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My Birthday Eclipse

The hour is approaching 4:30am EST (-5 GMT) and the moon is looking rather full and bright.  Why, then, will we miss the lunar eclipse?  I think they might be lying to us a bit.

 

If it is a full moon over us here in Georgia the moon would set at 6am.  That seems like plenty of time to see part of it. To me that makes sense.  Somewhere, on the exact opposite side of the planet the full moon is rising at 6 am.  Those nice people that invented math and time were good about things like that.  24 hours in a day and 24 time zones and such.  Yes, they dropped the ball on the year part but that one was a real stumper.  How do you equally divide 365.24 days into one year?

 

Anyway, a lunar eclipse was what I wanted for my birthday (that and Dana Delany) but both are looking like long shots.  Never the less, you can’t stop dreaming because if you can’t see in in your mind you can’t make it happen.  Maybe a lunar eclipse and dinner with Dana Delany are bad example of the principal but I am sure you get the point.

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The Garden Gnome Bandit

Wow, I really think that was one of the most uneventful days I have had. The only thing I did today was write and I have been done for hours. I would have written this earlier but I was waiting for something remotely interesting to happen but instead I have remained as mass of unflavored Jello. Yuck. I am reminded, however, that sometime uneventful is just fine compare to the alternative.

I am thinking of a day I had back in the early 90’s. It was very early spring so it was still cool enough that I was wearing my marine field coat. I had been out the night before (big surprise) and woke up late for work. I didn’t have time to go to the cleaners to pick up a fresh shirt so I wore the one from the night before that I had gotten a cranberry juice stain on. Little did I know how that would affect things later that day. I ran and caught the bus to the train, then the train to work. I got to work a little early and the boss looked at me puzzled. It turned out I did not work that morning but was scheduled to work that night. I really did not want to catch a train to catch a bus to wash some clothes to catch a bus to catch a train to go to work later. Wow, that sounds like a children’s book.

So I decided to kick around downtown and find something to do for the next 6 hours. Again, I had no idea what that was going to do to my day. After an hour I decided to suck it up and go home but when I got off the train I had missed the last bus by my house for an hour and a half. Well, there was one that went close I just had to walk a ways when I got there. Broken record, I had no idea …….

I got off the bus and started to walk. As I was walking down the road I live on a cop dove by. I was the only one on the street so he looked at me and I looked at him. A few minutes later he drove back by and turned into my complex. No big deal, they did it all the time to avoid traffic lights. When I turned into the complex my day started going down hill (which was hard to do considering how it was going so far.)

There was the cop, standing out side his car with his hand on his gun. He ordered my hands out of my pocket then into the air. The next thing I knew I was spread eagle on the hood of the car and he was demanding to know were the money was. After a VERY through search of my person and my bag he let me up.

As it turns out there had just been a bank robbery down the street in the direction I was coming from. The robber was a white male in his early 20’s. He was wearing black pants, a white shirt, and a green field coat. They knew he was on foot because they found the car. He had ditched it when the RED die bomb exploded. Not only did I have my cranberry stain on my shirt but my brother had gotten red paint on the sleeve. He ask me were I had been and I told him but if you recall I had an hour roaming around, my time on the train, then time on a bus I never took so nobody knew me. I had no alibi for the last hour and 45 minutes. The police had their man if they could just find the money (and the gun).

Well, at first I thought this was amusing and kinda fun because I hadn’t done anything. But then another cop showed up and we went through the whole thing again. Then another. Then another and another. Each time, they’d pat me down (like the first 9 cops might have missed something), look in my bag (like magically the money and gun would be in there this time), then ask the same questions (like I had been with holding the information just waiting on them). The humor was now gone and replaced by worry that was fermenting into panic. I started thinking of all those people you hear about being wrongly convicted. Pretty soon they were gonna pen Jimmy Hoffa on me too. They were gonna hang all their open cases on this young criminal mastermind and I wasn’t gonna get out of jail till I was a little old bar tender married to a guy named Bubba. You have heard there are no atheist in foxholes? Well the same is true with interrogations (which this was turning into).

Finally the Sargent running the manhunt arrived. I assumed the position. At this point what is one more guy fondling the family jewels (I did say they where through)nuts and I might as well get used to it where they were gonna send me. After the search he turned me around, looked me up and down and proclaimed “It ain’t him, to tall.”

As it turned out the guy that really did rob the bank was between 5’8 and 5’10. I am over 6’2 (well, was. I’m old now so I’m sure gravity has claimed its prize). Why nobody thought to put that handy little bit of information out on the radio I don’t know. At the time I didn’t ask because I did not want to push my luck. Luck, you see, was not being very kind to me that day.

Sales Lady and the Handcuffs

So sorry folks but, been busy and/or drunk so I have been a bit neglectful of ye ole blog. Well today you are in luck, more or less, as no work came in and I just paid the cable bill so there went the beer money. Did not have that much of a choice on that one. I could have skipped the TV but I need the internet to work and $118 will only buy so much beer then I would be SOL. So this morning I got to go visit those charming women at the cable company. I am glad they hire the ex-cons and all but customer service is really not their calling. Made me wonder what they had been convicted of.

The cable office is about a mile from my house and even though it is fall you get a little hot walking up there at noon so I decided to stop in the furniture store and pretended to shop while I was really stealing free AC before the walk back. The only other person in the store was a lady, late 50’s and about knee high to a garden gnome who followed me around like a hungry jackal. I gathered that this was not their peak sales time. She really started pushing hard trying to sell me this bed. Not the mattress but the head and foot boards.

Let me just take a second to say I ready do take a sadistic joy in fucking with people right out of the blue. Its more fun that way as they never see it coming. Because of this I started taking a seemingly sharp interest in this piece. When she asked if I liked I replied “Well, there is no way to attach the hand cuffs.” I thought that would take her back a little but without missing a beat she said “Well, you could use rope.” She left me speechless at the time but in retrospect I thick she should get salesperson of the year. She was unflappable.

I’ll be moving in the next few weeks. Well, not me but this blog. I am starting a site for my professional writing and the hosting I’m paying for will let me have all the sub-domains I want (like month of purple is a sub-domain of wordpress.com.) I am still a little up in the air about the new domain name but http://www.NGaCreativeConcepts.com is currently the front runner. We’ll see. The other upside to doing this is it will give me a chance to start a few sites as subs to see if the work before I send my children out into the web world so I am excited about it.

Well, I’m going to try to get more on tomorrow. The possum has already been by tonight so it is safe to give Larry his second hot dog of the day. Really, I don’t see how he eats that much every day. That would be like me sitting down to a Christmas ham every day and remaining thin. I am guessing that laying around in a flower bed all day is much harder work that it appears. He should be the size of a circus freak by now. I think later this week I will introduce him to beer and spend the evening watching him stumble around, pick fights with cats twice his size, and hit on all the ugly cats in the neighborhood. Kind of a kitty version of what I do minus the dancing naked on the porch.

Bit o’ Honey(comb)

It was a beautiful day to take the dog for a walk in the park.  I guess that does not really matter much to me because a) I was stuck at the computer all day and b) I don’t have a dog.  I guess I could try to take Larry for a walk but that cat does not really seem like the leash type.  It did, however, get me think back when I was in Atlanta and used to take my friend Danne’s dog for walks in the park.  She lived right on Piedmont Park so it was a great way to meet girls.  Honeycomb was the perfect bait.

Honeycomb was a miniature dachshund with long red hair.  She was the runt of the litter so she was so small she could not even compete as a miniature.  That, however, did not stop her from thinking she was royalty and walking with her nose in the air like humans were beneath her.  She still let the girls pet her while going “Oh my God, She is sooooo cute!”  Honeycomb would just look back at them with a look that said “Of course I am.”

Piedmont Park is in the middle of Midtown and filled not only with cute women but gay men as well.  Walking the little prima donna was not really helping the image I was trying to project. Even a poodle would project more masculinity.  The only way around this was by saying something like “Oh, she’s my girlfriend’s dog” and that was not helping my cause at all.

It was all worth it the day I passed by two very feminine gay guys.  One of them noticed Honeycomb, grabbed his boyfriend by the arm and said “Oh look Bobby, it’s a cat in drag!”  I swear Honeycomb understood English because as soon as he said that She just stuck her nose in the air even higher than normal as if to say, “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Honeycomb died earlier this year at the age of nineteen.  She was blind and maybe def.  It was hard to tell because she never listened much anyway.  One thing she could do till her last day was hold that nose up in the air.

Blame it on the Maid

Sorry folks.  No, I did not forget you.  I was either out of touch with my head or busy.  I do have some stuff coming up for you this week, I promise so please do not feel neglected.  It has been hectic around here with my secretary off on vacation.  She seems to have taken the dishwasher, the maid, and the laundry service with her.  It really is surprising how much mess one man can make in a short amount of time.  Maybe I should just move and start over.

I have seen the movie “Enchanted”.  In it, when Gazelle sings all the little animals come and help clean up so I though I would give it a try.  No dice.  Larry (the hot dog eating cat), the baby possum, and the raccoon where of no help at all.  They just hid under the porch together and trembled.  I am going to start buying my pets and hope for better results.

Oh well, I hear the salt mines calling and I have 5 articles to do tonight so think of me when you wake up.  I should be nice and blurry eyed by then.



Sometime you look back over your childhood and adolescence and marvel at how lucky you were that Darwin did not choose to just yank you right out of the gene pool. Maybe it was your first experiment in electricity. You know the one; the one that involved a fork and an outlet? Possibly it was learning that capes provide no lift when jumping from a tree. One of mine involved a horse.

At the time I was dating a wonderful girl who a friend with everyone. One day after church one of the elders told use we could go out and ride his steeds whenever. Well there is really not a lot to do on Sabbath so it seemed like a good way to spend the afternoon so off we went.

The warning bells should have gone off when I found out that this would be done bareback. Until then my entire horse riding experience was on a horse headed to the glue factor and that was when I was 4. Even the turtles were passing us. If we had not been going in the same direction of the continental drift I doubt we would have made any progress.

Anyway, Edith (name has been changed to protect the guilty) assured me that I could just hold onto the mane and didn’t need a saddle, bit, or bridle. I was suspect of the plan but tried any way and the horse was very cooperative about letting me mount him. Little did I know in his little horse brain he was thinking, “Now I have got this little punk right were I want him.”

The pasture was shaped like a baseball field with a tree line along the “outfield wall”. Once I was on, BOOM, off we go down the 3rd base line at a pace that would have won at Belmont. I held on tight and was looking pretty ( quite sexy, if I do say so myself). Then things went drastically down hill.

As we got to the tree line my horse dropped his head and kept running through the branches trying to brush me off! Thadd, being Mr Cool at the moment, countered by sliding down his side.  I felt soooooo cool.

As we left right field and headed down the first base line I discovered a disturbing problem; I could not pull myself back up. If that was not bad enough, I was siding down further. All I could see was the 4 thundering hooves of death ready to crack open my noggin.

At this point I decided to egress my mount. The only thing I could think to do was push off in to a tuck-and-roll. Good plan but that part of the field was littered with land mines, some so freshly laid they were still steaming. I managed to bounce along about 20 ft or so and missed them all and left unscathed. Now nearing 40, I know that I would end up face first in a pie with a broken collar bone if I tried that again; nobody’s luck last forever.

Is there a moral to the story? Maybe. Perhaps it is not a good idea to ride bare back on the horse called Diablo Negra

Dead Irish Poets

This poem, called Maker of Heaven and Earth, was written as a hymn in the 1800’s by Cecil Frances Alexander.  It really is a pretty little piece.

All things bright and beautiful,

All creatures great and small,

All things wise and wonderful,

The Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,

Each little bird that sings,

He made their glowing colours,

He made their tiny wings.

A rich man in his castle,

The poor man at his gate,

God made them, high or lowly,

And ordered their estate.

The purple-headed mountain,

The river running by,

The sunset, and the morning,

That brightens up the sky;

The cold wind in the winter,

The pleasant summer sun,

The ripe fruits in the garden,

He made them every one.

The tall trees in the greenwood,

The meadows where we play,

The rushes by the water,

We gather every day;–

He gave us eyes to see them,

And lips that we might tell,

How great is God Almighty,

Who has made all things well.

Smartass

Well, it looks like have a new critter showing up for a nightly feeding, a raccoon.  I am so over joyed at this because I really have a strong desire to feed animals too lazy to go out and get something.  Well, I guess that is what they are doing and I am the sucker.  It’s not all bad; those guys can tear through stuff that would make a Billy goat puke.  They don’t mind if it is green on top and smells a little funny.

My little doggie folks have been pressing me to pick up the pace a little so I will share with you what I shared with them this morning.

The true history of the Doberman Pincher

The Doberman Pincher is a decedent of a breed that history has forgotten. Still known as the only breed to hunt man, it is tame compared to its forefathers.

First developed in Germany, they were also found useful by the Prussians in controlling the Baltic States. These dogs, however, were not the Doberman Pincher’s we know today; these were the dreaded Doberman Stabbers.

Slim in build, they were known to easily penetrate Allied lines during WWII, blade in their teeth, and viscously stabbing their victim to death. After the war the breed was toned down quite a bit and then only to pinch rather than stab.

In recent years there has been an attempt to make them even more docile. Not yet recognized by the AKC, they will be known as Dobermans that go Boo!

No, no, no, sillies. I have not forgotten you I have just been really caught up with work. If you read my Facebook post last week I mentioned just combining some of the articles so they would end up being about acupuncture on dogs. Well, this week it is still dogs only now they are on a Capsiplex diet and learning to do a resume. Better them get a job than get another freeloader over here.

Speaking of freeloaders, I named that stupid possum. Her (I am guessing) is named Keatzou. I heard it on TV and it means kitten in some god-awful former Russian state. She now enjoys hot dogs with Larry and really likes stale strawberry sugar wafers. Possums only live about two years in the wild. Dogs and cars seem to thin the herd pretty well but there are not either here so next year I might have a whole swam of them. You will know if that happens if you see a post that says “Baby opossums-priced to move!!!!”Or “Opossums-buy one get 7 free”. If I still can’t get rid of them the post will change to “Free-self-motivated doggie toys”

I am sorry to leave you with such a short post but duty (and clients) call. Hopefully later this weekend I’ll be able to say “All right, chillin’s, gather round the fire and let Pappy Thadd tell you a tale”



Now with my little forest of death I don’t want you to think that there is only that option. I am not trying to build a gloomy little empire with franchise rights and matching letter head. No, not that at all. I just don’t want people using up all the ground in little concrete monuments to themselves. Now I know Walt Disney and Ted Williams are taking up space being kept on ice in Arizona (have you ever noticed they always do the freaky stuff out West?) but at least the intend to get awakened at some point. Defrost!

Anyway, there are lots of other things you can do with your previous address, not just get planted under a tree. There is already 17 acres in South Carolina that are wooded. There they just go did a hole and dump you in. It’s kinda like a mob hit but at least you know, within 17 acres, where your little Hoffa is.

If you are really not to attached to your body you can be put in a human digestion tube. There you are mixed with water and enzymes that will dissolve you, and heated (to speed up the process). Once you have been reduced to goo you get flushed into the sewer and off to a municipal water treatment plant.

Maybe you want to be useful. OK, then donate your body to science. They have lots of things they can do with you but it never involves being in one piece. Like a car, you get parted out. From the shins down you feet might find themselves in a new military boot design. They want to know how well it protects against land-mines so you feet go on a little walk without you on to a mine. Then they count the number of toes left.

You most likely go to the guillotine and have your head whacked off; we’ll send that to the medical school at Vanderbilt. The cosmetic surgeons need some practice. You’ll get a nose job, maybe your cheek bones lowered, and an ear pinning (otoplasty). While they are at it they might just take a mallet a break your jaw just to learn how to reset one.

Now I want you to take a minute and draw a little mental image of a room full of heads The cosmetic procedures were not done to make you look better but to demonstrate how to do them. You might have been beautiful in life but now your disembodied head sits on a self and you now have Jimmy Durante’s nose, teeny tiny alien ears, check bones so low you look like a morose basset hound. Now none of these things heal nor do they use bandages because you don’t bleed. Right now you make Chucky look like he is having a great day.

Meanwhile your torso was shipped off to the University of Chicago. There you receive a breast implant on one side and a mastectomy on the other. Then it is off to gender re-assignment surgery. That’s right , Betty, you are about to become Bobby.

Another mental image for you: stitch yourself back together with your blown up feet, mixed gender torso and disfigured head. Wow, that is disturbing. Just plant me under a tree.