Casablanca

The idea that Ilsa would just happen to come by the “gin joint” (on another continent) run by Rick, who she was in love with in Paris right before she found out her husband hadn’t been murdered by the Nazis after all, is just silly. It’s too much of a coincidence that they would ever see each again.

I once lived in a town with an ex-girlfriend there. The town had about six thousand people (as opposed to two continents). I never saw her by accident, except one night in the gym when she was kissing another guy.

The guy was a short, skinny geek that hadn’t had a girlfriend before (not that I knew of) and here he was kissing my cheerleader girlfriend near where (the location in the gym) I used to sit on the bench for the basketball team.

But it wasn’t that he was kissing her that bothered me the most, although that was a large part of the problem.

No, the thing that bothered me most was that it occurred to me his type (skinny geek) was the kind of guy she liked…

Anyway, the idea that after all those years Ilsa would walk into Rick’s place was just a little out of my believable zone. But that’s why it was made into a movie, I suppose.

The horizon beckons...

I played the banjo for about three years. Not anymore. I miss it, but I can’t find time to fit it in to my life anymore.

I bought a guitar. That didn’t last too long.

I used to do a crossword puzzle each day. This lasted about seven years. Not anymore.

I played golf for more than 20 years. But I don’t feel like it anymore.

And I said I’d blog for a year.

That passed in November. Then I said I’d blog for a full calendar year. That passed yesterday.

I don’t know what I’ll say next or do next.

But I’m burned out, done…

Talk amongst yourselves for a while. I'll probably be back tomorrow.

Interpreting the sniffles...

In the land of small children, someone is usually crying, just about to cry or recovering from a cry.

In a way, I’m jealous. Sometimes it just seems better to cry than throw something or yell.

In fact, I think most things a psychologist treats…anger management, fear, alcoholism, etc is just people that would have been better served by being told it was okay to cry. In fact, I hear that is what they tell you during counseling.

But the world frowns on crying.

I don’t know why, though. Some say crying is a show of weakness, but it’s obvious everyone is weak in some area.

We are so conditioned about this that we don’t know when we should or shouldn’t. A loss of a loved one sure, but what about a Reese’s Cup that you left in the car and now it is stuck to the paper? Or dropping a frosted mug full of beer?

It’s somewhere in between (depending on how thirsty you are or how much you like two great tastes that taste great together, I guess) but my point is that most people judge crying appropriateness based on when they would cry or how old the crier happens to be.

I guess this makes everyone an expert.

Thanks for nothing...

My glasses are crooked. They don’t line up evenly with both of my eyebrows, which is soon to be just one eyebrow unless I get some professional grooming done.

Years of the kids ripping them off my face and one day of tripping over a Lego castle have rendered them cockeyed.

I can almost get them straight if I put the left side up on the side of my head about a half inch above my ear. But this only works until I move my head or the wind blows.

I went to the eye doctor and asked the technician to fix them. She did and handed them back to me. I told her they still weren’t straight.

“Yes they are,” she said. “But let me see them again.”

She fiddled with them for almost three seconds, handed them back and sternly told me that they were fine.

I said thanks and left.

One more thing to check off the list...

I got invited to play basketball with a group of guys last week.

As I found out, basketball has changed in the seven years I didn’t play.

Back when I played, when you beat your man to the basket, he didn’t hit you in the back of the head or grab your arms to keep you from scoring in a PICKUP game. But now, apparently there is a great deal of shame in letting a 41-year old white guy score on you. But if you assault him, you keep your dignity, I guess.

Also, the current offensive scheme of choice is to dribble around until you can’t score or shoot from some impossible distance or angle and then stop and look around to pass the ball. Gone are the days of looking for someone to cut to the basket. So, to sum up, it’s four guys standing around while one guy plays offense.

And the guy with the keys to the gym takes the most shots, tells you who to guard and monopolizes the basketball.

Unless I find some “old school” guys that play, I’m going back into retirement.

One month wonder...

The Egg Nog people are back in business.

I guess it would be interesting to have a business that had only one profitable month per year. It just makes me wonder what they do the other months. I contacted them and they wrote me back.

Dear Sir:

We keep quite busy during the non-egg nog months. Here is a list:

January: I survived the Obama Inauguration T-Shirts
February: Dating service for NFL fans who lost their wives/girlfriends during the season
March: Selling green dye to Irish Pubs
April: Busing Earth Day participants to rehab
May: Picketing against Horse Racing
June: Reviving the interest in Flag Day
July: Two words: Global Warming! (Northern Hemisphere Project)
August: Back to School Concealed Weapon Certification Classes
September: Bringing back the true meaning of Labor Day Campaign
November: Busing Earth Day participants to the polls to vote for Proposition 215 in California

We take October off.

Sincerely,

And look both ways before you cross the street...

This morning my car displayed the message "Ice Possible, Exercise Caution."

Next I suppose it will tell me to slow down, to not make a cell phone call or maybe it will ask me what I'm thinking.

I don't need this.

Right below the ice warning is a readout that says the temperature. I'm aware of both the Fahrenheit and Celsius benchmarks for freezing and can deduce that temperatures reaching this area are conditions that may allow for ice. So telling me that ice is possible...not necessary.

What I need my car to tell me is if there is a cop around the corner, if the Outback has a 45 minute wait and to remember to stop on the way home to get milk.

But this is the direction the world is headed, I guess.

I'd write more, but I have to go ask my car if my coat matches my tie.

I’m not maintenance free, but at least my hair is again.

Thoughts in the barber chair...

I may be wrong about this, but it seems pretty correct that the one defining thing about a man’s character might be his hairstyle.

Long hair…hippie…possible drug use. Democrat

Short hair…job…family...thinks lying to a grand jury is a crime...Republican.

Pony tail…independently wealthy or extremely unconcerned about public opinion. Independent, of course.

Now all of these have exceptions, and if you are one, congratulations.

My current hairstyle is the kind that doesn’t need combing and gets people to ask me how long I have been a Marine.

It takes about five minutes for the local barber to complete it. This way, I don’t have to talk at length about the government, the weather, or football. It’s not that I don’t have opinions on these things, but I don’t like to argue with a man that I can't see that has scissors in his hand.

And if you are insulted by the generalizations made in this post, you probably are due for a haircut.

My common cold...

It’s cold in here.

I’ve never been able to escape the cold. Even when I lived in the tropics, I was often cold riding to work in my golf cart (without a windshield) or when it rained.

I’m cold sitting at my desk writing this post. I was cold getting out of the shower this morning. I’m still working on an invention to get my (dry and heated) towel without having to open the shower door.

Half of my showering time is standing under the hot water, trying to get up the courage to shut off the water. The other half is wishing I had two more shower heads aimed at me.

This morning, the car was really cold.

I got a coat. I ordered it online. It said with a “light layer” on the coat would keep me warm at temperatures down to 20 degrees Fahrenheit (or about minus 7 Celsius). What I didn’t know that the “light layer” needed to be a layer of neoprene. It hasn’t gotten close to that yet around here and I’m still cold..

With a “heavy layer,” they said my coat would be good down to 5F (that’s minus 15C). I should have known this was a lie. I have NEVER been comfortable in five degrees Fahrenheit. No matter how many layers I had on.

Pearls before swine...

I thought of a new word (or phrase) this morning, so when I had the opportunity, I just blurted it out.

Now, I’ve got to say it to everyone in the house. Say it to Daddy, say it to Grandma, say it on the phone to the lady from AT&T.

It kind of kills my creative juices when I have to constantly repeat myself. And it’s not like I’m splitting the atom. All I said was, “I wan dat!”

And while they marveled and asked each other, “Did you hear him?” they failed to give me what I was asking for in the first place. I’m not talking just to entertain these people, I really wanted the gravy ladle. It makes a great noise when I hit it on the kitchen cabinets.

But my voice cries out in the wilderness sans response. Why am I even talking to them? Sure I’ll say it again…but do you mind listening for a change?

And when I do something really fun, like pour Gracie’s milk on the kitchen table, no one asks me to “do that again.” It’s really kind of frustrating that my best work goes unappreciated. But, this is the life I have chosen…the path less taken.

I’d write more, but I have to go tackle Grandma.