at a major department store.”

He continued “I took her out of the box, installed her batteries, put her on her perch.  The perch is defective and she fell and her right plastic talon came off where it was glued”.

The bartender said, “ What kind of a funny punch line was that”?

The Pirate replied, “ARRRRRRRRR it’s not funny, I am out 15 bucks!

The Epilogue

Polly, The Pirate and the Store Clerk

A Pirate walks into the return department of a major department store. 
He has a boxed one-legged mechanical Parakeet sporting a golf tee for the missing appendage.

Billy, the Return Department clerk, inspects the package and looks perplexed because something appears different but he cannot seem to put his finger on it.

Suddenly he has a "Eureka" moment and turns to the Pirate and asks "do you know the bird still has the batteries inside her chest"?

The Pirate replies "leave 'em there.  Just give me my 15 bucks and I'll be gone".

Billy refunds the purchase and wishes the Pirate a nice day.

The Pirate says "ARRRRRRRRRRR" and shoves off.

THE HOWDY HORN

Let me vent for a moment regarding traffic. 

I am unfamiliar with current daytime driving protocol as most of my motoring is done during the vampire hours.

My concerns usually involve avoiding a collision with wildlife, joggers and guys who the courts deemed “not eligible due to imbibing” so they leave for work 2 hours earlier, riding un-lit, non-reflective 20” bicycles, complete with banana seats, baskets and pink handle streamers and recently purchased for $5 at a yard sale.

I must admit I am rather spoiled and isolated and happy to know I have dodged another bullet that will distance me from anger management training.

My employment driving has always been close to home.  I feel somewhat superior and fulfilled when I hear there is the usual 8-mile backup on the expressway and I am not there.

I have been behind the wheel just after dawn (and occasionally during the day) and noticed very distracted driving behavior. This was long before the invention of the smart phone and texting.

Here is a partial list of some actions I observed:

·          Brushing teeth

·          Eating and drinking

·          Getting dressed

·          Putting on make up

·          Shaving (I lie not)

·          Applying deodorant (again, I lie not)

·          Reading books, magazines and newspapers

·          “R” rated behavior.   (It may have gone on a little further but the driver spotted my binoculars then sped away and lost me).

I often wonder if these motorists live in their vehicles.
Surely all of the above can be performed at home but in all honesty I too may have been guilty of some of the above behavior, but I admit to nothing.

A driving issue that leaves me perplexed is the use of the automobile horn.

In the very very very olden days, horseless carriages were required to have a man walking before the vehicle waving a red flag or honking a horn to notify the frightened citizens and livestock to be cautious of the advancing 1-mile-per-hour doom machine.

Later due to budget cutting and downsizing the flag walker was replaced when someone (named Dan) said “let’s just strap a horn on the darn thing and fire the little guy”.

The flag waver was then placed on the unemployment roll and died shortly after. The budget cutter (Dan) was given a huge bonus, a window office, a medical-dental plan, 5 weeks vacation two pair of wingtip shoes and free bread for life.

Horn honking puzzles me greatly.  
In my neck of the woods I know a lot of people and I drive a very recognizable vehicle so when I perceive a horn is noised in my direction I cannot tell if it is friendly or aggressive unless I can see the author and notice him/her either smiling or finger-digit saluting and gritting their teeth.

I have also observed that motorists can be broad-brushed into two distinct categories regarding their reactions towards the beep. 

·          Group A seems to ignore the recognition and continues to blissfully motor-on .  These are the Mr. & Mrs. Magoos’s, those totally carefree and oblivious to their infractions. They just continue going onward-ho leaving the honker in the dust.

·          Group B, the other group, needs therapy.

I can also categorize the honkers into two distinct groups:

·          Group A likes people, recognizes their friends, they are courteous, helpful and a pure joy to have them alongside you.

·          Group B are overly aggressive, overworked, tired, cranky, foul-mouthed teeth-gritters and would rather have their SUV slam into you while the horn blows loudly than hit the brakes.

  (Group B ALL belong to the same gender...you decide)

Today, while out among the day dwellers, I too had heard honking in my direction but I could not identify neither the source or the temperament from the tone.

My wife had a great suggestion.

All cars manufactured in the future should be equipped with two horns, one a mean nasty finger-saluting horn and the other a happy horn, a HOWDY horn.

The mean, nasty horn would be loud and ear piercing, possibly like a foghorn turned up to maximum volume. 

For the happy friendly “HOWDY” horn think Minnie Pearl with her flowery price- tagged bonnet and big country smile.

At the very least the distinction of sounds will prevent confusion and help the non-Magoos among us avoid a road mishap. 

Further lab testing will be required before we implement such a plan. 

We wouldn’t want any loud noises to cause a Prius to implode.

Here is the HOWDY HORN

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjX1LpSow_g

Nature's Fireworks

I recall an early interest in astronomy that corresponded to my fascination with the Mercury space program.  I read in a magazine that I could make my own Planetarium for my bedroom using a flashlight, an old Quaker Oats oatmeal carton, some tape, cardboard and a hole punch.

After my visit to a real Planetarium I was excited to get started even if I had to consume oatmeal for breakfast.

I would attempt to speed up the process by eating raw, uncooked oats with a spoon, anything to bring the night sky to my bedroom ceiling.

All  the components were in place. Mom really didn't believe that we polished off the box so quickly, but to be honest I had assistance from our family mutt, Sandy, who would eat everything and anything (including the liver) I would sneak under the table.

The project was a success, somewhat rudimentary, but I could punch out the constellations on cardboard and display them for the three of us who shared the room. I was enthralled, my brothers, on the other hand, just wanted to use the flashlight to hold up to their faces and scare one another.

Then August arrived and presented a different problem.

One night while at summer camp we took our sleeping bags and slept out in a field to watch the annual  Perseid meteor shower.  When I returned home I attempted to somehow animate my Planetarium, duplicating that event, leading to it's quick demise.

Each year I look forward to viewing this light show in the heavens. I recall good times when I would sit out on the back deck with my son, or alone, awaiting nature's fireworks.

This wonderment also corresponds to my wedding anniversary so I am reminded that I must go now and buy something.

Look up in the night sky and enjoy the view.

There is a link below that may provide some assistance.

JGT

http://earthsky.org/tonight/wheres-the-radiant-point-for-the-perseids 

Gone on Holiday

I noticed him on those days I would take a short cut along a country road and there he sat, on an old worn lawn chair smiling and waving to all who passed by.

I never knew his name, we would make eye contact and I would return the gesture and be on my way.

I haven’t had to take that passageway for a few years so I do not know if his daily routine is still followed.  Judging by his appearance I assumed he was retired and just wanted something to do.

My wife once saw him and told me she fully expected one day that would become my destiny.

This week I made the mistake of hitting the wrong button on my television and instead of my Pandora channel on the Roku, I got to see a female marionette read a news story from a teleprompter, (complete with a video) regarding the Queen Mommy and the closely followed royal birth canal.

Her Royalty was asked about her choice regarding the sex of the about-to-be latest addition to the Very Wealthy British Welfare Monarchy.

The Royalness expressed no real preference; she was hoping the big drop was imminent as she was about to embark on Holiday.

ON HOLIDAY!  ARE YOU (expletives abound feel free to add your own) KIDDING!

I have to ask readers of this blog, and Americans in general, to look deeply into today’s society and tell me just how overworked and stressed the Brit elite must be to warrant time away from THAT workload?  (Hey, I am not finished getting my “Irish up”).

While you’re working 2 maybe 3 part time jobs in order to avoid foreclosure, and your spouse had to take a pay cut and double a workload to maintain their job, can you think fondly of those crazy Royals and their need to de-stress from all those grueling smiles, waves, polo matches and luncheons with heads of state all choreographed by an endless array of minions on the royal payroll.

My gosh all they basically have to do is just show-up.

I can only imagine talk around their dinner table.

“Dear, was your day dreadful?”
“Why yes, thank you for asking.  I had to wave to maybe 1000 common folk and actually watch a few dozen sycophants curtsey before me.”

“Oh dear, may I get you an aspirin?”

“Make it a scotch, neat, and bring the bottle”.

Well, I decided to go for a drive to seek out the old gentleman on the lawn chair just for a quick wave and a smile.

The chair was still there but there was a sign next to it. The sign read: “Be back soon, gone on Holiday”

In case you want to know more about life among the exhausted elite, I have enclosed  an official link to the British Royals.

Grab a scotch and read on.

 http://www.royal.gov.uk/HMTheQueen/DayInTheLife/TheQueensworkingday/Morning.aspx