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T'was the night before Christmas...
We ain't got any snow,
It's 4 below zero,
So take a blanket if you go.
Don't hang any stockings,
Leave 'em on your pink feet,
Cause if you get frostbite,
It won't be to neat.
On Target, On Wal-Mart,
Bark Pet-Co too
If you have any
last minute shopping to do.
What happend to Miller & Paine
where the wrapping they'd do.
Now I have to do it
and it will be late when I'm through.
Then on dancer and blitzen and
red Rebel too
It's off to Omaha to see
what is new.
The babies will be there
with rosy red cheeks
Hoping that Santa will
stop with some sweet little treats.
So a night with the fam
will be kinda neat.
Then it's home to my
hound,
To give him his treat.
And to you and your family
on this cold snowless night
Merry Christmas to all
and to Wal-Mart, good night.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Saturday, December 18, 2004
My Christmas story for you
There was a little old man standing out in front of a Wal-Mart store. He was a obese, short, and he had a scruffy white beard to go along with his long white unkempt hair. He wore a red and white Santa hat and had a smile and a Merry Christmas for everyone who walked by his kettle as he rang the bell for the Salvation Army. His gentle disposition and his physical characteristics made him very special at this time of years. This was his kettle and he did his job very well.
'Look, there's Santa," the kid exclaimed as families went in and out of the store. True enough, he looked like Santa. Then the unthinkable happened. The bell dropped to the cement and rolled away as he clutched his chest and fell to the ground.
A gasp went up as people watched. Some came quickly to his aid. A man took out his cellphone and dialed 911.
"He just fell over,"the man said. The operator got more information and it wasn't long before you could hear a siren off in the distance. Help was on the way. But for this old man, would help arrive too late.
Soon, the big red and white fire engine came to a stop in front of the store. You could hear the whoosh of the air brakes as firemen dressed in dark blue sweat shirts came out of the doors and opened compartments to take out a bag with lifesaving gear inside. A paramedic went right to the old man who lay motionless on the ground, his hint of white breath against the cold winter air now gone.
"Is Santa dead?" a little boy about five asked his mother. He grabbed her leg as she tried to spare him from the unfolding sad scene. He held his ground and watched. Tears formed on his face as he watched the firemen work on the old man.
"Is Santa dead?" he cried out. "Is he? Is Santa dead?"
"No honey," his mom said as she reached down and turned his face away from the scene. She tried to get him to go but he held firm.
The paramedic stopped working on the old man. He took his stethoscope out of his ears and put it around his neck and looked up at the engine's captain and shook his head from side to side.
The boy struggled with his mom and finally bolted free. He ran from her reach and over to the paramedic. Tears were streaming down his face as he looked at the old man who lay motionless on the ground. He shook the paramendic's shoulder.
"Is Santa dead?" he cried.
The paramedic turned and looked at the boy. He took a 4x4 cotton bandage out of his kit.
"No son," the paramedic said as he tore open the package, took out the bandage and wiped the tears from the boy's face.
"Santa isn't dead," the paramedic said as he looked back at the old man. "He is just a dead ringer."
'Look, there's Santa," the kid exclaimed as families went in and out of the store. True enough, he looked like Santa. Then the unthinkable happened. The bell dropped to the cement and rolled away as he clutched his chest and fell to the ground.
A gasp went up as people watched. Some came quickly to his aid. A man took out his cellphone and dialed 911.
"He just fell over,"the man said. The operator got more information and it wasn't long before you could hear a siren off in the distance. Help was on the way. But for this old man, would help arrive too late.
Soon, the big red and white fire engine came to a stop in front of the store. You could hear the whoosh of the air brakes as firemen dressed in dark blue sweat shirts came out of the doors and opened compartments to take out a bag with lifesaving gear inside. A paramedic went right to the old man who lay motionless on the ground, his hint of white breath against the cold winter air now gone.
"Is Santa dead?" a little boy about five asked his mother. He grabbed her leg as she tried to spare him from the unfolding sad scene. He held his ground and watched. Tears formed on his face as he watched the firemen work on the old man.
"Is Santa dead?" he cried out. "Is he? Is Santa dead?"
"No honey," his mom said as she reached down and turned his face away from the scene. She tried to get him to go but he held firm.
The paramedic stopped working on the old man. He took his stethoscope out of his ears and put it around his neck and looked up at the engine's captain and shook his head from side to side.
The boy struggled with his mom and finally bolted free. He ran from her reach and over to the paramedic. Tears were streaming down his face as he looked at the old man who lay motionless on the ground. He shook the paramendic's shoulder.
"Is Santa dead?" he cried.
The paramedic turned and looked at the boy. He took a 4x4 cotton bandage out of his kit.
"No son," the paramedic said as he tore open the package, took out the bandage and wiped the tears from the boy's face.
"Santa isn't dead," the paramedic said as he looked back at the old man. "He is just a dead ringer."
Monday, December 13, 2004
A month late...
I don't think it is global warming. I think the calender is screwed up. In fact, I think it is one month off. Just imagine if the retail community suddenly started making a big deal out of that...two Christmas seasons. Kind of like daylight Christmas season. How awful would that be?
OK, I am not a Christmas season fan. In fact, I am not even a winter fan. I would have made a lousy indian running around in those skimpy hides.
But back to the point. It's been really, REALLY, nice for December in Nebraska. Cool but not cold. Rain but not snow. There are still plenty of leaves on the trees. Nature is still in the late fall mode. Get the picture?
I think it is really November and somehow the calender got enough frequent dayer days to come up with an extra month and inserted it without anyone knowing. That's good for the crowd that doesn't see much future in ski Nebraska. Bad for the guys who rely on ice skating.
But for me and the trusty hound, it's good. The walks continue and I am also running three times a week--leash in hand--hound under foot. He likes aerobic stuff and since he is moving into dog teenager years, I suppose he is thinking about how he looks and maybe wants to get rid of the puppy fat and buff up as it were.
Well as long as the weather stays like this, it's outdoors for us.
Now that's a Christmas gift I can appreciate.
OK, I am not a Christmas season fan. In fact, I am not even a winter fan. I would have made a lousy indian running around in those skimpy hides.
But back to the point. It's been really, REALLY, nice for December in Nebraska. Cool but not cold. Rain but not snow. There are still plenty of leaves on the trees. Nature is still in the late fall mode. Get the picture?
I think it is really November and somehow the calender got enough frequent dayer days to come up with an extra month and inserted it without anyone knowing. That's good for the crowd that doesn't see much future in ski Nebraska. Bad for the guys who rely on ice skating.
But for me and the trusty hound, it's good. The walks continue and I am also running three times a week--leash in hand--hound under foot. He likes aerobic stuff and since he is moving into dog teenager years, I suppose he is thinking about how he looks and maybe wants to get rid of the puppy fat and buff up as it were.
Well as long as the weather stays like this, it's outdoors for us.
Now that's a Christmas gift I can appreciate.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
The old house
I just learned something horrible.
Our old family home is empty and has been empty for over a year! That's awful. It was a great old place as old homes go. It sits on the corner in a big lot in Hartington, Nebraska. It's a big two story wooden house with lots of windows that my mother used to hate to clean. It's dark gray with white shutters. And it's empty and silent now. That's awful.
Especially this time of year. Add a foot or so of snow and freshly scooped sidewalks which defined the lot and big bushes holding up the puffy white stuff and you have picture-perfect, Christmas card kind of house. The local photographer once braved the snow and the cold to take a picture of it with a fresh, unplowed and unscooped snow--the big flake fluffy kind--making it a the home for the holidays.
Plus we had Rudolph. My mom found a stuffed deer head above the beer cooler in dad's bar. The bar was, and I think still is called, The Chief Bar. During the holiday season, all kinds of little displays showed up from the liquor salesmen. One had a big red flashing bulb. Mom spotted that flashing red bulb and it was gone before the holiday liquor bottles were. She taped it to the stuffed dear head's nose and hung it on the porch. Instant Rudolph, blinking red nose and all.
People from all over drove buy on snowy nights to see Rudolph and her stuffed santa. The Cedar County News did a story about her creativity. It was the perfect touch to the smell of sugar cookies which filled every drafty corner of that big old house. And if you stopped to look at Rudolph, you couldn't miss the floor to ceiling Christmas tree in the bay windows. Late into the night, the snow glistened from the glow of the tree.
But now the house is empty. It's tied up in a typica American divorce tragedy. It stands in darkness. Mom would have hated that.
Mom and dad are gone and I am an old goat who feels awful that one of the most wonderful places ever stands dark and drafty in the cold Nebraska winter.
I hate the darkness, too. Maybe Christmas Eve I will go up there, buy a cup of hot chocolate and a sugar cookie and sit on the old porch railing, whisper Silent Night, and listen to the wind in the trees.
God Bless you Mom and Dad.
Our old family home is empty and has been empty for over a year! That's awful. It was a great old place as old homes go. It sits on the corner in a big lot in Hartington, Nebraska. It's a big two story wooden house with lots of windows that my mother used to hate to clean. It's dark gray with white shutters. And it's empty and silent now. That's awful.
Especially this time of year. Add a foot or so of snow and freshly scooped sidewalks which defined the lot and big bushes holding up the puffy white stuff and you have picture-perfect, Christmas card kind of house. The local photographer once braved the snow and the cold to take a picture of it with a fresh, unplowed and unscooped snow--the big flake fluffy kind--making it a the home for the holidays.
Plus we had Rudolph. My mom found a stuffed deer head above the beer cooler in dad's bar. The bar was, and I think still is called, The Chief Bar. During the holiday season, all kinds of little displays showed up from the liquor salesmen. One had a big red flashing bulb. Mom spotted that flashing red bulb and it was gone before the holiday liquor bottles were. She taped it to the stuffed dear head's nose and hung it on the porch. Instant Rudolph, blinking red nose and all.
People from all over drove buy on snowy nights to see Rudolph and her stuffed santa. The Cedar County News did a story about her creativity. It was the perfect touch to the smell of sugar cookies which filled every drafty corner of that big old house. And if you stopped to look at Rudolph, you couldn't miss the floor to ceiling Christmas tree in the bay windows. Late into the night, the snow glistened from the glow of the tree.
But now the house is empty. It's tied up in a typica American divorce tragedy. It stands in darkness. Mom would have hated that.
Mom and dad are gone and I am an old goat who feels awful that one of the most wonderful places ever stands dark and drafty in the cold Nebraska winter.
I hate the darkness, too. Maybe Christmas Eve I will go up there, buy a cup of hot chocolate and a sugar cookie and sit on the old porch railing, whisper Silent Night, and listen to the wind in the trees.
God Bless you Mom and Dad.
Friday, December 03, 2004
A different way today
The City was finally fixing some of the bad planks on the bike bridge over 48th street. That means pickups all over the place. Why is it when there is something little to fix, you have pickups all over? I am sure Ford knows these things.
Anyway, with a blocked bridge, Buc and I had to use a different path for the daily walk. After all, you wouldn't want to read about how I fished and dangling dog out from a hole it the bridge, would you?
I took a more social approach to the walk. Less squirrels and rabbits and more humans and cars. He needs to know more about humans and cars and how to stay out of the way, look before he crosses a busy street and things like that. I am assuming I have the smartest dog in the world and would do these things should he ever chew through his leash and choose freedom over comfort.
The path took us by a couple of big stores. Suddenly, he stopped and his ears perked up.
"What?" I asked as he held his ground with the leash. Normally, he'll prance along right next to me with a loop of leash in his mouth just to show everybody he is driving, not me. He dropped the extra hunk of leash and tilted his head up and sniffed and listened again.
"What?"
He turned and looked at the store and finally, I figured out what had his attention. Mind you, this is a 4 month old dog, or in human terms, he is a little over two. He was hearing the Salvation Army bells in front of the store.
"It's too early for that," I told him and tugged on the leash in a less donative direction. No deal. He held his ground and forced my hand. Would I have to yank the hell out of him like so many spoiled little brats inside of that big store?
"I'll start giving them something next week," I told him. "It's too early to get all mushy about Christmas and all of this stuff. Let's go."
He looked away.
"You're embarrassed?" I asked? He kept looking away from me and sniffed the air again.
Now this is his first Christmas season so I was highly suspect about his knowledge of giving and bells and red kettles and such. But then I thought about it. He came from the pound. That's kind of like a homeless shelter. Maybe he heard some of the stories about cold, milkbonelerss nights. Maybe he heard about little brothers and sisters being taken away, never to be seen again. Maybe he was recalling the night the old dog in the corner slept away back in that drafty cage in the corner. Maybe he knew and he wanted me to change the world starting today.
Then again, maybe not.
"Come on, let's go," I said as I drug him away.
Anyway, with a blocked bridge, Buc and I had to use a different path for the daily walk. After all, you wouldn't want to read about how I fished and dangling dog out from a hole it the bridge, would you?
I took a more social approach to the walk. Less squirrels and rabbits and more humans and cars. He needs to know more about humans and cars and how to stay out of the way, look before he crosses a busy street and things like that. I am assuming I have the smartest dog in the world and would do these things should he ever chew through his leash and choose freedom over comfort.
The path took us by a couple of big stores. Suddenly, he stopped and his ears perked up.
"What?" I asked as he held his ground with the leash. Normally, he'll prance along right next to me with a loop of leash in his mouth just to show everybody he is driving, not me. He dropped the extra hunk of leash and tilted his head up and sniffed and listened again.
"What?"
He turned and looked at the store and finally, I figured out what had his attention. Mind you, this is a 4 month old dog, or in human terms, he is a little over two. He was hearing the Salvation Army bells in front of the store.
"It's too early for that," I told him and tugged on the leash in a less donative direction. No deal. He held his ground and forced my hand. Would I have to yank the hell out of him like so many spoiled little brats inside of that big store?
"I'll start giving them something next week," I told him. "It's too early to get all mushy about Christmas and all of this stuff. Let's go."
He looked away.
"You're embarrassed?" I asked? He kept looking away from me and sniffed the air again.
Now this is his first Christmas season so I was highly suspect about his knowledge of giving and bells and red kettles and such. But then I thought about it. He came from the pound. That's kind of like a homeless shelter. Maybe he heard some of the stories about cold, milkbonelerss nights. Maybe he heard about little brothers and sisters being taken away, never to be seen again. Maybe he was recalling the night the old dog in the corner slept away back in that drafty cage in the corner. Maybe he knew and he wanted me to change the world starting today.
Then again, maybe not.
"Come on, let's go," I said as I drug him away.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
A winter run
I never got into treadmills. They are as boring as talking to the postmaster about retirement. I am an outdoor guy so, bad knees padded, shoes on, dog on the well-chewed leash, it is off to one of Lincoln's great bike trails. (I might add it is handily installed right behind my house.)
After the two mandatory stops for pooch maintenance, it's time for the run. Now mind you, I am kind of an old guy so let's not be thinking maraton here. Plus, I hate the cold and I have a small pooch out in front of me galloping along as if he was free or something.
I follow a running program from Fit for Life. 2 minute walk. 1 minute slow jog. 1 minute faster jog. 1 minute fast jog. Repeat four times plus a really fast run at the end and a cool-down. Cool down? Dude, it's winter in Nebraska. We don't need cool downs for crying out loud.
I was into the second repeat when it happened. The usually healing Buc, running at my pace to my right, spotted a rabbit running in the ditch to my left just as my left foot was coming down for the next step. No way I could stop without pulling every muscle from my butt to my toes so my tennie raked the poor pooch's foot and landed on his toes. You can't imagine the howl. I am sure the nearby neighbors were speed dialing the Humane Society to report running puppy abuse.
There he stoop in the snow, paw up, nose and ears down, looking up at me through the top of his eyes, asking in doggie silence..."what did I do to have you do this to me?" Dogs don't understand the concept of you are in the way and when that happens, accidents happen. They howl and look at you as if you were the retired, uncaring postman.
I got down on one knee to examine the damage. He turned away. I grabbed the paw. He howled more. I gently examined it. "Wiggle your toes," I ordered. (They told me in first responder class that you should do that to see if something was broken.) He just looked. See above. That look again.
I put my finger under his paw and pushed up right before the toes. They spread out. No breaks.
That was enough. "Look," I said. "Good atheletes work through pain. Let's go."
I turned to start a slow jog. He milked it again holding out the crippled paw and giving me the look again. I pulled on the leash. He tried the paw and looked at me. Finally a step. Another look. Another step. Another look. Then he bolted off after a squirrel. It was a good move because I was holding the leash lightly. He was gone. Full speed.
That's when I stepped in the hole.
Maybe the treadmill idea isn't so dumb.
After the two mandatory stops for pooch maintenance, it's time for the run. Now mind you, I am kind of an old guy so let's not be thinking maraton here. Plus, I hate the cold and I have a small pooch out in front of me galloping along as if he was free or something.
I follow a running program from Fit for Life. 2 minute walk. 1 minute slow jog. 1 minute faster jog. 1 minute fast jog. Repeat four times plus a really fast run at the end and a cool-down. Cool down? Dude, it's winter in Nebraska. We don't need cool downs for crying out loud.
I was into the second repeat when it happened. The usually healing Buc, running at my pace to my right, spotted a rabbit running in the ditch to my left just as my left foot was coming down for the next step. No way I could stop without pulling every muscle from my butt to my toes so my tennie raked the poor pooch's foot and landed on his toes. You can't imagine the howl. I am sure the nearby neighbors were speed dialing the Humane Society to report running puppy abuse.
There he stoop in the snow, paw up, nose and ears down, looking up at me through the top of his eyes, asking in doggie silence..."what did I do to have you do this to me?" Dogs don't understand the concept of you are in the way and when that happens, accidents happen. They howl and look at you as if you were the retired, uncaring postman.
I got down on one knee to examine the damage. He turned away. I grabbed the paw. He howled more. I gently examined it. "Wiggle your toes," I ordered. (They told me in first responder class that you should do that to see if something was broken.) He just looked. See above. That look again.
I put my finger under his paw and pushed up right before the toes. They spread out. No breaks.
That was enough. "Look," I said. "Good atheletes work through pain. Let's go."
I turned to start a slow jog. He milked it again holding out the crippled paw and giving me the look again. I pulled on the leash. He tried the paw and looked at me. Finally a step. Another look. Another step. Another look. Then he bolted off after a squirrel. It was a good move because I was holding the leash lightly. He was gone. Full speed.
That's when I stepped in the hole.
Maybe the treadmill idea isn't so dumb.
Friday, November 26, 2004
The Friday after Thanksgiving
To most folks, the Friday after Thanksgiving really doesn't have much meaning. Oh sure, there are a few loose bolts who got up at O dark thirty to go shopping someplace, but generally, it's a loafing lame day...except in Lincoln.
This is Colorado day in Lincoln. It's a little after 9:00 am and the streets outside of the coffee house are starting to fill with the red-clad fans of Nebraska football. It normally is a pretty exciting time in Lincoln but this is one of those seasons. If the Huskers don't win today, no bowl game and the streak of 30 something bowl game appearances comes to an end. That's a sad possibility especially in Nebraska.
There is a reason. Grayness. That's what's in store for the next three or so months. Nothing but grayness and cold and maybe lots of snow. But grayness is the big deal. Gray skies. Gray snow. Gray looking people. Just grayness.
A Colorado win would extend the color part of the year for a few more days. People would be talking about the bowl game even though it will be played a long time before New Year's Eve in some town not really known for bowl games. Rattletrap Rose will get a few more hundred hours of explaining how Nebraska football operates and what players really are deep down inside...Benson Bunnies, Lincoln Southeast Knights. He knows alot about mascots.
But even that will not stop the coming grayness. I should be more positive. Christmas is on the horizon. My bother's birthday in January. Mine in February. And then the grayness gives way to be best part of the year...
Tornado season!
Go Big Red. Beat the Buffs and hold off the gray for another day.
This is Colorado day in Lincoln. It's a little after 9:00 am and the streets outside of the coffee house are starting to fill with the red-clad fans of Nebraska football. It normally is a pretty exciting time in Lincoln but this is one of those seasons. If the Huskers don't win today, no bowl game and the streak of 30 something bowl game appearances comes to an end. That's a sad possibility especially in Nebraska.
There is a reason. Grayness. That's what's in store for the next three or so months. Nothing but grayness and cold and maybe lots of snow. But grayness is the big deal. Gray skies. Gray snow. Gray looking people. Just grayness.
A Colorado win would extend the color part of the year for a few more days. People would be talking about the bowl game even though it will be played a long time before New Year's Eve in some town not really known for bowl games. Rattletrap Rose will get a few more hundred hours of explaining how Nebraska football operates and what players really are deep down inside...Benson Bunnies, Lincoln Southeast Knights. He knows alot about mascots.
But even that will not stop the coming grayness. I should be more positive. Christmas is on the horizon. My bother's birthday in January. Mine in February. And then the grayness gives way to be best part of the year...
Tornado season!
Go Big Red. Beat the Buffs and hold off the gray for another day.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Smaller tables
Thanksgiving tables are smaller than they use to be. And there is no ham sauce--half apple jelly and half mustard to give the ham a little extra kick. Yes, I know it should be turkey on Thanksgivng and it was, plus a ham.
I never did like the oyster dressing but the other kind was good. The bean dish with the French's onion things was good, too. But the sweet patatos with marshmellows melted and just a hint of starting to burn made the meal.
I don't know if kitchens still have all of those square aluminum pans and those big roasters anymore. Plus, it's been ages sinch I have seen one of those big mixers where you slid the whatever to be mixed under it and flipped down the mixer on it and the bowl went round and round. Whipped cream started in the bottom of that thing and slowly worked its way to the brim where a sneaky little finger lay in wait. I use to put a little on top of the dog's nose and what him lick himself to death trying to get at it. Someday I will pay for that I suppose.
Pumpkin pie had to have whipped cream. There might be a piece of mince pie around, too but I was never big on that one. Mince meat had a bad sound to it. I stuck with pumpkin and pecan. Cool whips is good but whipped cream is different. It stays will you longer and adds to the guilt later on.
Speaking of later on, a turkey sandwich on Wonder Wread with Miracle Whip and lettace got me throught Lassie and the Bengal Lancers.
Do you suppose the Bengal Lancers are still running on some cable channel or did they go the way or stout old Thanksgiving tables and ham sauce? It's been a long time since I was a kid but heck, I bet the Lions are still trying to beat Dallas in the someone's other room.
God Bless and Happy Thanksgiving.
I never did like the oyster dressing but the other kind was good. The bean dish with the French's onion things was good, too. But the sweet patatos with marshmellows melted and just a hint of starting to burn made the meal.
I don't know if kitchens still have all of those square aluminum pans and those big roasters anymore. Plus, it's been ages sinch I have seen one of those big mixers where you slid the whatever to be mixed under it and flipped down the mixer on it and the bowl went round and round. Whipped cream started in the bottom of that thing and slowly worked its way to the brim where a sneaky little finger lay in wait. I use to put a little on top of the dog's nose and what him lick himself to death trying to get at it. Someday I will pay for that I suppose.
Pumpkin pie had to have whipped cream. There might be a piece of mince pie around, too but I was never big on that one. Mince meat had a bad sound to it. I stuck with pumpkin and pecan. Cool whips is good but whipped cream is different. It stays will you longer and adds to the guilt later on.
Speaking of later on, a turkey sandwich on Wonder Wread with Miracle Whip and lettace got me throught Lassie and the Bengal Lancers.
Do you suppose the Bengal Lancers are still running on some cable channel or did they go the way or stout old Thanksgiving tables and ham sauce? It's been a long time since I was a kid but heck, I bet the Lions are still trying to beat Dallas in the someone's other room.
God Bless and Happy Thanksgiving.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Goodbye Young Marine
Omaha is grieving today. They have a lot of company. Their first casualty of the Iraq war is coming home for the final time and will be honored by his country, his state, his city, and his friends. Someone else may be there but he is only a couple of days old. The little boy is the newborn son of this young Marine and was born just two hours before his dad was killed.
His dad was a popular guy. He was a high school quarterback. Handsome. Motivated. Driven to be a leader. He married the beautiful cheerleader he always loved.
There is greatness in this, but also such a loss. If you are like me, tears form when you think about this young guy who now lays silent under a spread of red, white, and blue. What could his life have been? Wouldn't you have loved to have this little young family living next door to you? Son and dad playing ball in the backyard during summer. Dad mowing his lawn. Mom planting her flowers. Cub Scouts. Boy Scouts. Football Friday nights.
But this dad won't be here.
Or will he?
Take a minute and say a prayer for all of them. Cover his flag with a tear from your heart today. I can't imagine that even God's great hands can hold all of the tears.
Goodbye and God bless you young Marine.
His dad was a popular guy. He was a high school quarterback. Handsome. Motivated. Driven to be a leader. He married the beautiful cheerleader he always loved.
There is greatness in this, but also such a loss. If you are like me, tears form when you think about this young guy who now lays silent under a spread of red, white, and blue. What could his life have been? Wouldn't you have loved to have this little young family living next door to you? Son and dad playing ball in the backyard during summer. Dad mowing his lawn. Mom planting her flowers. Cub Scouts. Boy Scouts. Football Friday nights.
But this dad won't be here.
Or will he?
Take a minute and say a prayer for all of them. Cover his flag with a tear from your heart today. I can't imagine that even God's great hands can hold all of the tears.
Goodbye and God bless you young Marine.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
The hole in my head
Ok, I have a hole in my head. That's not news to anyone who knows me very well but none the less, I have a REAL hole in my head. It's where my right eardrum use to be. That's right, my eardrum is toast. In fact, it drains alot and the stuff smells like skunk mating perfume. Yuck!
My GP set up an appointment with an ENT who may have to set up surgery with an ear specialist who specializes in doing this type of surgery. Duh?
No wonder medical care is so expensive. One little skunk smelling hole and three doctors have, or will, get their cut. Where is Dr. Dorsey when you need him?
Who is Dr. Dorsey? Well, back in about 1949, he was my family's doctor. In fact, he spotted polio in me in time to do something to save my little life. Pretty cool, huh. If it wasn't for Dr. Dorsey, you wouldn't be reading this right now.
He did everything. My dad drove him through the snow in the trusty Miller Motor wrecker in order to get him to a farm lady who was in labor. He stitched. He cut. He knew. He went to bedsides and helped the sick recover and the dying go in peace. I wrote about him in my book, A Visit to Hartington. *Shameless plug*
Today, it take a staff of doctors to do what good 'ole Dr. Dorsey did. And he went out to see folks.
I wonder what he would have done about the hole in my head? I imagine he would have looked at it and sent me to Sioux City to see a specialist.
My GP set up an appointment with an ENT who may have to set up surgery with an ear specialist who specializes in doing this type of surgery. Duh?
No wonder medical care is so expensive. One little skunk smelling hole and three doctors have, or will, get their cut. Where is Dr. Dorsey when you need him?
Who is Dr. Dorsey? Well, back in about 1949, he was my family's doctor. In fact, he spotted polio in me in time to do something to save my little life. Pretty cool, huh. If it wasn't for Dr. Dorsey, you wouldn't be reading this right now.
He did everything. My dad drove him through the snow in the trusty Miller Motor wrecker in order to get him to a farm lady who was in labor. He stitched. He cut. He knew. He went to bedsides and helped the sick recover and the dying go in peace. I wrote about him in my book, A Visit to Hartington. *Shameless plug*
Today, it take a staff of doctors to do what good 'ole Dr. Dorsey did. And he went out to see folks.
I wonder what he would have done about the hole in my head? I imagine he would have looked at it and sent me to Sioux City to see a specialist.
Friday, November 19, 2004
Love Site Spinner!
Boy, do I LOVE Site Spinner (and it's little brother, Web Dwarf.)
What a great piece of software for doing web pages. I just re-did mine (tale4sale.com) using these two programs. Site Spinner cost about $50 I think and Web Dwarf is FREE! Imagaine, something that good is FREE! *Backflip*
It's been a long time since I have gotten that excited about something that actually works on XP. I have had my battles with SP2 so I am kind of down on the Windows way to the web. Mac is back on my mind, big time.
I started with a Mac, as I suppose almost everybody did. In the ad business, there was nothing better. But I drifted away when some other "must have" software came along. I never went back. The college kids in The Coffee House show up with these Mac G-4's et al and I am really impressed with the ole' Macs. Especially since they don't get attacked by bad virus programs. Mac owners laugh at all of the software we Windows folks have to buy just to keep the Titanic of comupters afloat.
But anyway, today I am happy because my website looks cool and soon I should be selling my ebooks online. That's got me jumping for joy today for the second time already. Check vituralmechanics.com for the Site Spinner 30 day trial and the free download for Web Dwarf.
You want to know what had me jumping the first time today? The first time was when I was putting on my undies this morning and Buc stuck his head through one of the leg holes. Five feet going in one direction and one hopping around in the other and I was saying..."please Lord, don't let this dog bite now!"
What a great piece of software for doing web pages. I just re-did mine (tale4sale.com) using these two programs. Site Spinner cost about $50 I think and Web Dwarf is FREE! Imagaine, something that good is FREE! *Backflip*
It's been a long time since I have gotten that excited about something that actually works on XP. I have had my battles with SP2 so I am kind of down on the Windows way to the web. Mac is back on my mind, big time.
I started with a Mac, as I suppose almost everybody did. In the ad business, there was nothing better. But I drifted away when some other "must have" software came along. I never went back. The college kids in The Coffee House show up with these Mac G-4's et al and I am really impressed with the ole' Macs. Especially since they don't get attacked by bad virus programs. Mac owners laugh at all of the software we Windows folks have to buy just to keep the Titanic of comupters afloat.
But anyway, today I am happy because my website looks cool and soon I should be selling my ebooks online. That's got me jumping for joy today for the second time already. Check vituralmechanics.com for the Site Spinner 30 day trial and the free download for Web Dwarf.
You want to know what had me jumping the first time today? The first time was when I was putting on my undies this morning and Buc stuck his head through one of the leg holes. Five feet going in one direction and one hopping around in the other and I was saying..."please Lord, don't let this dog bite now!"
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Attacking the new book
Ok, I have waited long enough. It's been through three edits and I suppose there are a couple of edits to go but I have pulled The Rooming House out from under my chair and it is going to turn into my third published book. The target date is February 27, 2005. (My birthday :o)
House, as I like to call it, is the sequel to The Last Flight of Kilo Mike. I wrote Kilo Mike in 1998 because I was worried about how US Customs went about the business of inspecting planes coming into the United States, No, I wasn't all that concerned about airliners. The heat is up on trying to grab one of those and terrorists are basically chickens who sneak around and try to find the easy way to do things. With the inspections in place on airliners, that is no longer easy.
Kilo Mike was based on my overseas flying experience. When we came back from Africa et al, we had to clear customs in Bangor, MA. The agent sondered out (slow bored walk), asked us if we had anything to declare, and singed the form and sondered back. He never looked into our Learjet which was packed floor to roof with boxes. We could have had anything in there...maybe even a suitcase nuke. That was the idea behind Kilo Mike. I designed the cover--a jet flying behind two very tall square twin buildings. It was published in March 2001. It's on amazon and whatever. Go look. I know it is spooky.
Anyway, the hero of the book is a co-pilot named Donnie. I brought him back to Lincoln for The Rooming House. Unlike the premise of Kilo Mike, House doesn't deal with terrorism. It is more of a Psycho type book and I am going to finish it, dammit.
I put it away after I had some writer friends read it. One of my mentors didn't like it and gave specific reasons why. He is not a fiction guy and admitted that up front but he gave me some things to consider so I put it away for a few months and considered. Now it is time to get it done becuase I have two more I want to write before I drop dead.
Anyway, I thought I should give you advance warning because I may be chatting about book writing--kind of talking to myself don't ya know.
Buc is not going to edit it.
House, as I like to call it, is the sequel to The Last Flight of Kilo Mike. I wrote Kilo Mike in 1998 because I was worried about how US Customs went about the business of inspecting planes coming into the United States, No, I wasn't all that concerned about airliners. The heat is up on trying to grab one of those and terrorists are basically chickens who sneak around and try to find the easy way to do things. With the inspections in place on airliners, that is no longer easy.
Kilo Mike was based on my overseas flying experience. When we came back from Africa et al, we had to clear customs in Bangor, MA. The agent sondered out (slow bored walk), asked us if we had anything to declare, and singed the form and sondered back. He never looked into our Learjet which was packed floor to roof with boxes. We could have had anything in there...maybe even a suitcase nuke. That was the idea behind Kilo Mike. I designed the cover--a jet flying behind two very tall square twin buildings. It was published in March 2001. It's on amazon and whatever. Go look. I know it is spooky.
Anyway, the hero of the book is a co-pilot named Donnie. I brought him back to Lincoln for The Rooming House. Unlike the premise of Kilo Mike, House doesn't deal with terrorism. It is more of a Psycho type book and I am going to finish it, dammit.
I put it away after I had some writer friends read it. One of my mentors didn't like it and gave specific reasons why. He is not a fiction guy and admitted that up front but he gave me some things to consider so I put it away for a few months and considered. Now it is time to get it done becuase I have two more I want to write before I drop dead.
Anyway, I thought I should give you advance warning because I may be chatting about book writing--kind of talking to myself don't ya know.
Buc is not going to edit it.
Monday, November 15, 2004
Crunchy under foot
It's about that time. My mind is already drifting to the thought of snow. The palace (my camper) is pretty chilly and I am not too excited about the upcoming winter. It is only suppose to last three months like the rest of the seaons, but winter start early and stays to long. It really is a long event in Nebraska.
Thank God I am not Canadian. There is a good reason. The weatherperson on television does their best to create weather fear in you..."and there is a mass of Canadian cold air moving in our direction...expect temperatures to plunge." Gee, what about the Canadians? It's their air and they are in it all of the time. No wonder they say "eh" at the end of every sentence.
Buc is noticing a difference, too. He used to jump out the door as soon as I opened it in the morning. Now, he puts on the brakes, sniffs, looks into the no daylight savings time dark, and then back at me as if to say..."I can hold it until it warms up a little."
No deal dog-a-rue. Out you go and me in tow. He prances briskly and shakes his coat in the first couple of yards. Then he heads off the sidewalk for the grass and the leaves of my neighbor's yard. (He didn't rake so it is easier to mix nauture'call amid nature's fall.)
He looks at me fairly quickly once on the crunchy leaves and grass. Clearly, his paw pads are not in a defrost mode and he kind of dances over the grass before, well anyway.
Try walking barefoot on your yard at five in the morning on a Nebraska late fall morning. It's crunchy and cold underfoot.
But be careful where you step, please. :o)
Thank God I am not Canadian. There is a good reason. The weatherperson on television does their best to create weather fear in you..."and there is a mass of Canadian cold air moving in our direction...expect temperatures to plunge." Gee, what about the Canadians? It's their air and they are in it all of the time. No wonder they say "eh" at the end of every sentence.
Buc is noticing a difference, too. He used to jump out the door as soon as I opened it in the morning. Now, he puts on the brakes, sniffs, looks into the no daylight savings time dark, and then back at me as if to say..."I can hold it until it warms up a little."
No deal dog-a-rue. Out you go and me in tow. He prances briskly and shakes his coat in the first couple of yards. Then he heads off the sidewalk for the grass and the leaves of my neighbor's yard. (He didn't rake so it is easier to mix nauture'call amid nature's fall.)
He looks at me fairly quickly once on the crunchy leaves and grass. Clearly, his paw pads are not in a defrost mode and he kind of dances over the grass before, well anyway.
Try walking barefoot on your yard at five in the morning on a Nebraska late fall morning. It's crunchy and cold underfoot.
But be careful where you step, please. :o)
Friday, November 12, 2004
Punish when he pees?
I've got a problem. It's with my little, well not so little anymore, dog Buc. I have told you he is cute but I have got a real problem with him.
Since I work for myself, I try to take him along with me rather than box him up in his box at home. He gets to look out and see the world and has met a million dogs who somehow manage to drive pickups from the back. I get a bunch of funny looks from him when he is nose to nose with a big hound in a pickup box. I use to let him look through a half opened window. That was just enough for him to put his paws on the armrest and his head through the window and get a snootful of wind as his floppy black and white ears laid back like the wings of a stealth bomber. He loved it and caused quite a few great smiles from other drivers as we zoomed along the Lincoln streets. I was OK with that until he did an about face and went out the window butt first. Jesus, there I was on 48th Street in Lincoln hanging my dog! The hell with the bastards, I came to a stop and jumped out of the car and rescued my hanging dog. The window doesn't go that far down anymore and he knows full well the wrath of God from such an event.
Perhaps, that is what caused the problem I now have. Yes, I still take him along but when I come back to the car, he is so excited, he get tinkleitis. Just a squirt or two but none the less, this cannot be allowed to stand. I tried to scold him. He got down on the floor and tinkled more. I whacked him with a loosely rolled up newspaper. He tinkled on the door.
Then it dawned on me. What the hell am I doing punishing this little guy for his inability to control his glee on my return. That's a first! Imagine a creature that excited to see another creature to cause that creature to pee and the ohter creature to explode in rage?
The dog training manual isn't to helpful on the subject and it has been ages since I got a Fingerhut letter. What's a dog loving guy to do?
Should I punish when he pees? Or maybe, I should just clean it up, shake my finger at him, take him for a walk, and be grateful I have that good of friend.
Since I work for myself, I try to take him along with me rather than box him up in his box at home. He gets to look out and see the world and has met a million dogs who somehow manage to drive pickups from the back. I get a bunch of funny looks from him when he is nose to nose with a big hound in a pickup box. I use to let him look through a half opened window. That was just enough for him to put his paws on the armrest and his head through the window and get a snootful of wind as his floppy black and white ears laid back like the wings of a stealth bomber. He loved it and caused quite a few great smiles from other drivers as we zoomed along the Lincoln streets. I was OK with that until he did an about face and went out the window butt first. Jesus, there I was on 48th Street in Lincoln hanging my dog! The hell with the bastards, I came to a stop and jumped out of the car and rescued my hanging dog. The window doesn't go that far down anymore and he knows full well the wrath of God from such an event.
Perhaps, that is what caused the problem I now have. Yes, I still take him along but when I come back to the car, he is so excited, he get tinkleitis. Just a squirt or two but none the less, this cannot be allowed to stand. I tried to scold him. He got down on the floor and tinkled more. I whacked him with a loosely rolled up newspaper. He tinkled on the door.
Then it dawned on me. What the hell am I doing punishing this little guy for his inability to control his glee on my return. That's a first! Imagine a creature that excited to see another creature to cause that creature to pee and the ohter creature to explode in rage?
The dog training manual isn't to helpful on the subject and it has been ages since I got a Fingerhut letter. What's a dog loving guy to do?
Should I punish when he pees? Or maybe, I should just clean it up, shake my finger at him, take him for a walk, and be grateful I have that good of friend.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
College town coffee house
Let's face it. Lincoln, Nebraska is not a playpen for old goats. This is the home of four universities, the biggest of which is the home of the Huskers, The University of Nebraska.
And don't think for a moment that being in Lincoln means this is a lilly white university. After all, this is where Tommy Lee decided to sink his reality show roots, or root as it were.
The best part of Lincon is The Coffee House. Yes, I mean "The" not just any because there are more than one. The Mill is good. The one near Weslyan University is OK but kinda lame for my taste, but The Coffee House is the best.
The people who work here are just plain fun and it has atmosphere that you would expect in a big city. It looks worn. It has lame artwork from budding artists hanging on orange walls with old paneling going about elbow high. The tables match. The chairs don't. There is a white tile floor that is just uneven enough to make you rock on if you choose the wrong or right table. The conversation flows between far left to further except for an occasional, non-gloating Bush supporter like me.
You'll find a few foreign students who define countries like France and Italy as cool, including a few Arabs who have lost their Muslim ways and taken up cigarettes, coffee, and I suppose other things, too.
This may be the only place in Lincoln where a Husker football loss goes unnoticed. Imagine that. In Lincoln, Nebraka. Isn't that just the horror of "Whoa Nellies."
There is even a regular guy whose mind is just as toast as the skinny pieces of old toast they sell for you to drop into a cup of coffee, or nuked milk, or hot choc or tea. Do you do that to tea? I said I was a Bush supporter so I always give tea drinkers a second look and think Homeland Security should be watching them more carefully.
But this coffee house is really a study in t-shits. That is what a college town is all about you know. Life is lived in a t-shirt. It should be a fairly exciting t-shirt--something with a bar name on it or some travel destination that had to do with a sport or water.
The Coffee House will change soon. No, not the owner who zooms through here like that bird cartoon character who outwits the coyote; or Reyna who can open with the joint using just one eye at 0 dark thirty; or spiked-haired grumpy who always has a smile for even the hapless non-tippers; or Harper with his bushy head of hair who just drives the girls nuts. (I'm sure they see him as someone to mother or a smart guy who can help them pass something like chemistry or math where you use letters instead of numbers.) The Coffee House will change because the right won and passed a no smoking ban in all public places.
God knows that pisses 'em off. I just sit here in my gray Wal-Mart t-shirt and smile.
It's great when you have been almost everywhere and don't care if you impress anyone.
Give me a cup of something dark Reyna, and on Saturday morning, I'll buy a cinnamon roll, too,
Who are you looking at you French commie?
And don't think for a moment that being in Lincoln means this is a lilly white university. After all, this is where Tommy Lee decided to sink his reality show roots, or root as it were.
The best part of Lincon is The Coffee House. Yes, I mean "The" not just any because there are more than one. The Mill is good. The one near Weslyan University is OK but kinda lame for my taste, but The Coffee House is the best.
The people who work here are just plain fun and it has atmosphere that you would expect in a big city. It looks worn. It has lame artwork from budding artists hanging on orange walls with old paneling going about elbow high. The tables match. The chairs don't. There is a white tile floor that is just uneven enough to make you rock on if you choose the wrong or right table. The conversation flows between far left to further except for an occasional, non-gloating Bush supporter like me.
You'll find a few foreign students who define countries like France and Italy as cool, including a few Arabs who have lost their Muslim ways and taken up cigarettes, coffee, and I suppose other things, too.
This may be the only place in Lincoln where a Husker football loss goes unnoticed. Imagine that. In Lincoln, Nebraka. Isn't that just the horror of "Whoa Nellies."
There is even a regular guy whose mind is just as toast as the skinny pieces of old toast they sell for you to drop into a cup of coffee, or nuked milk, or hot choc or tea. Do you do that to tea? I said I was a Bush supporter so I always give tea drinkers a second look and think Homeland Security should be watching them more carefully.
But this coffee house is really a study in t-shits. That is what a college town is all about you know. Life is lived in a t-shirt. It should be a fairly exciting t-shirt--something with a bar name on it or some travel destination that had to do with a sport or water.
The Coffee House will change soon. No, not the owner who zooms through here like that bird cartoon character who outwits the coyote; or Reyna who can open with the joint using just one eye at 0 dark thirty; or spiked-haired grumpy who always has a smile for even the hapless non-tippers; or Harper with his bushy head of hair who just drives the girls nuts. (I'm sure they see him as someone to mother or a smart guy who can help them pass something like chemistry or math where you use letters instead of numbers.) The Coffee House will change because the right won and passed a no smoking ban in all public places.
God knows that pisses 'em off. I just sit here in my gray Wal-Mart t-shirt and smile.
It's great when you have been almost everywhere and don't care if you impress anyone.
Give me a cup of something dark Reyna, and on Saturday morning, I'll buy a cinnamon roll, too,
Who are you looking at you French commie?
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Indian summer
Well the bugs are dead. The pretty leaves are gone. There have been a couple of days of windshield scraping mornings. Buc is confused why his little paws are coming into morning cold, cruchy grass and why I am saying..."get it done"...only a few feet from the house. And today, it is here.
Indian summer. To you non-Nebraskans, that means a couple of days of almost perfect weather before things turn to crap and Nebraska becomes a tundra.
People start to think about "beach" and "sun" except for some to those folks who drank to much in their youth and lost all of those brain cells. They start thinking "ski." Their kids think "snowboard" but they are still kids and not concerned about earning what they need to earn to pay for their ski trip to snob land and my impending Social Security.
This had to be a scarey time for the Indians. I don't think the teepee "R" level was that high and they knew what was coming. Plus, if they hadn't bagged a good deer and got the hide tanned in time, there would be no long pants. Ponder that from the male point of view when the wind chill is about 60 below zero. Anybody who want to go to the top of the moutain for fun instead of a warm, sunny beach is a nuttier guy than me.
I wouldn't have made a very good indian. But their summers are neat. Enjoy it because the buffalo are turning their butts to the North and it won't be long before tundraitis is here. Yuck.
Indian summer. To you non-Nebraskans, that means a couple of days of almost perfect weather before things turn to crap and Nebraska becomes a tundra.
People start to think about "beach" and "sun" except for some to those folks who drank to much in their youth and lost all of those brain cells. They start thinking "ski." Their kids think "snowboard" but they are still kids and not concerned about earning what they need to earn to pay for their ski trip to snob land and my impending Social Security.
This had to be a scarey time for the Indians. I don't think the teepee "R" level was that high and they knew what was coming. Plus, if they hadn't bagged a good deer and got the hide tanned in time, there would be no long pants. Ponder that from the male point of view when the wind chill is about 60 below zero. Anybody who want to go to the top of the moutain for fun instead of a warm, sunny beach is a nuttier guy than me.
I wouldn't have made a very good indian. But their summers are neat. Enjoy it because the buffalo are turning their butts to the North and it won't be long before tundraitis is here. Yuck.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Invaders
Do you remember some of those invader from Mars films back in our kid days? (Granted, some of you are more kidn than me so there is some question of what I mean.)
Do a web search for Orson Welles and/or War of the Worlds. It was a dandy radio show back in the 1930's or so where the "movie" was created in your head instead of on a screen in front of you. And Orson created a dandy on a New York radio station for his Mercury Theater. Or was it Ford? He used H.G. Well's book, "The War of the Worlds" a story about men from Mars invading earth. Orson used brilliant talent and sound effects to create a spoof that the invasion was really happening. His show created a panic in New Jersey--worse than the rumor that President Bush was going to carry the state. Serious stuff.
Well I have been in kind of a panic myself lately. My computer, a new E-machine laptop with more of everything than I will ever need, has been loading a lot of blank browser pages. You type in an addy and nothing happens. Well my days at Best Buy as a computer selling whiz back in the 486 days, told me something was up and it was not good.
I went back to the trusty store and hunted up some of my old buds in the computer area. They are the ones that blink alot and have very glassy eyes and are too smart to spend their lives playing computer games, but a choice is a choice.
Sure enough,I had been invaded. And that is WITH a firewall installed and just to be sure, a complete factory restore of the software and Norton Anti-Virus software. Get the idea here?
They told me to download a little freebee software program called Ad-Aware. You can get it at download.com. I did. I ran it. And presto! Fifty-nine little invaders were on my computer taking notes for God knows who on where I was going and what I was doing. They have hijacked my computer!
Hijacked is not a friendly word for this old pilot to use. And if I could ever identify where these wonkettes lived and worked, I would nuke 'em. Well I would let Bucco piss on their hard drives anyway.
Try ad aware. It's good stuff from good people. Sic 'em little dog!
Do a web search for Orson Welles and/or War of the Worlds. It was a dandy radio show back in the 1930's or so where the "movie" was created in your head instead of on a screen in front of you. And Orson created a dandy on a New York radio station for his Mercury Theater. Or was it Ford? He used H.G. Well's book, "The War of the Worlds" a story about men from Mars invading earth. Orson used brilliant talent and sound effects to create a spoof that the invasion was really happening. His show created a panic in New Jersey--worse than the rumor that President Bush was going to carry the state. Serious stuff.
Well I have been in kind of a panic myself lately. My computer, a new E-machine laptop with more of everything than I will ever need, has been loading a lot of blank browser pages. You type in an addy and nothing happens. Well my days at Best Buy as a computer selling whiz back in the 486 days, told me something was up and it was not good.
I went back to the trusty store and hunted up some of my old buds in the computer area. They are the ones that blink alot and have very glassy eyes and are too smart to spend their lives playing computer games, but a choice is a choice.
Sure enough,I had been invaded. And that is WITH a firewall installed and just to be sure, a complete factory restore of the software and Norton Anti-Virus software. Get the idea here?
They told me to download a little freebee software program called Ad-Aware. You can get it at download.com. I did. I ran it. And presto! Fifty-nine little invaders were on my computer taking notes for God knows who on where I was going and what I was doing. They have hijacked my computer!
Hijacked is not a friendly word for this old pilot to use. And if I could ever identify where these wonkettes lived and worked, I would nuke 'em. Well I would let Bucco piss on their hard drives anyway.
Try ad aware. It's good stuff from good people. Sic 'em little dog!
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Dreading tomorrow morning
Spring ahead. Fall back. Buc doesn't understand. But he will understand his need to do his business and eat. The question will be, do those needs fall back,too.
I have been thinking about ways to get him adjusted to the idea that Daylight Saving Time is coming to an end tonight. (This will be his first one so I really should do something special--dog treats with whipped cream and party hats or something.)
I simply change a few clocks and that's it. My computer thinks for itself. But my dear puppy is a different matter. There is no way he will get this.
He is really good at spring ahead. Puppys spring at everything. Fall back however, is more like a slow shuffle and is usually only excuted under some form of threat such as a bigger dog or a menacing rolled up newspaper.
I could recognize his intelligence and take it from that point of view. Wagging tail equals clock, Four paws equal fifteen minutes each. Put them together and you have an intellectual solution. Drop a biscuit in there and attention is pretty good.
But come tomorrow morning, say 4:15 or so, Buc is going to think it is 5:15 and the whining and let me out barks will start. I can feel it in my tired bones.
No dog owner thought up Daylight Savings Time.
I have been thinking about ways to get him adjusted to the idea that Daylight Saving Time is coming to an end tonight. (This will be his first one so I really should do something special--dog treats with whipped cream and party hats or something.)
I simply change a few clocks and that's it. My computer thinks for itself. But my dear puppy is a different matter. There is no way he will get this.
He is really good at spring ahead. Puppys spring at everything. Fall back however, is more like a slow shuffle and is usually only excuted under some form of threat such as a bigger dog or a menacing rolled up newspaper.
I could recognize his intelligence and take it from that point of view. Wagging tail equals clock, Four paws equal fifteen minutes each. Put them together and you have an intellectual solution. Drop a biscuit in there and attention is pretty good.
But come tomorrow morning, say 4:15 or so, Buc is going to think it is 5:15 and the whining and let me out barks will start. I can feel it in my tired bones.
No dog owner thought up Daylight Savings Time.
Friday, October 29, 2004
Sneaky stuff
Have you ever noticed how many programs you need just to make Windows work right?
I just downloaded and installed shredder and another spyware detection program. Now, don't get me wrong, I am all for research and finding out how to better target potential customers, but this is downright sneaky. Who gave these people the right to come into a personal computer, leave a little dialer, and sneak out? Get your lame ass out there into the marketplace and do your research the old fashioned way. Ask people.
I am surprised that some lawyer hasn't sued these guys for everything they are worth plus 10%. Guess they are too busy with getting their piece of the post election spotlight.
You need a bunch of stuff if you are going to use Windows. Firewall. Virus protection. Spyware and adware dections. Shredders. New protections to take care of the new problems with Service Pack 2 for Windows XP. Thankfully, most of those programs are free or you can find a free alternative at one of the download sites like zdnet or twocows.
But that may be where the sneaky stuff comes from in the first place. A warning to the spybot and adware crowd: You better straighten up because the election will be over in February and some of these lawyers are going to need work.
I just downloaded and installed shredder and another spyware detection program. Now, don't get me wrong, I am all for research and finding out how to better target potential customers, but this is downright sneaky. Who gave these people the right to come into a personal computer, leave a little dialer, and sneak out? Get your lame ass out there into the marketplace and do your research the old fashioned way. Ask people.
I am surprised that some lawyer hasn't sued these guys for everything they are worth plus 10%. Guess they are too busy with getting their piece of the post election spotlight.
You need a bunch of stuff if you are going to use Windows. Firewall. Virus protection. Spyware and adware dections. Shredders. New protections to take care of the new problems with Service Pack 2 for Windows XP. Thankfully, most of those programs are free or you can find a free alternative at one of the download sites like zdnet or twocows.
But that may be where the sneaky stuff comes from in the first place. A warning to the spybot and adware crowd: You better straighten up because the election will be over in February and some of these lawyers are going to need work.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
The Abs Diet
Ok, I feel a little stupid. I'm late 50 something and I got suckered in. (They say advertising people are the easiest ones to sell.) I did Atkins and lost 15 pounds. Ten can home. I was pushing my pants again and I hate to shop for clothes. So....
There it was, The Abs Diet. It's a new program and book, complete with the nagging email newsletter and all. I found it on menshealth.com which is one of my favorite sites. There is a lot of good stuff there including receipes for smoothies and some other cool things. But their latest push was The Abs Diet book. I bit.
So now two workouts into this, I feel like the twenty year old still inside me is rolling on the floor laughing. "Ca'mon you old goat, it's just a crunch you can do it. You know a chiropractor. You know a shrink. Ca'mon just think how you will look when you go to the beach and play shuffleboard with the other old goats. LOL!!"
I'll show him. And I did. I pressed on. I am using heavy weights again--some up to 30 pounds even. My shoulder hurts, my butt hurts, my abs hurt. No pain. No gain. Even the dog turned his head while I was doing this. Whimper.
The reward was a Hallie Berry Smoothie. Some fruit. Some cooked oatmeal. Some protien powder, some 1% milk. Blend. Very pretty but it tasted like wallpaper paste. Yes, I know what wallpaper paste tastes like.
And I know how pain feels today.
Go ahead and laugh. I am going to be the stud at the old folks home. *sticks out tongue*
There it was, The Abs Diet. It's a new program and book, complete with the nagging email newsletter and all. I found it on menshealth.com which is one of my favorite sites. There is a lot of good stuff there including receipes for smoothies and some other cool things. But their latest push was The Abs Diet book. I bit.
So now two workouts into this, I feel like the twenty year old still inside me is rolling on the floor laughing. "Ca'mon you old goat, it's just a crunch you can do it. You know a chiropractor. You know a shrink. Ca'mon just think how you will look when you go to the beach and play shuffleboard with the other old goats. LOL!!"
I'll show him. And I did. I pressed on. I am using heavy weights again--some up to 30 pounds even. My shoulder hurts, my butt hurts, my abs hurt. No pain. No gain. Even the dog turned his head while I was doing this. Whimper.
The reward was a Hallie Berry Smoothie. Some fruit. Some cooked oatmeal. Some protien powder, some 1% milk. Blend. Very pretty but it tasted like wallpaper paste. Yes, I know what wallpaper paste tastes like.
And I know how pain feels today.
Go ahead and laugh. I am going to be the stud at the old folks home. *sticks out tongue*
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
The problem with the corn harvest
This is a beautiful time of year in fly-over country. It's the harvest. And as you fly across, maybe you have noticed the colors change from green to brown. The countryside looks like India during the drought part of the year. But in fly-over country, brown means only one thing.
Harvest.
The beans are already gone and the corn stands tall and ready for the combine to come along and pluck more of the stuff that the Farm Program is already buried in. Cows get excited as they see full wagons and big trucks of their favorite munchie going bye. (Beats watching empty cattle trucks coming back for sure!)
There is nothing quite like the sound of the rustle a dry field of cornstalks makes in the chill of the fall wind. The rustle talks to you. Go South now. The geese and birds listen. The people buy snowshovels and heavy coats and mittens and say they are ready for anything. Is that a genetic mutation or something?
But there is a problem in corn county. Cobs. The country is covered in cobs. Back in the days before indoor plumbing, they were close by the outhouse just in case company came and the Sears catalog was running a little thin.
But things have changed and there is no good use for cobs anymore. Farmers need some help or before long, the cob pile will be higher than the national debt.
Maybe Senator Hagel could help get some attention on the problem. He seems to always be around a television camera. But what could he really do? He has enough clout that there should be something. Let's see. Nebraska is on the way to Colorado. Colorado has mountains. Maybe he could get a bill passed that allows sneaky Mexicans to come to Nebraska on work visas to help build a giant cob mountain. Before long, the mountain would be covered in snow and Nebraska could pick off some of those skiers headed for Colorado. Heck, a mountain is a mountain and moguls made from potential Wheaties flake holders might have some marketing appeal. Just put it out there next to that tourist arch by Kearney. Tourists could find their way back from Kearney, go into that arch thing, and catch the cob lift on the other side. They could ski down the cob mountain and come out back at Kearney and be bused back to the car and be off to Colorado as soon as they could find their way back to the Interstate.
But some folks are going to fall and if you have ever had a nip of cob, you know they are not all that tasty. Maybe the Senator could work with the Senator from Hersey, Pennsylvania and get a bill passed to get all cobs covered in Hersey's chocolate. That would make them taste like an all-day Snickers bar.
But that's a problem, too. We don't want those cobs to last all day. We want them to go away.
Guess I just don't have a reasonable idea for what to do with the cobs. My ideas are just to corny.
Harvest.
The beans are already gone and the corn stands tall and ready for the combine to come along and pluck more of the stuff that the Farm Program is already buried in. Cows get excited as they see full wagons and big trucks of their favorite munchie going bye. (Beats watching empty cattle trucks coming back for sure!)
There is nothing quite like the sound of the rustle a dry field of cornstalks makes in the chill of the fall wind. The rustle talks to you. Go South now. The geese and birds listen. The people buy snowshovels and heavy coats and mittens and say they are ready for anything. Is that a genetic mutation or something?
But there is a problem in corn county. Cobs. The country is covered in cobs. Back in the days before indoor plumbing, they were close by the outhouse just in case company came and the Sears catalog was running a little thin.
But things have changed and there is no good use for cobs anymore. Farmers need some help or before long, the cob pile will be higher than the national debt.
Maybe Senator Hagel could help get some attention on the problem. He seems to always be around a television camera. But what could he really do? He has enough clout that there should be something. Let's see. Nebraska is on the way to Colorado. Colorado has mountains. Maybe he could get a bill passed that allows sneaky Mexicans to come to Nebraska on work visas to help build a giant cob mountain. Before long, the mountain would be covered in snow and Nebraska could pick off some of those skiers headed for Colorado. Heck, a mountain is a mountain and moguls made from potential Wheaties flake holders might have some marketing appeal. Just put it out there next to that tourist arch by Kearney. Tourists could find their way back from Kearney, go into that arch thing, and catch the cob lift on the other side. They could ski down the cob mountain and come out back at Kearney and be bused back to the car and be off to Colorado as soon as they could find their way back to the Interstate.
But some folks are going to fall and if you have ever had a nip of cob, you know they are not all that tasty. Maybe the Senator could work with the Senator from Hersey, Pennsylvania and get a bill passed to get all cobs covered in Hersey's chocolate. That would make them taste like an all-day Snickers bar.
But that's a problem, too. We don't want those cobs to last all day. We want them to go away.
Guess I just don't have a reasonable idea for what to do with the cobs. My ideas are just to corny.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Tail in my tennis shoe
There is nothing more excited than a puppy at five in the morning. Buc is ready to go and lets your know it with a few quick barks right about five. I stumble out of bed, take the blender thingie out of the fridge and start whipping the smoothie I created the night before and head for the box. (The box is where Buc does his overnights, time when I am not there, yada.) You can hear his tail whacking the side of the box and as I get within range of opening the little metal gate, his tail is knocking the poor box to death.
He bounds out of the box, his body being wagged by the out of control tail, and does a ears down dance around my feet until I pet him and he jumps to my knees for the first of a couple of thousand daily licks. The jumping starts as soon as I pick up the double dog dish and fill one side with water and the other side with Puppy Chow. How can they eat that stuff?
Normally, the dish is enough of a distraction to give me time to put my, jeans, socks, tennies, and jacket on and be ready for him once he cleans out the dish. With Wal-Mart plastic sack in one hand, and his chewed up leash in the other, he knows it is time to head for the neighbor's grass.
But not today. I was slow. He was fast. He got done eating just as I stood up to slide my foot into my tennis shoe. He was dancing around and I didn't see his tail innocently fall into the tennis shoe just as my foot was going down into it.
Poor guy. He howled and jumped away with my leg in tow. He bit at it. And I hopped after him, trying not to fall and kill us both. I reached to pull off the shoe. He pushed at my hand with his paw. We spun around. I hit the floor. The shoe came off. The tail came out. He ran for the safey of the box.
I would to if I lived with a common abuser like that. I am surprised the neighbors didn't call the cops with all of that racket.
There is an amazing tail to start your day, huh.
He bounds out of the box, his body being wagged by the out of control tail, and does a ears down dance around my feet until I pet him and he jumps to my knees for the first of a couple of thousand daily licks. The jumping starts as soon as I pick up the double dog dish and fill one side with water and the other side with Puppy Chow. How can they eat that stuff?
Normally, the dish is enough of a distraction to give me time to put my, jeans, socks, tennies, and jacket on and be ready for him once he cleans out the dish. With Wal-Mart plastic sack in one hand, and his chewed up leash in the other, he knows it is time to head for the neighbor's grass.
But not today. I was slow. He was fast. He got done eating just as I stood up to slide my foot into my tennis shoe. He was dancing around and I didn't see his tail innocently fall into the tennis shoe just as my foot was going down into it.
Poor guy. He howled and jumped away with my leg in tow. He bit at it. And I hopped after him, trying not to fall and kill us both. I reached to pull off the shoe. He pushed at my hand with his paw. We spun around. I hit the floor. The shoe came off. The tail came out. He ran for the safey of the box.
I would to if I lived with a common abuser like that. I am surprised the neighbors didn't call the cops with all of that racket.
There is an amazing tail to start your day, huh.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Former Husker Nut
I used to be pretty excited about Saturday by now. But I am not. I am not the Husker football nut that I used to be. No tickets. Almost 19 years without a drink. Heck, I don't even remember the entire routine of the band when it comes on the field. Once upon a time I knew all of that stuff. I knew all of the players and the players-to-be. I even knew who we could beat and who would be a challenge. See, I even said "we" in the last sentence. I had ownership and advance knowledge that even the players didn't have.
Now I don't know much of anything about football except what I see on TV. And frankly, I am not sure the TV guy is more into than I am.
When Nebraska won, I was fairly happy and cheerful all week. When they lost, I was grumpy all week. Now I am just OK.
Sports are no longer that important to me. Inside my old beating hear, I just don't get that excited about competitive sports. No "Go Big Red." No "D" or "O" talk. No bad feelings toward people in Kansas and Missouri. No fear of Oklahoma or Texas. No defending Osborn for keeping thugs in white helmets with red "N" on them. Nothing.
Hell, I even quit playing golf.
It's just more fun to take Buc for a walk.
Now I don't know much of anything about football except what I see on TV. And frankly, I am not sure the TV guy is more into than I am.
When Nebraska won, I was fairly happy and cheerful all week. When they lost, I was grumpy all week. Now I am just OK.
Sports are no longer that important to me. Inside my old beating hear, I just don't get that excited about competitive sports. No "Go Big Red." No "D" or "O" talk. No bad feelings toward people in Kansas and Missouri. No fear of Oklahoma or Texas. No defending Osborn for keeping thugs in white helmets with red "N" on them. Nothing.
Hell, I even quit playing golf.
It's just more fun to take Buc for a walk.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Social Security and fog
It's kind of foggy this morning. There is a little mist in the air so Buc was in a big hurry to do his business and put the door between Mother Nature and the warm bed I had recently vacated. (No, he doesn't get to sleep with me but he does get to lay on the bed while I get dressed.)
That's a much better alternative than having him jump around at my feet while I am trying to get dressed. Have you ever tried to put on a sock when your loving pooch decides to nip at the end of it? I even look like an old guy in the famous Coppertone ad when he decides that my undies need to be pulled down from behind. The dog has no sense of acceptable nudity.
Buc doesn't realize that I ain't no pup anymore. He doesn't understand why something like Social Security is becomming an issue with me. (A bone in every old dog house, if you will.) I have been paying that stupid tax since I was fifteen or around the time someone made the cheap ballpoint pen the latest thing. Pocket protectors soon followed but I wasn't big on those.
We all paid into this and anyone, old or young, knows changes have to be made to make sure those fifteen year old kids slaving away today get their share, too. Ain't gonna happen unless some changes are made and we all have to be willing to make them. Older retirement age or smaller benefits for people who want to retire younger. Means testing. What the heck, if you made it big, why not let your share of Social Security go to your grandchildren? And, maybe most of all, a constitutional amendment which bars the greedy Congress from spending the money on dumb things that create their dumb legacy.
Buc understands. He wants a warm bed of his own away from the drizzle of a foggy day. I agreed to provide that. All he has to do is be a good puppy and work hard at not pooping or peeing in the house; learning to sit and shake; and not bite anyone. If he does all of those things, the warm bed is a done deal. Pay attention government.
That's a much better alternative than having him jump around at my feet while I am trying to get dressed. Have you ever tried to put on a sock when your loving pooch decides to nip at the end of it? I even look like an old guy in the famous Coppertone ad when he decides that my undies need to be pulled down from behind. The dog has no sense of acceptable nudity.
Buc doesn't realize that I ain't no pup anymore. He doesn't understand why something like Social Security is becomming an issue with me. (A bone in every old dog house, if you will.) I have been paying that stupid tax since I was fifteen or around the time someone made the cheap ballpoint pen the latest thing. Pocket protectors soon followed but I wasn't big on those.
We all paid into this and anyone, old or young, knows changes have to be made to make sure those fifteen year old kids slaving away today get their share, too. Ain't gonna happen unless some changes are made and we all have to be willing to make them. Older retirement age or smaller benefits for people who want to retire younger. Means testing. What the heck, if you made it big, why not let your share of Social Security go to your grandchildren? And, maybe most of all, a constitutional amendment which bars the greedy Congress from spending the money on dumb things that create their dumb legacy.
Buc understands. He wants a warm bed of his own away from the drizzle of a foggy day. I agreed to provide that. All he has to do is be a good puppy and work hard at not pooping or peeing in the house; learning to sit and shake; and not bite anyone. If he does all of those things, the warm bed is a done deal. Pay attention government.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
I know more about the soldier
Well I got the email for the soldier "adoption" program sponsored by operationac.com It's a great program where you can adopt a soldier in Iraq or Afganistan and send them stuff they need; correspond with them; and hopefully brighten their day.
I applied and yesterday I learned who my soldier is. His name is Lt. Yarber. That's all I know other than his address which is..."any doctor or any nurse-31st Combat Support Hospital." :o(
He's hurt. Now I am really worried. I am sending off my first package today and hope to learn more soon.
God acts in strange ways I guess. While I thought I would end up sending stuff to a tank somewhere in Iraq, I am sending stuff to a hospital--a MASH unit if you will. We have a lot in common already. I have more stitches in me than a cheap Sears suit. Heck, I have had a few big hills to climb because of polio. Hopefully I can hold his pack as he starts his climb. I will let you know what I hear.
If you have a second, say a prayer for Lt. Yarber and all of the others in the 31st Combat Support Hospital. Doctors and nurses, too.
They are our very best and they are paying a great price. The least we can do is make sure they get good value for their investment.
God speed Lt. Yarber. God knows we are thinking about you.
I applied and yesterday I learned who my soldier is. His name is Lt. Yarber. That's all I know other than his address which is..."any doctor or any nurse-31st Combat Support Hospital." :o(
He's hurt. Now I am really worried. I am sending off my first package today and hope to learn more soon.
God acts in strange ways I guess. While I thought I would end up sending stuff to a tank somewhere in Iraq, I am sending stuff to a hospital--a MASH unit if you will. We have a lot in common already. I have more stitches in me than a cheap Sears suit. Heck, I have had a few big hills to climb because of polio. Hopefully I can hold his pack as he starts his climb. I will let you know what I hear.
If you have a second, say a prayer for Lt. Yarber and all of the others in the 31st Combat Support Hospital. Doctors and nurses, too.
They are our very best and they are paying a great price. The least we can do is make sure they get good value for their investment.
God speed Lt. Yarber. God knows we are thinking about you.
Monday, October 18, 2004
Nebraska lives up to it
Nebraska...the good life.
Well it is in the fall, that's for sure. It's really nice this time of year. The leaves are changing and some of the neighborhood trees are really something to see. Buc and I walk twice a day so I am noticing a little more. He discovered squirrels two days ago. Usually, they bound back and fouth across the trail and he pays no mind. But Saturday, he stopped, his ears perked up, and then he was off--a hung blast of speed that lasted for almost four of the six feet of the remaining leash. The walk tuned into a bunch of sniffs, a poop, and several jolts.
Finally, with fenced yards on both sides of the trail, I thought it was time for him to learn how slow he was and how quick and sneaky the squirrel is. After all, they can climb a tree. One popped up on the trail and I let go of the leash. Buc bolted. The squirrel darted. Buc darted.
The squirrel turned on the juice. Buc sped up. The squirrel angle for the nearest tree. Buc closed the gap. The squirrel went up the tree. Buc circled and barked. The squirrel chuckled.
I told Buc to come so we couldl continue our walk.
He decided to change rolls and I spent ten minutes chasing him and the free flying leash.
Ain't fall in Nebraska great?
Well it is in the fall, that's for sure. It's really nice this time of year. The leaves are changing and some of the neighborhood trees are really something to see. Buc and I walk twice a day so I am noticing a little more. He discovered squirrels two days ago. Usually, they bound back and fouth across the trail and he pays no mind. But Saturday, he stopped, his ears perked up, and then he was off--a hung blast of speed that lasted for almost four of the six feet of the remaining leash. The walk tuned into a bunch of sniffs, a poop, and several jolts.
Finally, with fenced yards on both sides of the trail, I thought it was time for him to learn how slow he was and how quick and sneaky the squirrel is. After all, they can climb a tree. One popped up on the trail and I let go of the leash. Buc bolted. The squirrel darted. Buc darted.
The squirrel turned on the juice. Buc sped up. The squirrel angle for the nearest tree. Buc closed the gap. The squirrel went up the tree. Buc circled and barked. The squirrel chuckled.
I told Buc to come so we couldl continue our walk.
He decided to change rolls and I spent ten minutes chasing him and the free flying leash.
Ain't fall in Nebraska great?
Friday, October 15, 2004
I've got a cold :o(
I hate this time of year. I don't mean the fall. It's beautiful. I mean the cold season. Maybe I should have said the cold and flu season but I am pretty sure someone has copywrited that. Sorry. Sue me.
Since my house is just me and the little pooch, there isn't much sympathy for my cold. In fact, when I sneezed the other day, pooch jumped out of his black and white fur. Now he just backs off a little, raises his floppy ears, and cocks his head to the left. It's not dog language for "gee, I am so sorry you don't feel well" but is more like "what the hell was that explosion?" He immediatly returns to normal and wonders why I am sitting there, doing nothing, when there are plenty of Milk Bones within arms reach.
Hopefully this will be over soon. If it isn't, I will be out of Milk Bones and will have a puppy who doesn't think I don't love him any more. That would be awful, huh.
Cheers! *drinks orange juice, pets puppy on the head and gives him a Milk Bone*
Since my house is just me and the little pooch, there isn't much sympathy for my cold. In fact, when I sneezed the other day, pooch jumped out of his black and white fur. Now he just backs off a little, raises his floppy ears, and cocks his head to the left. It's not dog language for "gee, I am so sorry you don't feel well" but is more like "what the hell was that explosion?" He immediatly returns to normal and wonders why I am sitting there, doing nothing, when there are plenty of Milk Bones within arms reach.
Hopefully this will be over soon. If it isn't, I will be out of Milk Bones and will have a puppy who doesn't think I don't love him any more. That would be awful, huh.
Cheers! *drinks orange juice, pets puppy on the head and gives him a Milk Bone*
Thursday, October 14, 2004
A very cool thing
I heard about this on the radio yesterday. It was an interview with a mom who created a way to get air conditioners to our troops in the Afgan and Iraq combat zones. She is now working on getting little heaters over there. I can understand both. Politics aside, those would be tough conditions and most of the soldiers are kids. Let's face it, a eighteen year old is still a kid even if he or she is carrying a gun. The lady expanded her site to include a way to "adopt" a soldier or a Marine but she was having trouble finding people willing to adopt them.
Trouble? Over my dead PR trained body. Christmas is coming and I can't think of a better present to myself than to make sure a kid in the war zone has a heater, some good boots, plenty of toothbrushes and toothpaste, bags of Snickers and Hersey bars, and some books to read. Can you just imagine how it would be to live in a dirty, make that filthy, uniform for days on end? Can you imagine how great it would be to get some new socks and read a fairly current issue of the Atlantic Monthly or Sports Illustrated, some soap and maybe some face cream for that sunburn? Can you feel a smile for a kid, carrying a gun, doing good work, and scared to death that today may be his day?
I've got time to adopt him. I hope you do, too.
http://www.operationac.com
Tell her America sent you.
Trouble? Over my dead PR trained body. Christmas is coming and I can't think of a better present to myself than to make sure a kid in the war zone has a heater, some good boots, plenty of toothbrushes and toothpaste, bags of Snickers and Hersey bars, and some books to read. Can you just imagine how it would be to live in a dirty, make that filthy, uniform for days on end? Can you imagine how great it would be to get some new socks and read a fairly current issue of the Atlantic Monthly or Sports Illustrated, some soap and maybe some face cream for that sunburn? Can you feel a smile for a kid, carrying a gun, doing good work, and scared to death that today may be his day?
I've got time to adopt him. I hope you do, too.
http://www.operationac.com
Tell her America sent you.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Early morning and little dogs
I have always wanted a dog. I miss Penny, the family Scottie, and she died way back in the 1960's. So, it was time for me to share my golden years with a dog. I have been going to the pound for visits but only one dog caught my eye. By the time I decided to adopt him, he was gone. That was a good thing since the needle or whatever they do, is the other option. I went out again about a month ago and there he was. He's half pointer and half German shepard and he is cute as can be-black with white markings on his feet and a white tip of the tail. We have been having a great time together.
He knows how to sit, shake, and lay down already. Pretty cool, huh. Plus, the young college girls out for their runs just can resist stopping to play with him and he gladly does so. (Hint: If you are a young guy looking to meet pretty young ladies, get a puppy and head for the nearest bike path!)
He is also house broken. I was kind of worried about that but the Humane Society told me to box train him--that means get a dog carrier and put him in it at night and let him out and OUTSIDE first thing in the morning. If you leave, same thing. He treats the box as his turf and won't pee or worse in it. He'll wait until he can get outside but make sure that wait is in seconds, not minutes. It's easy!
Just one word of caution. Be careful when you come out of the shower. They are still too young to know the difference between a hot dog and well, use your imagination.
He knows how to sit, shake, and lay down already. Pretty cool, huh. Plus, the young college girls out for their runs just can resist stopping to play with him and he gladly does so. (Hint: If you are a young guy looking to meet pretty young ladies, get a puppy and head for the nearest bike path!)
He is also house broken. I was kind of worried about that but the Humane Society told me to box train him--that means get a dog carrier and put him in it at night and let him out and OUTSIDE first thing in the morning. If you leave, same thing. He treats the box as his turf and won't pee or worse in it. He'll wait until he can get outside but make sure that wait is in seconds, not minutes. It's easy!
Just one word of caution. Be careful when you come out of the shower. They are still too young to know the difference between a hot dog and well, use your imagination.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
So who is Tommy Lee?
So Tommy Lee is attending classes at Nebraska. Guess he is even trying out for the famed Cornhusker Marching Band. I have a qestion...Who the hell is Tommy Lee and why so much fuss about him?
I realize that question suggests some possibility of terminal old goatism so I went to the trusty net and looked "Dude Lee" up. Lots of tats. Lots of attitude. He'll fit in nicely, maybe.
If he makes the band, the Cornhusker marching one, he could have a lot of fun. Those kids always seem to be having a lot of fun. Lincoln comes alive on football Saturday and the band is the pacemaker. It could be an interesting gig (note the music lingo) for Mr. Lee and the kids in the band. Pearlman says this is good PR for NU. I agree. Every camera in the stadium will be pointed at him in his slick red and white uniform...if he gets in.
After all, the Nebraska drum line is not the best place for an aging rocker.
I realize that question suggests some possibility of terminal old goatism so I went to the trusty net and looked "Dude Lee" up. Lots of tats. Lots of attitude. He'll fit in nicely, maybe.
If he makes the band, the Cornhusker marching one, he could have a lot of fun. Those kids always seem to be having a lot of fun. Lincoln comes alive on football Saturday and the band is the pacemaker. It could be an interesting gig (note the music lingo) for Mr. Lee and the kids in the band. Pearlman says this is good PR for NU. I agree. Every camera in the stadium will be pointed at him in his slick red and white uniform...if he gets in.
After all, the Nebraska drum line is not the best place for an aging rocker.
Monday, October 11, 2004
Companies that piss me off
I spent most of my life, so far at least, helping small business owners become big business owners. That's fun to do and fun to watch until the "big" thing happens.
Take the miracle idea of Microsoft. No, it wasn't the software. It was the license agreement. Don't let anyone kid you, Microsoft did what it did with the license agreement. Do you see another choice that lets you have access to a windows format that isn't associated with the "I agree" choice? Plus, they have their ass protected with fine print which protects them from a deserved sock in the nose if their licensed software screws up your computer. My computer is a brand new E-machine laptop widebody. Nifty. But Windows XP SP2 crashed it but good.
That's not Microsoft's fault. Check the fine print. XP is the Ford Pinto of the computer world. It has more faults than a teenage girl with acne. And the fix is the biggest fault of all.
I was going to call them but my AT&T cellphone got shut off because I didn't pay the 300% data overcharge on time.
That's OK, I have a long memory and my mother said I could carry a grudge into the next two generations.
Just think what Microsoft could have been if Gates had finished college.
Take the miracle idea of Microsoft. No, it wasn't the software. It was the license agreement. Don't let anyone kid you, Microsoft did what it did with the license agreement. Do you see another choice that lets you have access to a windows format that isn't associated with the "I agree" choice? Plus, they have their ass protected with fine print which protects them from a deserved sock in the nose if their licensed software screws up your computer. My computer is a brand new E-machine laptop widebody. Nifty. But Windows XP SP2 crashed it but good.
That's not Microsoft's fault. Check the fine print. XP is the Ford Pinto of the computer world. It has more faults than a teenage girl with acne. And the fix is the biggest fault of all.
I was going to call them but my AT&T cellphone got shut off because I didn't pay the 300% data overcharge on time.
That's OK, I have a long memory and my mother said I could carry a grudge into the next two generations.
Just think what Microsoft could have been if Gates had finished college.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
70-10
That was the score of the Nebraska-Texas Tech game last night. Nebraska had 10. I wrote a sports column for a while and met a few former Huskers and know the grumblimg has to be major this morning. You just don't lose a football game in Nebraska...let alone lose one by 60 points. And in my mind, that's the real problem.
My interviews with former players--some All-Americans--revealed some interesting ideas. These former players are not nearly as football nuts as the local plumber. The players played. The plumber played high school ball and in most cases, he played up to plumber standards. But those are the screaming voices you hear on the radio after the game. They know what to do and how to do it even though they never did it. The former players all say the same thing--it's a game, chill. Sure, theyhated to lose but losses happen.
Football is an interesting game but it isn't life. If it was, we would be at war in Nebraska this morning with anything that moved.
Regroup Huskers. You have a lot of life ahead.
That was the score of the Nebraska-Texas Tech game last night. Nebraska had 10. I wrote a sports column for a while and met a few former Huskers and know the grumblimg has to be major this morning. You just don't lose a football game in Nebraska...let alone lose one by 60 points. And in my mind, that's the real problem.
My interviews with former players--some All-Americans--revealed some interesting ideas. These former players are not nearly as football nuts as the local plumber. The players played. The plumber played high school ball and in most cases, he played up to plumber standards. But those are the screaming voices you hear on the radio after the game. They know what to do and how to do it even though they never did it. The former players all say the same thing--it's a game, chill. Sure, theyhated to lose but losses happen.
Football is an interesting game but it isn't life. If it was, we would be at war in Nebraska this morning with anything that moved.
Regroup Huskers. You have a lot of life ahead.
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Tennies up
Tennies up is pilot talk. The term refers to the command a captain makes to his copilot to raise the landing gear right after takeoff. You are in the air and on the way to your adventure. So it is with my life and so it is with this blog.
Reyna sold me a piece of pecan pie with chocolate in it this morning. The roll guy hasn't shown up and it is Saturday and I expected a nice, fresh, slightly microwaved cinnamin roll with butter. No roll guy. No roll. So Reyna switched me to pie. The girl should sell used cars instead of making all of these different coffee treats at the Coffee House in Lincoln. Nice hat, Reyna.
Buc is tearing up the house by now. He is my new puppy--half pointer and half German Shepard. That means energy and big feet. He let out his morning "get your ass outta bed so I can go outside and pee" bark at about 5:10. Hence, time on my hands at the Coffee House even though I am a sucker for coffee making ladies with a knack for selling used cars, or the last piece of pie.
I have done lotsa (like that computer lingo, huh) things with my life. Some were successful and some were not but all were fun. I was a swash buckling pilot in my younger days. Is that allowed? I created a couple of advertising agencies. Pretty preppy. Wrote a couple of books--A Visit to Hartington and The Last Flight of Kilo Mike and a newspaper column about former Nebraska football players and what they learned from football and life. So, I am a puppy owning skinny Hemingway who is a pilot instead of an Old Man in the Nebraska Sea.
Now it is time to go home and brush my teeth so the after effects of pecan pie with chocolate stop reminding me that I need to spend another hundred bucks to see my dentist.
Reyna sold me a piece of pecan pie with chocolate in it this morning. The roll guy hasn't shown up and it is Saturday and I expected a nice, fresh, slightly microwaved cinnamin roll with butter. No roll guy. No roll. So Reyna switched me to pie. The girl should sell used cars instead of making all of these different coffee treats at the Coffee House in Lincoln. Nice hat, Reyna.
Buc is tearing up the house by now. He is my new puppy--half pointer and half German Shepard. That means energy and big feet. He let out his morning "get your ass outta bed so I can go outside and pee" bark at about 5:10. Hence, time on my hands at the Coffee House even though I am a sucker for coffee making ladies with a knack for selling used cars, or the last piece of pie.
I have done lotsa (like that computer lingo, huh) things with my life. Some were successful and some were not but all were fun. I was a swash buckling pilot in my younger days. Is that allowed? I created a couple of advertising agencies. Pretty preppy. Wrote a couple of books--A Visit to Hartington and The Last Flight of Kilo Mike and a newspaper column about former Nebraska football players and what they learned from football and life. So, I am a puppy owning skinny Hemingway who is a pilot instead of an Old Man in the Nebraska Sea.
Now it is time to go home and brush my teeth so the after effects of pecan pie with chocolate stop reminding me that I need to spend another hundred bucks to see my dentist.
See you tomorrow. Where is the spell checker on this thing?
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