Christmas Carol big as a barrel, Sandy Claws- a mean fat lobster to make you pause and Rudolph the Red Nose Skunk, always drunk. Some Christmas symbols from an alternate universe.
The biggest birthday party on the planet is upon us from the Prince of Peace in a time of war. The contrasts and contradictions of Christmas are many. When you’re a child, ‘tis the most exciting time of the year with the twin titans- the baby Jesus and Santa Clause- ruling and pulling from opposite sides of the same coin.
There’s the sacred church service and religious celebrations when you’re supposed to sit silently and respectfully in reverence. Then there’s Santa Claus coming down your chimney with your North Pole presents. You’re so excited you can’t sleep and have been bouncing off the walls for weeks.
There’s the star of Bethlehem blazing the way to the manger and the TV weathermen tracking Santa’s sleigh on radar to right under your Christmas tree. There are the three gifts of the Wise Men and the millions of gifts of the Wal-Marts. There’s the Savior of Christianity and the savior of capitalism, where a good or bad Christmas selling season can make or break a corporation.
Without Christmas there would be no Christianity and without Christmas there would be no capitalism, as we know it, for big sales at the end of the year to make the profits. Without it, the stores would have to up the ante on Valentine’s Day and try to make it the biggest buying holiday.
Christmas is the season of love and family, but it’s also the season when the loss of loved ones can make it the worst time of the year for some. We tend to mark our lives in Christmases for better or worse.
Christmas magnifies and wraps our souls in wonderful warmth on a cold December day with family, friends and food. Or it can cast long shadows from the past and dim the light with our losses from divorce, divisions, distance or death.
Christmas is a return to home and family that you may not have seen since the last Christmas reunion. Like a magnet, it pulls the filings of a family together to its center and makes it whole again, if only briefly and brightly.
Christmas can be a time of joy and love or a trial of controlling and cruelty. Families are complex entities with an illogic, all their own, for spreading the most love or the most pain possible, sometimes at the same time.
Christmas gives renewed meaning to passive/aggressive, healing and humiliation, hugging and hatred. It’s the hot red shoe in a black and white world. It’s the pepperoni on the plain pizza. It’s the twinkling stars at night and the burnt out bulbs on the Christmas tree lights.
You start getting ready for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving, but somehow you are never really ready by December 25th. There is still so much to do that you can never do. There are cookies and Wookies, Star Wars’ toys and a joyful noise, hams and yams, fruit pies and bad ties, colorful lights and family fights, phone calls to make and biscuits to bake.
Christmas is a time to try to forget old slights and to remember all the soldiers fighting overseas whose main fear, after being wounded, maimed or killed, is to be forgotten in the crush and rush of Christmas, when they should be home for the holidays.
Then it’s all over for another year and you sit there staring at a frigid January with the credit card bill blues. But until then, Merry Christmas to each and everyone from us to you.
Sunday, December 13
Thursday, November 19
TEAMBUILDING TRAINING AND FUNERALS
We were in a traffic jam. You know the kind where, when it ends, there was no real reason why it should have been. There was no construction, cops or a wreck to tie us up. To destructively pass the time, we complained about the boss and the petty pointless bickering at work as we slowly drove to our teambuilding training.
Teambuilding is a way of overcoming the hostility between co-workers by building a winning team with balls, Styrofoam cups and games. At least, that’s the way it was taught.
The first game was to throw a ball all over the room to people, who then had to stand and say what they hoped to get out of the training. When my good buddy Lance tossed me the ball I baldly declared “The heck with team building, I want more hair!”
Next we were given a Styrofoam cup to invent different things to do with it. I thought of using it for drug tests or, after biting the bottom off, it would make an excellent mini megaphone. But by my turn these two were taken, so I had to feebly come up with a Styrofoam cup eating contest.
We were told that Douglas McGregor in 1960 first devised a teambuilding concept and presented it to General Motors, who turned it down. He then went to Japan where it was accepted and changed their bust economy to boom. So that today Ford and GM are facing bankruptcy, while Americans are buying new Toyotas.
The big American teambuilding success story presented was the Harley Davidson motorcycle company. Harleys initially were known for breaking down often, so their uneasy riders carried wrenches to fix them. In fact, the Harley wave to fellow riders was elbow bent with hand up high, like they were holding a wrench.
Harley’s new owners took a teambuilding approach. When a problem popped up on the assembly line, they shut it down to solve it in brain storming sessions, so they weren’t all revved up with no place to go. This was unheard of at the time, because traditionally an assembly line was never shut down arbitrarily in America. But the quality went up and the wrenches went away.
Finally, we had to tell an inspiring story about some team we’d been on once. I talked about the Sneaker Squeakers, our old last place in D league intramural college basketball team.
We couldn’t dribble, shoot or score and only won one game by forfeit. In fact, one teammate’s sole goal was to foul out, but he couldn’t keep up and was always in the wrong court where the ball wasn’t. But we were so bad and funny that eventually we gained a following, which included girls. So we considered our team a success with the qualities of incompetence and fun.
The day after the training I took the morning off at work to go to Harry’s funeral, my best friend’s father. When I saw Harry lying there in his bright red plaid shirt looking like a large wax dummy I started to sob like some brokenhearted cheerleader. Everyone turned to look at me, since I was the only one crying. I’m a wreck at funerals.
The presiding preacher pumped the family for stories about Harry to tell, as he hadn’t known him. Then he gave a sermon about how if you go to church you’d go to heaven. I never knew of Harry going to church, but the minister assured us he was in a better place. Harry was a WWII vet and got a 21 gun salute send off, then disappeared from the face of the earth forever.
A funeral is the pause that depresses and makes puny are weekly worries. As we rush to our own funerals some day, the years fly by and the days blur like eye drops. I returned to work where a wrong look or word could create life long enemies, where hissy fits exploded like sneezes in the cold and flu season and where scheme building flourished. Back to the battlefield- INCOMING!
Rest in peace. See ya later, Harry.
Teambuilding is a way of overcoming the hostility between co-workers by building a winning team with balls, Styrofoam cups and games. At least, that’s the way it was taught.
The first game was to throw a ball all over the room to people, who then had to stand and say what they hoped to get out of the training. When my good buddy Lance tossed me the ball I baldly declared “The heck with team building, I want more hair!”
Next we were given a Styrofoam cup to invent different things to do with it. I thought of using it for drug tests or, after biting the bottom off, it would make an excellent mini megaphone. But by my turn these two were taken, so I had to feebly come up with a Styrofoam cup eating contest.
We were told that Douglas McGregor in 1960 first devised a teambuilding concept and presented it to General Motors, who turned it down. He then went to Japan where it was accepted and changed their bust economy to boom. So that today Ford and GM are facing bankruptcy, while Americans are buying new Toyotas.
The big American teambuilding success story presented was the Harley Davidson motorcycle company. Harleys initially were known for breaking down often, so their uneasy riders carried wrenches to fix them. In fact, the Harley wave to fellow riders was elbow bent with hand up high, like they were holding a wrench.
Harley’s new owners took a teambuilding approach. When a problem popped up on the assembly line, they shut it down to solve it in brain storming sessions, so they weren’t all revved up with no place to go. This was unheard of at the time, because traditionally an assembly line was never shut down arbitrarily in America. But the quality went up and the wrenches went away.
Finally, we had to tell an inspiring story about some team we’d been on once. I talked about the Sneaker Squeakers, our old last place in D league intramural college basketball team.
We couldn’t dribble, shoot or score and only won one game by forfeit. In fact, one teammate’s sole goal was to foul out, but he couldn’t keep up and was always in the wrong court where the ball wasn’t. But we were so bad and funny that eventually we gained a following, which included girls. So we considered our team a success with the qualities of incompetence and fun.
The day after the training I took the morning off at work to go to Harry’s funeral, my best friend’s father. When I saw Harry lying there in his bright red plaid shirt looking like a large wax dummy I started to sob like some brokenhearted cheerleader. Everyone turned to look at me, since I was the only one crying. I’m a wreck at funerals.
The presiding preacher pumped the family for stories about Harry to tell, as he hadn’t known him. Then he gave a sermon about how if you go to church you’d go to heaven. I never knew of Harry going to church, but the minister assured us he was in a better place. Harry was a WWII vet and got a 21 gun salute send off, then disappeared from the face of the earth forever.
A funeral is the pause that depresses and makes puny are weekly worries. As we rush to our own funerals some day, the years fly by and the days blur like eye drops. I returned to work where a wrong look or word could create life long enemies, where hissy fits exploded like sneezes in the cold and flu season and where scheme building flourished. Back to the battlefield- INCOMING!
Rest in peace. See ya later, Harry.
Sunday, October 18
CHESS MONSTER TAUNTS
CHESS MONSTER AT UNION SQUARE PARK, MANHATTAN- MOVIE “THE PASSER-BYE” TRYING TO GET A TRAUMATISED NEW YORKER TO PLAY CHESS WITH ME, THE HOMELESS GUY, WITH TAUNTS SUCH AS….
This is like fuckin’ a frigid women. I’m making all the moves here, Boris Spassky!
Hey Bobby Fisher, pigeons are gonna start sittin’ and shittin’ on your head, if you don’t start movin’ soon.
I’m going to hell eventually. Don’t make me late.
I’ve got garbage cans to go thru before I sleep. I’m fighting rats for my meals and the dinner rush is coming up.
I’d like to play a game of chess before global warming makes us all extinct.
Somebody set this guy on fire to make him move.
This is like a whole month in Bangkok, Bobby Fisher. We’re here to play chess, not make hemorrhoids!
Pretend this board’s a naked blond and make a move, Boris Spassky.
Hey, they’re bombing the Bowery; make a move before they start strafing Union Square.
My mother moved more at her funeral, than this guy. AND I had more fun.
I’m here to play chess, not think deep thoughts about stem cell research.
Hey, any signs of life over there, or are the brain waves flat lining.
This game of chess is like trying to find life on Mars, one water molecule at a time.
Hey Duffy Square, I got tickets to Mama Mia next decade, I don’t wanna be late.
Hey, I ain’t got all day, Bobby Fisher. I’m gotta panhandle the theater crowd.
Hey Ted Bundy, you’re killin’ me here. Pretend I’m a cute coed and make a move already.
Hey Betty Davis eyes, look at me! It’s your move, moron.
Boris Spassky, it’s your move.
Hey Bobby fuckin’ Fisher, it’s your move.
Hey Day of the Living Dead, it’s your move, motherfucker.
Grand Chess Master Flash, bust a move already.
This is like fuckin’ a frigid women. I’m making all the moves here, Boris Spassky!
Hey Bobby Fisher, pigeons are gonna start sittin’ and shittin’ on your head, if you don’t start movin’ soon.
I’m going to hell eventually. Don’t make me late.
I’ve got garbage cans to go thru before I sleep. I’m fighting rats for my meals and the dinner rush is coming up.
I’d like to play a game of chess before global warming makes us all extinct.
Somebody set this guy on fire to make him move.
This is like a whole month in Bangkok, Bobby Fisher. We’re here to play chess, not make hemorrhoids!
Pretend this board’s a naked blond and make a move, Boris Spassky.
Hey, they’re bombing the Bowery; make a move before they start strafing Union Square.
My mother moved more at her funeral, than this guy. AND I had more fun.
I’m here to play chess, not think deep thoughts about stem cell research.
Hey, any signs of life over there, or are the brain waves flat lining.
This game of chess is like trying to find life on Mars, one water molecule at a time.
Hey Duffy Square, I got tickets to Mama Mia next decade, I don’t wanna be late.
Hey, I ain’t got all day, Bobby Fisher. I’m gotta panhandle the theater crowd.
Hey Ted Bundy, you’re killin’ me here. Pretend I’m a cute coed and make a move already.
Hey Betty Davis eyes, look at me! It’s your move, moron.
Boris Spassky, it’s your move.
Hey Bobby fuckin’ Fisher, it’s your move.
Hey Day of the Living Dead, it’s your move, motherfucker.
Grand Chess Master Flash, bust a move already.
Friday, September 25
THE FIRST REALITY TV COMMERCIAL
(sfx: Some kind of jingle)
ANNCR: Since reality TV shows continue to be popular and may become even more so. Here is the inevitable first reality TV commercial.
THE VOICE: Thank you for calling Verizon. Are you calling about phone number 717-242-9954?
ROD: Yes.
THE VOICE: I did not understand. Are you calling about 717-242-9954?
ROD: Yes I am, doll face.
THE VOICE: 718-954-7694?
ROD: (Sternly) No, 717-242-9954.
THE VOICE: 749-345-9876?
ROD: (Getting angry) No, you got it right before.
THE VOICE: 444-444-4444?
ROD: (Exasperated) No, not all fours. You got it right the last time.
THE VOICE: 999-999-9999?
ROD: (Yelling) No, 717-242-9954. 717-242-9954.
THE VOICE: 717-242-9954?
ROD: (Relieved) Yes, sweet Jesus! Yes.
THE VOICE: OK, to get you to the right place, please indicate. Are you calling about billing and payments, tech support, adding new products or other?
ROD: Tech support.
THE VOICE: Billing and payment?
ROD: What? No, tech support.
THE VOICE: Adding new products?
ROD: (Yelling now) Tech support!! Tech support!!
THE VOICE: Jock support?
ROD: Wha? Are you kidding me?
THE VOICE: I don’t understand the question.
ROD: (Screaming) TECH SUPPORT!! TECH SUPPORT!
THE VOICE: You don’t have to shout, sir.
ROD: But I did have to. (Taken aback) Say, are you a real person?
THE VOICE: OK, tech support. Do you need help with DSL, telephone service or neither?
ROD: DSL
THE VOICE: Come again.
ROD: DSL
THE VOICE: Telephone service?
ROD: (Shouting again) DSL. DSL!
THE VOICE: Go to hell?
ROD: What did you say, you…..
THE VOICE: You want connected to telephone service.
ROD: (Yelling ) NO, NO NO!! I want to talk to a real person. Customer service! Customer service!
THE VOICE: I’m connecting you to telephone service.
ROD: (Out of control) CUSTOMER SERVICE! CUSTOMER SERVICE! CUSTOMER SERVICE!
THE VOICE: If this is not right, please press 5 to return to the main menu.
ROD: (Totally out of control now screaming) It’s not right! It hasn’t been right since I made the damn call. You ass wipe stains on civilization! You rectum robots! You dickless sons of whores! You sodomite salad shooters !
ANNCR: Spend the day getting to know us better. We’re here to help you with all your communication needs, both mass communications and personal. Put Verizon on your horizon.
ROD: (Still screaming) You goat ball lickers! You turd farmers! YOU PUSSY FARTING BASTARDS!!
ANNCR: Since reality TV shows continue to be popular and may become even more so. Here is the inevitable first reality TV commercial.
THE VOICE: Thank you for calling Verizon. Are you calling about phone number 717-242-9954?
ROD: Yes.
THE VOICE: I did not understand. Are you calling about 717-242-9954?
ROD: Yes I am, doll face.
THE VOICE: 718-954-7694?
ROD: (Sternly) No, 717-242-9954.
THE VOICE: 749-345-9876?
ROD: (Getting angry) No, you got it right before.
THE VOICE: 444-444-4444?
ROD: (Exasperated) No, not all fours. You got it right the last time.
THE VOICE: 999-999-9999?
ROD: (Yelling) No, 717-242-9954. 717-242-9954.
THE VOICE: 717-242-9954?
ROD: (Relieved) Yes, sweet Jesus! Yes.
THE VOICE: OK, to get you to the right place, please indicate. Are you calling about billing and payments, tech support, adding new products or other?
ROD: Tech support.
THE VOICE: Billing and payment?
ROD: What? No, tech support.
THE VOICE: Adding new products?
ROD: (Yelling now) Tech support!! Tech support!!
THE VOICE: Jock support?
ROD: Wha? Are you kidding me?
THE VOICE: I don’t understand the question.
ROD: (Screaming) TECH SUPPORT!! TECH SUPPORT!
THE VOICE: You don’t have to shout, sir.
ROD: But I did have to. (Taken aback) Say, are you a real person?
THE VOICE: OK, tech support. Do you need help with DSL, telephone service or neither?
ROD: DSL
THE VOICE: Come again.
ROD: DSL
THE VOICE: Telephone service?
ROD: (Shouting again) DSL. DSL!
THE VOICE: Go to hell?
ROD: What did you say, you…..
THE VOICE: You want connected to telephone service.
ROD: (Yelling ) NO, NO NO!! I want to talk to a real person. Customer service! Customer service!
THE VOICE: I’m connecting you to telephone service.
ROD: (Out of control) CUSTOMER SERVICE! CUSTOMER SERVICE! CUSTOMER SERVICE!
THE VOICE: If this is not right, please press 5 to return to the main menu.
ROD: (Totally out of control now screaming) It’s not right! It hasn’t been right since I made the damn call. You ass wipe stains on civilization! You rectum robots! You dickless sons of whores! You sodomite salad shooters !
ANNCR: Spend the day getting to know us better. We’re here to help you with all your communication needs, both mass communications and personal. Put Verizon on your horizon.
ROD: (Still screaming) You goat ball lickers! You turd farmers! YOU PUSSY FARTING BASTARDS!!
ADULT- PENN STATE STAND UP
How the fuck are you, tweets? My bad. Word. Word up. Word down. Fellow I Pod people. You Tube… socks. WE ARE PENN STATE! WE AIN’T FUCKIN’ PENN STATE!! Cool man. That’s all the kid speak I know to ingratiate myself, a senior citizen, with you drunken college kids out there.
As you can tell, I’m a senior citizen. Or a seasoned citizen as some say. Personally, I like to be seasoned in a Vodka sauce so all I have to do is lick myself to get drunk.
I’m so old I had to carbon date a girl down by the river, cause she was the only carbon based life form I could find. On our dates we used to go a dinosaur graveyard to watch oil being born.
I can remember when the only mass media around was roadside billboards with warnings like “Watch out for the pterodactyls. They’re feeding today.”
I’m so old that Dick Clark was only middle age when I was a baby.
Medicare Rocks, Mother Fuckers!
I just saw a movie called MIRRORS staring Keifer Sutherland where mirrors were evil and the victims’ reflections killed them. I guess the new trend in horror movies is making benign every day objects EVIL.
I can see a movie called SALT SHAKER where a salt shaker, from the depths of hell, raises its victim’s blood pressure so high, it blows off their head in a blast of blood.
Or BUNNY SLIPPERS where the victim can run but can’t hide in his satanic bunny slippers that encircles his ankles and cuts off his feet. Then he bleeds to death while being thrown off a cliff by Mopsey and Flopsey.
Finally, there’s the ultimate horror flick called SPONGE, where a common household sponge attacks faces and after a series of gasping gurgling sounds suffocates its coed victims, who are exfoliating in the shower.
You know I was just wondering...
Today my wife deleted me as a friend from her Facebook page because I’m too grumpy. Does it make you a bad person, when even your wife doesn’t want you for a friend?
When you buy something that’s guaranteed to pay for itself, then why do YOU have to pay for it?
The media is always talking about senseless murders. Well, what in hell is a sensible murder? Oh pardon me sir, I’m so sorry sir, but you’re double parked. KER BLAM!
Don’t you hate toilet paper that smells better than you do?
Don’t you hate people who blow their nose in a handkerchief, then look at it? What the hell do they expect to see in there – REESE’S PIECES???
Which way is clockwise on a digital watch?
Does opportunity still knock or does it just leave a message on your voice mail? Or is it a SPAM e-mail from Nigeria?
Is it called a doctor’s practice because the doctor just can’t quite get it right? So the doc has to practice all the time.
Why do they call it a lawyer’s brief when lawyers always take forever to do ANYTHING?
Now here’s a few parting words of wisdom from your grand dad, that’s me. When life gives you lemons, take a step back and a deep breath, then, then …tell everyone to go SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!
Peace out, Holmes.
As you can tell, I’m a senior citizen. Or a seasoned citizen as some say. Personally, I like to be seasoned in a Vodka sauce so all I have to do is lick myself to get drunk.
I’m so old I had to carbon date a girl down by the river, cause she was the only carbon based life form I could find. On our dates we used to go a dinosaur graveyard to watch oil being born.
I can remember when the only mass media around was roadside billboards with warnings like “Watch out for the pterodactyls. They’re feeding today.”
I’m so old that Dick Clark was only middle age when I was a baby.
Medicare Rocks, Mother Fuckers!
I just saw a movie called MIRRORS staring Keifer Sutherland where mirrors were evil and the victims’ reflections killed them. I guess the new trend in horror movies is making benign every day objects EVIL.
I can see a movie called SALT SHAKER where a salt shaker, from the depths of hell, raises its victim’s blood pressure so high, it blows off their head in a blast of blood.
Or BUNNY SLIPPERS where the victim can run but can’t hide in his satanic bunny slippers that encircles his ankles and cuts off his feet. Then he bleeds to death while being thrown off a cliff by Mopsey and Flopsey.
Finally, there’s the ultimate horror flick called SPONGE, where a common household sponge attacks faces and after a series of gasping gurgling sounds suffocates its coed victims, who are exfoliating in the shower.
You know I was just wondering...
Today my wife deleted me as a friend from her Facebook page because I’m too grumpy. Does it make you a bad person, when even your wife doesn’t want you for a friend?
When you buy something that’s guaranteed to pay for itself, then why do YOU have to pay for it?
The media is always talking about senseless murders. Well, what in hell is a sensible murder? Oh pardon me sir, I’m so sorry sir, but you’re double parked. KER BLAM!
Don’t you hate toilet paper that smells better than you do?
Don’t you hate people who blow their nose in a handkerchief, then look at it? What the hell do they expect to see in there – REESE’S PIECES???
Which way is clockwise on a digital watch?
Does opportunity still knock or does it just leave a message on your voice mail? Or is it a SPAM e-mail from Nigeria?
Is it called a doctor’s practice because the doctor just can’t quite get it right? So the doc has to practice all the time.
Why do they call it a lawyer’s brief when lawyers always take forever to do ANYTHING?
Now here’s a few parting words of wisdom from your grand dad, that’s me. When life gives you lemons, take a step back and a deep breath, then, then …tell everyone to go SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!
Peace out, Holmes.
Sunday, August 30
THE FINE ART OF SNUBBING
Some people play the game of life like they'll win in the end, but that's when we all lose...EVERYTHING!
I didn’t realize, until about the third time over several months, that I was being snubbed. I’d shoot my hand up to wave and say “Hi.” and they turned their heads, their noses ascended into the air and quickly walked the other way.
At first, I thought they hadn’t seen me, although I’m pretty big, bald and shiny. At second, I figured they just forgot who I was, although I’ve known them, to see them, for over 20 years. In fact, we used to be neighbors.
Then at third, I finally realized they were snubbing me. Both husband and wife were going out of their way to ignore and brush me off like a spider on their sleeve. Had my deodorant failed…again? Did I have the worst breath of the day…again? I had no idea why.
I hadn’t really spoken to them in years. I didn’t remember anything I had done to make them mad. Although, you never really know what will tick people off to the point of hating you, while you don’t even realize that anything’s wrong.
People can hold grudges in their hearts that turn to sludge and blocks all good feelings about you forever. You can be rattling along thinking you’re entertaining them with some witty anecdote that is actually anathema to their value system, but you’re so full of yourself and so in the moment you miss their antipathy, mistaking it for amused interest.
Hordes of neighbors and acquaintances could be peeved at you and you might never realize it. On your deathbed you could look back and believe you were wealthy with friends, if not money, and be dead wrong. Pardon the pun.
People spend a lot of time worrying about what other people think of them and often never really know. But snubbing is a good clue that someone doesn’t appreciate your face in their space.
However, snubbing takes an incredible amount of time and effort to show so little. It’s actually harder to snub than to just wave and say hello, to someone you hate, and not really mean it.
The snubbing process can begin with a slight, an insult, a slap to one’s ego, imagined or not. It’s either so slight or so deep that it wasn’t acknowledged at the time. It just festers and inflames like an ingrown toenail on your psyche.
It’s something to share with your partner, who can easily fan the flames by saying “I never really liked the guy anyway.” This tag team approach can then develop into a game plan to snub that person the next time you don’t see him. That’ll show him!
This also requires a good memory and enough vacant space in your mind to hold a good long grudge. If you don’t see the snubee for awhile, then suddenly run across his friendly face, your natural inclination is to return his wave and hello.
Once you’re in the snubbing mode, you have to make a strong conscious effort to change your direction away from the person you’re snubbing as he comes straight toward you, with his hand outstretched.
Sometimes you have to pivot 360 degrees, circle and walk backwards to avoid their horrible self. If you’re with your partner you have to alert them to your decision, in that shorthand arched eyebrow look that couples have, and do double time to get into lock step to execute a tandem snub. Snubbing has all the mechanics of a major military maneuver.
After the snubee finally gets the picture, it becomes easier because you’re both avoiding each other, unless the snubee shouts out “Hey, didn’t you see me? What’s wrong? You mad or something?”
` At that point a good snubber will suddenly smile and say “Hey Bub, didn’t see you there. What’s up, big guy?” A lively exchange then takes place, till the next time when you snub him all over again.
I believe that snubbing is actually a good thing because it’s bitter, short and effective. It puts the other person on the defensive, never really knowing why. It’s an excellent psychological mind bomb.
Not enough people snub today. Instead, when they’re ticked off, they lock and load and track you down with the resulting shooting, wounding, killing and the tragic murder/suicide.
Snubbing is a great alternative to getting even that doesn’t require hospitalization or a funeral home. Everybody feels the way God intended after a good snubbing and lives to snub another day.
I didn’t realize, until about the third time over several months, that I was being snubbed. I’d shoot my hand up to wave and say “Hi.” and they turned their heads, their noses ascended into the air and quickly walked the other way.
At first, I thought they hadn’t seen me, although I’m pretty big, bald and shiny. At second, I figured they just forgot who I was, although I’ve known them, to see them, for over 20 years. In fact, we used to be neighbors.
Then at third, I finally realized they were snubbing me. Both husband and wife were going out of their way to ignore and brush me off like a spider on their sleeve. Had my deodorant failed…again? Did I have the worst breath of the day…again? I had no idea why.
I hadn’t really spoken to them in years. I didn’t remember anything I had done to make them mad. Although, you never really know what will tick people off to the point of hating you, while you don’t even realize that anything’s wrong.
People can hold grudges in their hearts that turn to sludge and blocks all good feelings about you forever. You can be rattling along thinking you’re entertaining them with some witty anecdote that is actually anathema to their value system, but you’re so full of yourself and so in the moment you miss their antipathy, mistaking it for amused interest.
Hordes of neighbors and acquaintances could be peeved at you and you might never realize it. On your deathbed you could look back and believe you were wealthy with friends, if not money, and be dead wrong. Pardon the pun.
People spend a lot of time worrying about what other people think of them and often never really know. But snubbing is a good clue that someone doesn’t appreciate your face in their space.
However, snubbing takes an incredible amount of time and effort to show so little. It’s actually harder to snub than to just wave and say hello, to someone you hate, and not really mean it.
The snubbing process can begin with a slight, an insult, a slap to one’s ego, imagined or not. It’s either so slight or so deep that it wasn’t acknowledged at the time. It just festers and inflames like an ingrown toenail on your psyche.
It’s something to share with your partner, who can easily fan the flames by saying “I never really liked the guy anyway.” This tag team approach can then develop into a game plan to snub that person the next time you don’t see him. That’ll show him!
This also requires a good memory and enough vacant space in your mind to hold a good long grudge. If you don’t see the snubee for awhile, then suddenly run across his friendly face, your natural inclination is to return his wave and hello.
Once you’re in the snubbing mode, you have to make a strong conscious effort to change your direction away from the person you’re snubbing as he comes straight toward you, with his hand outstretched.
Sometimes you have to pivot 360 degrees, circle and walk backwards to avoid their horrible self. If you’re with your partner you have to alert them to your decision, in that shorthand arched eyebrow look that couples have, and do double time to get into lock step to execute a tandem snub. Snubbing has all the mechanics of a major military maneuver.
After the snubee finally gets the picture, it becomes easier because you’re both avoiding each other, unless the snubee shouts out “Hey, didn’t you see me? What’s wrong? You mad or something?”
` At that point a good snubber will suddenly smile and say “Hey Bub, didn’t see you there. What’s up, big guy?” A lively exchange then takes place, till the next time when you snub him all over again.
I believe that snubbing is actually a good thing because it’s bitter, short and effective. It puts the other person on the defensive, never really knowing why. It’s an excellent psychological mind bomb.
Not enough people snub today. Instead, when they’re ticked off, they lock and load and track you down with the resulting shooting, wounding, killing and the tragic murder/suicide.
Snubbing is a great alternative to getting even that doesn’t require hospitalization or a funeral home. Everybody feels the way God intended after a good snubbing and lives to snub another day.
Thursday, August 13
THE OLD SWIMMIN' HOLE BLUES MAN
It was a festering flowing backwash of pure pollution with decomposing varmint carcasses, raw bovine waste sewage, bountiful bacteria, dive bombing bugs and a chaser of potential cholera. It was my beloved swimmin’ hole called the downtown Huntingdon pool.
It was downstream from a covey of cows that used the stream that feed into the pool as a portable toilet. Hence, the floating frothy cow pies festively bobbing upon the current.
Hopefully, you didn’t surface from some underwater exploration of the rocky bottom gasping for breath only to get a mouth full of snicker doodle cow dung and urine for your efforts.
This teeming Petri dish was probably why I got such excruciating ear infections almost every summer I swam there as a boy. Ear pain that plunged down to my jawbone pounded and pulverized me into a fetal position at times.
It became so bad that my doctor actually prescribed a bathing cap for me to wear to swim there. This drug store script was for the Ester Williams Hollywood sparkles’ bathing cap so popular then. OK, I just made that part up to make it sound more special.
It was just a plain rubber girl’s swim cap that more than a few kids said made me look like a sissy- and that was my friends. My boyhood masculinity was at a particular low tide during those bathing beauty days as Wilma the wonder girl/boy.
Our Mifflin St. gang lived at the downtown pool in the summers before we had to work for our fathers or get a summer job somewhere. It was about a 20 block walk from my house to the pool. We paraded down the steaming sidewalks daily carrying our trunks wrapped up in our towels and some suntan lotion like a pride of lions hitting the beach.
Once we got to the pool we changed in the locker room and then went to the adjacent snack bar for a coke and their specialty-a frozen candy bar. It was so ice hard that one big bite could knock a front tooth out faster than a right hook from the school bully.
There was a diving board at the dammed up deep end. Four planks of splintering wood held back the rushing water that you had to climb over to get to the concrete platform of the diving board.
One time I got caught in the current of the planks and was in danger of slipping over the small falls to the rocks below. I hung there dangling while the kids, just inches above me, ran, laughed and jumped off the diving board.
Nobody noticed me. I considered shouting for help, but I was too embarrassed. I decided to just let go and either drown or break my body on the rocks and shattered glass underneath me. Drawing attention to my ridiculous predicament was too much for my fragile ego.
Once I was swept over the planks cutting my feet bloody I heard a kid yell out “Look someone just went over the dam. And he’s wearing a girl’s swim cap!”
Invariably, you never do anything really stupid without an audience. But I returned the next day to swim again. After all, it was my old swimmin’ hole.
THE LEGENDARY BLUESMAN PORK CHOP DRIPPIN’S DUNMIRE
By Elwood P. Tiswilly
Pork Chop Drippin’s Dunmire was a blues legend for the ages. He was born April 1, 1912 on the banks of a bend in the Juniata River down stream from McVeytown’s infamous whirlpool watery grave for lost and delirious dolphins.
Pork Chop Drippin’s was the youngest of 16 children and was always the last one to get the drippin’s from the single pork chop served for their annual Christmas dinner. Hence his nickname “Bill”.
Pork Chop walked 10 miles to school to clean the black board erasers for 10 cents a year. He didn’t have no formal education, but he did graduate from the school of hard loxs and bagels taught by his one time Jewish manager Bernie, which inspired him to write his classic blues song “Mazeltov and Chitlins’ Blues”.
Pork Chop’s ten years in prison for stealing a stray cat to pet once brought forth the following prison blues’ standards “Smashed Tators With Water Gravy Lunch Line Blues”, “Watchin’ Your Cell’s Toilet Overflowin’ Blues”, “The Bad Behavior Sitting in Solitary Blues”, “The 20 to Life Suicide Blues”, “My Cellmate’s Stinky Smelly Feet Blues”, and his most popular prison blues song “Jimmy’s Looking Pretty Good Tonight Love Sick Blues”.
Once he served his time, Pork Chop played the bars in and around central Pa. that even a dead drunk Hank Williams wouldn’t stagger into. This was his most fertile period creatively when he composed such classics as “Women-Can’t Live With “Em, But Can’t Marry Your Dog Blues”, “When a Man Loves a Truck Blues”, “Drink, Drunk,. Drunkard Blues”, “The Whole World’s Spinnin’ But Me, ‘Cause I’m Outta Beer Money Blues” and his masterpiece “Livin’ At The Down ‘N Out Inn Blues”. But let’s not forget his follow up tune “Been Down So Long, Hell’s Fire’s Blisterin’ My Face Blues”.
His records are now collector’s items, particularly as dinner plates. He died dead broke and alone at age 45 after he sold his two string fiddle, Mrs. MaGilacuddy, for some free beer nuts. They saw him coming at the U Goin’ Inn?
However, he sired 57 children. His great great granddaughter “Soccer Moms Mabely” has inherited his musical genius. Her first album “The Grass Is Always Greener Next Door, ‘Cause It’s Chemically Treated Blues” has shot up the hot 1000 charts to number 987. The irony drips like August Mississippi delta chain gang sweat in her first single “Our Credit Card Shaped Pool- Try Repossessing That, You Blood Suckers! Blues”.
TURKEY TROT RACES
The Turkey Trot Races to raise money to send chronically fidgety children to Bruno’s Tap Dance Camp in the Bronx will be held July 4th at Rec Park in Lewistown.
An hour after eating several servings of really greasy art festival food the runners will try to line up, if they can wait that long, for the 20 yard dash to the public toilets. The first one to go wins a change of underwear, a tin of Kettle Corn and a six pack of hot Italian sausage sandwiches with peppers and onions.
Dear Common Ground Magazine:
I have some common ground to sell in the Florida Never Glades. Perhaps you could pass this along to your readers. It’s in the Gateway to Gators’ Promised Land. All offers, reasonable and unreasonable, will be accepted. No need to visit the property. All transactions can be completed on c-Bay, the poor man’s e-Bay.
Love, hugs and cashier’s checks,
Rutherford B. A. Shyster
CEO of Swamplands Inc.
Sink Hole, Florida 172
It was downstream from a covey of cows that used the stream that feed into the pool as a portable toilet. Hence, the floating frothy cow pies festively bobbing upon the current.
Hopefully, you didn’t surface from some underwater exploration of the rocky bottom gasping for breath only to get a mouth full of snicker doodle cow dung and urine for your efforts.
This teeming Petri dish was probably why I got such excruciating ear infections almost every summer I swam there as a boy. Ear pain that plunged down to my jawbone pounded and pulverized me into a fetal position at times.
It became so bad that my doctor actually prescribed a bathing cap for me to wear to swim there. This drug store script was for the Ester Williams Hollywood sparkles’ bathing cap so popular then. OK, I just made that part up to make it sound more special.
It was just a plain rubber girl’s swim cap that more than a few kids said made me look like a sissy- and that was my friends. My boyhood masculinity was at a particular low tide during those bathing beauty days as Wilma the wonder girl/boy.
Our Mifflin St. gang lived at the downtown pool in the summers before we had to work for our fathers or get a summer job somewhere. It was about a 20 block walk from my house to the pool. We paraded down the steaming sidewalks daily carrying our trunks wrapped up in our towels and some suntan lotion like a pride of lions hitting the beach.
Once we got to the pool we changed in the locker room and then went to the adjacent snack bar for a coke and their specialty-a frozen candy bar. It was so ice hard that one big bite could knock a front tooth out faster than a right hook from the school bully.
There was a diving board at the dammed up deep end. Four planks of splintering wood held back the rushing water that you had to climb over to get to the concrete platform of the diving board.
One time I got caught in the current of the planks and was in danger of slipping over the small falls to the rocks below. I hung there dangling while the kids, just inches above me, ran, laughed and jumped off the diving board.
Nobody noticed me. I considered shouting for help, but I was too embarrassed. I decided to just let go and either drown or break my body on the rocks and shattered glass underneath me. Drawing attention to my ridiculous predicament was too much for my fragile ego.
Once I was swept over the planks cutting my feet bloody I heard a kid yell out “Look someone just went over the dam. And he’s wearing a girl’s swim cap!”
Invariably, you never do anything really stupid without an audience. But I returned the next day to swim again. After all, it was my old swimmin’ hole.
THE LEGENDARY BLUESMAN PORK CHOP DRIPPIN’S DUNMIRE
By Elwood P. Tiswilly
Pork Chop Drippin’s Dunmire was a blues legend for the ages. He was born April 1, 1912 on the banks of a bend in the Juniata River down stream from McVeytown’s infamous whirlpool watery grave for lost and delirious dolphins.
Pork Chop Drippin’s was the youngest of 16 children and was always the last one to get the drippin’s from the single pork chop served for their annual Christmas dinner. Hence his nickname “Bill”.
Pork Chop walked 10 miles to school to clean the black board erasers for 10 cents a year. He didn’t have no formal education, but he did graduate from the school of hard loxs and bagels taught by his one time Jewish manager Bernie, which inspired him to write his classic blues song “Mazeltov and Chitlins’ Blues”.
Pork Chop’s ten years in prison for stealing a stray cat to pet once brought forth the following prison blues’ standards “Smashed Tators With Water Gravy Lunch Line Blues”, “Watchin’ Your Cell’s Toilet Overflowin’ Blues”, “The Bad Behavior Sitting in Solitary Blues”, “The 20 to Life Suicide Blues”, “My Cellmate’s Stinky Smelly Feet Blues”, and his most popular prison blues song “Jimmy’s Looking Pretty Good Tonight Love Sick Blues”.
Once he served his time, Pork Chop played the bars in and around central Pa. that even a dead drunk Hank Williams wouldn’t stagger into. This was his most fertile period creatively when he composed such classics as “Women-Can’t Live With “Em, But Can’t Marry Your Dog Blues”, “When a Man Loves a Truck Blues”, “Drink, Drunk,. Drunkard Blues”, “The Whole World’s Spinnin’ But Me, ‘Cause I’m Outta Beer Money Blues” and his masterpiece “Livin’ At The Down ‘N Out Inn Blues”. But let’s not forget his follow up tune “Been Down So Long, Hell’s Fire’s Blisterin’ My Face Blues”.
His records are now collector’s items, particularly as dinner plates. He died dead broke and alone at age 45 after he sold his two string fiddle, Mrs. MaGilacuddy, for some free beer nuts. They saw him coming at the U Goin’ Inn?
However, he sired 57 children. His great great granddaughter “Soccer Moms Mabely” has inherited his musical genius. Her first album “The Grass Is Always Greener Next Door, ‘Cause It’s Chemically Treated Blues” has shot up the hot 1000 charts to number 987. The irony drips like August Mississippi delta chain gang sweat in her first single “Our Credit Card Shaped Pool- Try Repossessing That, You Blood Suckers! Blues”.
TURKEY TROT RACES
The Turkey Trot Races to raise money to send chronically fidgety children to Bruno’s Tap Dance Camp in the Bronx will be held July 4th at Rec Park in Lewistown.
An hour after eating several servings of really greasy art festival food the runners will try to line up, if they can wait that long, for the 20 yard dash to the public toilets. The first one to go wins a change of underwear, a tin of Kettle Corn and a six pack of hot Italian sausage sandwiches with peppers and onions.
Dear Common Ground Magazine:
I have some common ground to sell in the Florida Never Glades. Perhaps you could pass this along to your readers. It’s in the Gateway to Gators’ Promised Land. All offers, reasonable and unreasonable, will be accepted. No need to visit the property. All transactions can be completed on c-Bay, the poor man’s e-Bay.
Love, hugs and cashier’s checks,
Rutherford B. A. Shyster
CEO of Swamplands Inc.
Sink Hole, Florida 172
Thursday, July 16
A DELICIOUS HOT SUMMER NIGHT
The dog days of summer were panting their hot breaths on a steamy summer’s day a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Or, in Lewistown sometime in the 80’s. It was so hot the trees had sweat rings. The sun beat down continuously like a hard rock drummer. Aerosmithy hammering out horse shoes on an anvil from hell.
Brittle blades of grass were shooting off sparks. The air was still and silent like squashed road kill and about as fragrant. Everything and everybody smelled over ripe.
Lewistown’s Recreation Park’s pool was as full as TV weatherman Al Roker’s stapled stomach after a small pack of airplane peanuts. Trailers, apartments and houses’ air conditioners and fans were flying at Mach 7, whatever that means, inside Lewistowners’ homes.
Then suddenly the TV sets became black screen paperweights, the lights turned off, the fans stopped, the air conditioners ceased conditioning the air and, except for some swearing, the homes went silent. Sirens started howling all over town like backyard dogs barking when a strange dog appears.
Soon homes were too hot to stay in, so everyone went out onto their sidewalks and started walking around aimlessly, trying to create a wind by walking. They met neighbors they never knew they had, visited neighborhoods they’d only driven past and talked to each other. Yes, actually talked, instead of letting the TV talk to them.
This went on for awhile and as the day’s sun dipped into the darkness of night, a miracle happened. It wasn’t the parting of the Red Sea. It was more like the parting of a bald man’s red comb over, but a miracle nonetheless.
The Parkway Store on Shaw Ave. in Lewistown became a Good Humor truck. With the power out all afternoon the freezers couldn’t keep it contents from melting, so the owner Rocco Soccio decided to give his ice cream away first come, first served.
So chocolate, vanilla and the trifecta- Neapolitan were there for the taking. Ice cream sandwiches and bars, fudgesicles, creamsicles and all things ice creamy became free as the wind. If only there had been a wind.
The word flew like a bird. Kids and families from all over town rushed there for this dripping soft festival. It was like the Parkway had become the center of the universe.
From a spy satellite in outer space it must have looked like Lewistown was starting to sink in a circle around the store with its crowds. There was such a stampede that I worried about the earth tilting on its axis and crashing into the moon. Luckily, Rocco ran out of ice cream before that happened on this delicious hot summer night.
Kids were running around town with cool sticky ice creamy smiles. It was the great ice cream giveaway that turned a power outage, a black out, into a white melting miracle of ice creaminess.
Goodbye Rocco, old friend, and thanks for the ice cream.
Brittle blades of grass were shooting off sparks. The air was still and silent like squashed road kill and about as fragrant. Everything and everybody smelled over ripe.
Lewistown’s Recreation Park’s pool was as full as TV weatherman Al Roker’s stapled stomach after a small pack of airplane peanuts. Trailers, apartments and houses’ air conditioners and fans were flying at Mach 7, whatever that means, inside Lewistowners’ homes.
Then suddenly the TV sets became black screen paperweights, the lights turned off, the fans stopped, the air conditioners ceased conditioning the air and, except for some swearing, the homes went silent. Sirens started howling all over town like backyard dogs barking when a strange dog appears.
Soon homes were too hot to stay in, so everyone went out onto their sidewalks and started walking around aimlessly, trying to create a wind by walking. They met neighbors they never knew they had, visited neighborhoods they’d only driven past and talked to each other. Yes, actually talked, instead of letting the TV talk to them.
This went on for awhile and as the day’s sun dipped into the darkness of night, a miracle happened. It wasn’t the parting of the Red Sea. It was more like the parting of a bald man’s red comb over, but a miracle nonetheless.
The Parkway Store on Shaw Ave. in Lewistown became a Good Humor truck. With the power out all afternoon the freezers couldn’t keep it contents from melting, so the owner Rocco Soccio decided to give his ice cream away first come, first served.
So chocolate, vanilla and the trifecta- Neapolitan were there for the taking. Ice cream sandwiches and bars, fudgesicles, creamsicles and all things ice creamy became free as the wind. If only there had been a wind.
The word flew like a bird. Kids and families from all over town rushed there for this dripping soft festival. It was like the Parkway had become the center of the universe.
From a spy satellite in outer space it must have looked like Lewistown was starting to sink in a circle around the store with its crowds. There was such a stampede that I worried about the earth tilting on its axis and crashing into the moon. Luckily, Rocco ran out of ice cream before that happened on this delicious hot summer night.
Kids were running around town with cool sticky ice creamy smiles. It was the great ice cream giveaway that turned a power outage, a black out, into a white melting miracle of ice creaminess.
Goodbye Rocco, old friend, and thanks for the ice cream.
WHAT I DID THIS SUMMER- COLONOSCOPY!!
Dr. Hamas (swear to God) told me that only one in 1,000 colonoscopies perforate the colon. That’s wonderful, unless your doctor has done 999 just before yours. Now Hamas is an extreme Moslem terrorist group and I remember from my Air Force days in Turkey that you don’t shake hands with a Moslem with the hand you wipe yourself with, because it’s considered unclean.
But I couldn’t remember which one I use, so I put out my right hand, then my left. I was so confused I head butted him instead. To get on his good side just before the operation I shouted “Allah is great! Death to America!”
After the procedure, which took out two benign polyps I affectionately named Grumpy and Sponge Bob, the good doctor asked me a battery of questions because he said he was obsessive. I comically suggested “Anal obsessive?”
He smiled weakly, but his nurse laughed out loud and quickly told another nurse, who also cackled. But to Dr. Hamas by then, I was just another asshole.
After doing wheelies down the hall in the wheelchair they put me in to leave, I wanted to roll down the steep hill outside the hospital till the nurse shouted “NO!”
Colonoscopies are way fun!!
But I couldn’t remember which one I use, so I put out my right hand, then my left. I was so confused I head butted him instead. To get on his good side just before the operation I shouted “Allah is great! Death to America!”
After the procedure, which took out two benign polyps I affectionately named Grumpy and Sponge Bob, the good doctor asked me a battery of questions because he said he was obsessive. I comically suggested “Anal obsessive?”
He smiled weakly, but his nurse laughed out loud and quickly told another nurse, who also cackled. But to Dr. Hamas by then, I was just another asshole.
After doing wheelies down the hall in the wheelchair they put me in to leave, I wanted to roll down the steep hill outside the hospital till the nurse shouted “NO!”
Colonoscopies are way fun!!
SUMMER INTRODUCES ITSELF
Hello there, allow me to introduce myself. I am summer. I’ll blow into town on the June solstice and will hang around until the summer equinox. I’m warm and giving. In fact, I’ll give you cantaloupes, sweet corn, fireflies and baseball. I’ll give you enough grass to cut to keep you busy and sweating.
I’ll give you a relentless sun that singes all skin showing to produce that golden tan, that sometimes turns into skin cancer years later. I’ll give you backyard barbeques, spitting sizzling flesh dripping on white hot charcoal briquettes and corn on the cob wrapped in tin foil with friends and family all sitting around more naked than needed to beat the heat. Any way you look at it, I’ll give you plenty of exposed meat- both animal and human.
I’ll heat your pools and oceans so you can splash and play all day. I’ll give you humidity. Boy, will I give you humidity! I’ll turn the great outdoors into one big boiler room, complete with hissing steam from broiling car radiators.
I’ll give you twisters that spin from the wind to drop down on your towns, trailers, homes, businesses and farms. Then I’ll suck your lives up into the sky. I’ll interrupt crystal blue days to pour on your parades and picnics and soak your charcoal and chicken.
I’ll burst the bellies of heavy black clouds and let loose Niagara Falls. I’ll short circuit the sky and shoot lightning bolts down to topple your trees and knock out your own puny electricity. Periodically, I like to remind you who is really in charge here. I’ll give you beautiful days during the work week and wash out your weekends. They’re your weekends, not mind. I don’t get any days off.
If you’re young, I’ll give you the best music of the year to blast from boom boxes, iPODS and car radios. You’ll remember my melodies the most because they’re the soundtrack of your youth that’ll hum in your head till death do you part.
I’ll give you sun-splashed rivers so cool that you’ll flock to their banks, float on their currents and frolic in their depths. I’ll give you long lazy days, where lifting a chilled glass to your lips to take a sip is as energetic as you’ll get. I’ll give you balmy nights where you can stretch out your porches and in your backyards to breathe in my bouquet under my moonbeams.
I’ll give you romance with hand holding in the moonlight and kissing that shoots off sparks in the dark. I’ll give you a first love to tumble toss your head or a new love to jump start your heart or renew an old love under the eaves of my warm shadows.
I’ll give you the time of your life. Then I’ll be gone to let the leaves fall where they may.
I’ll give you a relentless sun that singes all skin showing to produce that golden tan, that sometimes turns into skin cancer years later. I’ll give you backyard barbeques, spitting sizzling flesh dripping on white hot charcoal briquettes and corn on the cob wrapped in tin foil with friends and family all sitting around more naked than needed to beat the heat. Any way you look at it, I’ll give you plenty of exposed meat- both animal and human.
I’ll heat your pools and oceans so you can splash and play all day. I’ll give you humidity. Boy, will I give you humidity! I’ll turn the great outdoors into one big boiler room, complete with hissing steam from broiling car radiators.
I’ll give you twisters that spin from the wind to drop down on your towns, trailers, homes, businesses and farms. Then I’ll suck your lives up into the sky. I’ll interrupt crystal blue days to pour on your parades and picnics and soak your charcoal and chicken.
I’ll burst the bellies of heavy black clouds and let loose Niagara Falls. I’ll short circuit the sky and shoot lightning bolts down to topple your trees and knock out your own puny electricity. Periodically, I like to remind you who is really in charge here. I’ll give you beautiful days during the work week and wash out your weekends. They’re your weekends, not mind. I don’t get any days off.
If you’re young, I’ll give you the best music of the year to blast from boom boxes, iPODS and car radios. You’ll remember my melodies the most because they’re the soundtrack of your youth that’ll hum in your head till death do you part.
I’ll give you sun-splashed rivers so cool that you’ll flock to their banks, float on their currents and frolic in their depths. I’ll give you long lazy days, where lifting a chilled glass to your lips to take a sip is as energetic as you’ll get. I’ll give you balmy nights where you can stretch out your porches and in your backyards to breathe in my bouquet under my moonbeams.
I’ll give you romance with hand holding in the moonlight and kissing that shoots off sparks in the dark. I’ll give you a first love to tumble toss your head or a new love to jump start your heart or renew an old love under the eaves of my warm shadows.
I’ll give you the time of your life. Then I’ll be gone to let the leaves fall where they may.
Sunday, July 5
MAKING BAMBOO SHARK MOVIE
Sunday afternoons are special and Sunday October 12, 2008 was a very special afternoon indeed. I spent it in a Christian youth center outside Harrisburg beating up a male model. What would make me do that? The word “Action!”
I was playing a Mafia thug extra in the movie “Bamboo Shark” starring Mickey Rooney and over 50 celebrity impersonators. In it, the mob is trying to retrieve its money stolen by some college students who’re making a movie.
I answered a movie internet ad for extras given me by aspiring actress/model Rhonda Weader. My wife Nancy, grandson Jack Roddey and his friend, from outside Port Royal, Tyler Dolan went along for the ride. Jack and Tyler were immediately drafted to be in the movie acting as student crewmembers. They were really pumped about that, bouncing around the set like tennis balls at Wimbledon.
Our single scene showed Tom Petty in a top hat wrestling a crew member, a bald guy in a black suit who looked like a stocky Mr. Clean knocking out Sylvester Stallone, Jack accidentally popping out a Mafia thug’s contact ( Mark Bitner) as he and Tyler punched and pushed him around and me socking a sitting crew member, played by a male model.
We did over ten takes, broke and then returned to do another ten from a different angle. The only direction I got was to not hit my guy so much as I was sweating and too red faced the first time. I had brushed my brow pretending to sweat for effect. ACTING! And I get red faced just thinking bad thoughts all the time, but I dialed it down like they wanted, so they wouldn’t think I was having a heart attack.
There was a tender moment off screen when The Terminator spritzed Rambo’s biceps with his tiny spray bottle to make them glisten and gleam under the hot movie lights. I told Jack that an extra was an extra special actor whose mere presence on the silver screen spoke volumes and didn’t need lines. I was told by an assistant that everybody loved Jack and Tyler’s acting because they beat up their middle aged Mafia thug so enthusiastically. They had movie stars in their eyes. Their potential that certain Sunday was unlimited.
Making a movie is fun, but tedious with take after take after take. It’s all in the lighting, that’s why they say LIGHTS, Camera, Action! And the actors speak softly because a movie mike really magnifies.
The next time you see a movie scene, where the star runs down the street past numerous anonymous people, just remember that they are the extras with their own hopes and dreams of making a free sandwich from the meat and cheese platter put out for the actual actors.
A little over three months later my precious goofy grandson, Jack T. Roddey, was shot to death. He was only 14. So treasure those special Sunday afternoons together, because they can be gone in a gasp.
PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED IN COMMON GROUND MAGAZINE
I was playing a Mafia thug extra in the movie “Bamboo Shark” starring Mickey Rooney and over 50 celebrity impersonators. In it, the mob is trying to retrieve its money stolen by some college students who’re making a movie.
I answered a movie internet ad for extras given me by aspiring actress/model Rhonda Weader. My wife Nancy, grandson Jack Roddey and his friend, from outside Port Royal, Tyler Dolan went along for the ride. Jack and Tyler were immediately drafted to be in the movie acting as student crewmembers. They were really pumped about that, bouncing around the set like tennis balls at Wimbledon.
Our single scene showed Tom Petty in a top hat wrestling a crew member, a bald guy in a black suit who looked like a stocky Mr. Clean knocking out Sylvester Stallone, Jack accidentally popping out a Mafia thug’s contact ( Mark Bitner) as he and Tyler punched and pushed him around and me socking a sitting crew member, played by a male model.
We did over ten takes, broke and then returned to do another ten from a different angle. The only direction I got was to not hit my guy so much as I was sweating and too red faced the first time. I had brushed my brow pretending to sweat for effect. ACTING! And I get red faced just thinking bad thoughts all the time, but I dialed it down like they wanted, so they wouldn’t think I was having a heart attack.
There was a tender moment off screen when The Terminator spritzed Rambo’s biceps with his tiny spray bottle to make them glisten and gleam under the hot movie lights. I told Jack that an extra was an extra special actor whose mere presence on the silver screen spoke volumes and didn’t need lines. I was told by an assistant that everybody loved Jack and Tyler’s acting because they beat up their middle aged Mafia thug so enthusiastically. They had movie stars in their eyes. Their potential that certain Sunday was unlimited.
Making a movie is fun, but tedious with take after take after take. It’s all in the lighting, that’s why they say LIGHTS, Camera, Action! And the actors speak softly because a movie mike really magnifies.
The next time you see a movie scene, where the star runs down the street past numerous anonymous people, just remember that they are the extras with their own hopes and dreams of making a free sandwich from the meat and cheese platter put out for the actual actors.
A little over three months later my precious goofy grandson, Jack T. Roddey, was shot to death. He was only 14. So treasure those special Sunday afternoons together, because they can be gone in a gasp.
PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED IN COMMON GROUND MAGAZINE
Thursday, June 18
VAMPIRE, ZOMBIE,GHOULS' FAVORITE JULY 4th
By Professor Heinrick Hemlock, PHD, DDT, ESP
The Fourth of July celebrates America’s birthday with fireworks, food, family reunions and fun for us living large, but what about the undead? Technically though, we the living are the undead too, because we’re not dead yet.
However, in the creature features the undead are zombies, vampires and werewolves. Sorta like The Three Stooges of horror.
So I sent my assistant and cemetery grounds keeper, Ace Hack, on assignment to interview some famous ghouls at midnight under a full moon at Jolly Holly’s Cemetery and Custard Stand. Here’s his tape recorded report.
“You all had dinner, right? ‘Cause I could look like a steak tartar to you guys.” Ace asks haltingly.
All seem to answer in the affirmative with a series of low growls, howls, hisses, grunts and lip smackings.
“Let’s start with you, Bob Zombie. What was your favorite Fourth of July?”
“Well Ace, you know how people say that life is no day at the beach and no picnic? My favorite fourth was a day at the beach when me, and several hundred of my closest fiends, picnicked on a sand dune full of Frenchmen at Omaha Beach.
I’ve always loved French food and they were delicious with a nice chilled Chianti and some warm arterial blood to wash them down. They were like a salad bar of fresh meat. The great thing about being a practicing zombie is that after you bite into somebody and kill them, a few seconds later they come back as your new best friend with the same interest in killing every human in sight. So you’re constantly killing people and making new zombies.”
“You’re a very articulate zombie. I’ve only seen them growl and slobber.” Ace states.
“It’s the media misrepresenting us. Being hungry does make one a bear, but after some fine dining we like a good cigar, a snifter of brandy and witty conversation just like you.”
“Fascinating! What about you Lord Dracula. What was your favorite Fourth?”
“As luck would have it, it was American’s first Fourth of July in 1776 Philadelphia. It was so hot then that my fangs stuck to my gums and I couldn’t get them to shoot out and bite properly. They went up and down like a garage door in my mouth. It’s all in my autobiography ‘Fangs, For the Memories’.”
“I’ll have to pick up a copy. What happened next?” Ace asks quickly.
“I went to several dentists and killed them when they couldn’t help me, but it was like biting their necks with baby teeth. Then I ran into Ben Franklin flying his kite in a thunderstorm. I explained my plight to him and he hooked me up to his kite. A lightening bolt struck it and, consequently me, and jump started my teeth to full bite.”
“And then?” Ace asks eagerly.
“I was so grateful to Ben that I spared him, although he was plump and full of blood. I had to feast on a family of four to make up for this act of kindness. I spent the night pretending to drink beer with the Founding Fathers at the Bleedin’ Like a Stuck Pig Pub, an old haunt.”
“Fascinating! Now Mr. Warner the Werewolf, what was your favorite Fourth?”
‘It was tonight. Right here, right now.’ He slobbers and shines under the moonlight.
“But this isn’t the Fourth of July. It’s more than two weeks away.” Ace explains uncertainly.
“Hey pal; I’m a werewolf who changes into a hairy killing machine every full moon at midnight. I don’t know what century it is, let alone what national holiday. And you look good enough to eat." He snaps.
The Fourth of July celebrates America’s birthday with fireworks, food, family reunions and fun for us living large, but what about the undead? Technically though, we the living are the undead too, because we’re not dead yet.
However, in the creature features the undead are zombies, vampires and werewolves. Sorta like The Three Stooges of horror.
So I sent my assistant and cemetery grounds keeper, Ace Hack, on assignment to interview some famous ghouls at midnight under a full moon at Jolly Holly’s Cemetery and Custard Stand. Here’s his tape recorded report.
“You all had dinner, right? ‘Cause I could look like a steak tartar to you guys.” Ace asks haltingly.
All seem to answer in the affirmative with a series of low growls, howls, hisses, grunts and lip smackings.
“Let’s start with you, Bob Zombie. What was your favorite Fourth of July?”
“Well Ace, you know how people say that life is no day at the beach and no picnic? My favorite fourth was a day at the beach when me, and several hundred of my closest fiends, picnicked on a sand dune full of Frenchmen at Omaha Beach.
I’ve always loved French food and they were delicious with a nice chilled Chianti and some warm arterial blood to wash them down. They were like a salad bar of fresh meat. The great thing about being a practicing zombie is that after you bite into somebody and kill them, a few seconds later they come back as your new best friend with the same interest in killing every human in sight. So you’re constantly killing people and making new zombies.”
“You’re a very articulate zombie. I’ve only seen them growl and slobber.” Ace states.
“It’s the media misrepresenting us. Being hungry does make one a bear, but after some fine dining we like a good cigar, a snifter of brandy and witty conversation just like you.”
“Fascinating! What about you Lord Dracula. What was your favorite Fourth?”
“As luck would have it, it was American’s first Fourth of July in 1776 Philadelphia. It was so hot then that my fangs stuck to my gums and I couldn’t get them to shoot out and bite properly. They went up and down like a garage door in my mouth. It’s all in my autobiography ‘Fangs, For the Memories’.”
“I’ll have to pick up a copy. What happened next?” Ace asks quickly.
“I went to several dentists and killed them when they couldn’t help me, but it was like biting their necks with baby teeth. Then I ran into Ben Franklin flying his kite in a thunderstorm. I explained my plight to him and he hooked me up to his kite. A lightening bolt struck it and, consequently me, and jump started my teeth to full bite.”
“And then?” Ace asks eagerly.
“I was so grateful to Ben that I spared him, although he was plump and full of blood. I had to feast on a family of four to make up for this act of kindness. I spent the night pretending to drink beer with the Founding Fathers at the Bleedin’ Like a Stuck Pig Pub, an old haunt.”
“Fascinating! Now Mr. Warner the Werewolf, what was your favorite Fourth?”
‘It was tonight. Right here, right now.’ He slobbers and shines under the moonlight.
“But this isn’t the Fourth of July. It’s more than two weeks away.” Ace explains uncertainly.
“Hey pal; I’m a werewolf who changes into a hairy killing machine every full moon at midnight. I don’t know what century it is, let alone what national holiday. And you look good enough to eat." He snaps.
JULY FOURTH BEER AND BANGS
ANNCR: Celebrate the constitution, the Declaration of Independence and 1776 by honoring the founding fathers this Fourth of July the traditional old fashioned American way with fireworks and beer at a family picnic.
Slap your weenies down on the grill, grab your buns and a beer then light up a cherry bomb or an M-80, throw it and watch the in-laws scramble.
Give them a silver salute and fire up your flaming balls while knocking back some beers for a more excitable 4th for all. Bottle rockets and bottles of beer go together like George and Washington.
Get boomed and go boom at the same time! Who needs all ten fingers? Blow one off and you still got 9 left! Be patriotic (Sings) “Oh, say can you see.” Well, maybe not if you’re blinded easily by sparklers in your face.
Happy (Belch Burp) Fourth.
SFX: BOOM! BANG!! BOOM! (Screams) Ayeeeee!!!
Slap your weenies down on the grill, grab your buns and a beer then light up a cherry bomb or an M-80, throw it and watch the in-laws scramble.
Give them a silver salute and fire up your flaming balls while knocking back some beers for a more excitable 4th for all. Bottle rockets and bottles of beer go together like George and Washington.
Get boomed and go boom at the same time! Who needs all ten fingers? Blow one off and you still got 9 left! Be patriotic (Sings) “Oh, say can you see.” Well, maybe not if you’re blinded easily by sparklers in your face.
Happy (Belch Burp) Fourth.
SFX: BOOM! BANG!! BOOM! (Screams) Ayeeeee!!!
Tuesday, June 2
THE LONG SAD JOURNEY TO FATHER'S DAY
June 17th is the day you honor your father with a garish tie that’s louder than a 747 taking off or a drunken Picasso painting. You may have already given Dad a comic card mocking him, which is what most fathers want. They don’t want that sentimental slop you told your beloved sainted mother. Fathers want a quick laugh and to go back to the game on the tube.
Father’s Day has never been the big business day that Mother’s Day is. If you think that the promotion of Father’s Day will make or break your business, then I have some GM stock I’d like to sell you. Why does the celebration of Father’s Day rank somewhere below Arbor Day in importance? Let’s go back and find out when Father’s Day really began? There’s some confusion about that. The president of Chicago’s Lion’s Club, Harry Meek (a firm believer that the Meeks shall inherit the earth) celebrated the first Father’s day with his club in 1915.
Harry picked the third Sunday in June, which was the closest date to his own birthday. That’s what a real guy would do, honor himself as a great father, without bothering to ask his wife and kids what they thought about it. Then, as fathers are wont to do, he went back to the game on the radio.
However, the most accepted view of the origins of Father’s Day goes back to 1909 when Sonora Smart Dodd was listening to a Mother’s Day church sermon and she started thinking of her father, who really raised her. She barely knew her mother, who died young giving birth to her sixth child. Her father, William Jefferson Smart, was left to raise his rambunctious brood alone.
Let’s just pause a moment for Sonora’s poor young mother….OK, her father, a Civil War vet, sacrificed a lot to raise them, so Sonora ask her Spokane minister to preach a sermon on fathers June 6th, her father’s birthday.
He couldn’t do it till June 19th. Soon the state of Washington celebrated the third Sunday in June as Father’s Day. So Father’s Day is a her-story, not a history, due to a dedicated daughter’s love for her frazzled father, who raised his kids on his own. This is something mothers do all the time, if the father is gone or too distracted to help much.
Since Sonora’s father acted like a good mother we now have Father’s Day. Way back then the children honored good old dad with a fresh baked pie, not a store bought tie.
The Father’s Day lobby (yes, there’s always a lobby) asked President Woodrow Wilson to declare an annual Father’s Day. Wilson approved the idea in 1916, but it took till 1924 for President Calvin Coolidge to make it a national event to “establish more intimate relations between fathers and their children and to impress upon fathers the full measure of their obligations.” Sounds like a plea to dead beat dads to me, who lose interest in their children right after conception.
But Father’s Day was only an event, like a bake sale or mud wrestling. It didn’t become official until 1966 when President Lyndon Johnson proclaimed that the third Sunday in June was Father’s Day and a great day to have a good old fashioned Texas barbecue. Lyndon was a Texan.
However, a proclamation is not a holiday, like desert isn’t dinner. In 1972, President Richard Nixon made Father’s Day a national holiday before eventually resigning due to the Watergate scandal and returning to his original title as husband and father. Between 1966 and 1972 both Presidents fought the Vietnam War, where many a father was killed.
Father’s Day was a 60 year afterthought to Mother’s day, but we fathers take what we can get. We’re thrilled to be remembered at all once a year and the silly cards and bad ties make us a little misty, but don’t tell anybody.
About the original Father’s Day pie giving tradition, cherry crumb is an excellent celebratory slice of pie. It’s tart, yet sweet and somewhat crummy. Not unlike a lot of us fathers.
Father’s Day has never been the big business day that Mother’s Day is. If you think that the promotion of Father’s Day will make or break your business, then I have some GM stock I’d like to sell you. Why does the celebration of Father’s Day rank somewhere below Arbor Day in importance? Let’s go back and find out when Father’s Day really began? There’s some confusion about that. The president of Chicago’s Lion’s Club, Harry Meek (a firm believer that the Meeks shall inherit the earth) celebrated the first Father’s day with his club in 1915.
Harry picked the third Sunday in June, which was the closest date to his own birthday. That’s what a real guy would do, honor himself as a great father, without bothering to ask his wife and kids what they thought about it. Then, as fathers are wont to do, he went back to the game on the radio.
However, the most accepted view of the origins of Father’s Day goes back to 1909 when Sonora Smart Dodd was listening to a Mother’s Day church sermon and she started thinking of her father, who really raised her. She barely knew her mother, who died young giving birth to her sixth child. Her father, William Jefferson Smart, was left to raise his rambunctious brood alone.
Let’s just pause a moment for Sonora’s poor young mother….OK, her father, a Civil War vet, sacrificed a lot to raise them, so Sonora ask her Spokane minister to preach a sermon on fathers June 6th, her father’s birthday.
He couldn’t do it till June 19th. Soon the state of Washington celebrated the third Sunday in June as Father’s Day. So Father’s Day is a her-story, not a history, due to a dedicated daughter’s love for her frazzled father, who raised his kids on his own. This is something mothers do all the time, if the father is gone or too distracted to help much.
Since Sonora’s father acted like a good mother we now have Father’s Day. Way back then the children honored good old dad with a fresh baked pie, not a store bought tie.
The Father’s Day lobby (yes, there’s always a lobby) asked President Woodrow Wilson to declare an annual Father’s Day. Wilson approved the idea in 1916, but it took till 1924 for President Calvin Coolidge to make it a national event to “establish more intimate relations between fathers and their children and to impress upon fathers the full measure of their obligations.” Sounds like a plea to dead beat dads to me, who lose interest in their children right after conception.
But Father’s Day was only an event, like a bake sale or mud wrestling. It didn’t become official until 1966 when President Lyndon Johnson proclaimed that the third Sunday in June was Father’s Day and a great day to have a good old fashioned Texas barbecue. Lyndon was a Texan.
However, a proclamation is not a holiday, like desert isn’t dinner. In 1972, President Richard Nixon made Father’s Day a national holiday before eventually resigning due to the Watergate scandal and returning to his original title as husband and father. Between 1966 and 1972 both Presidents fought the Vietnam War, where many a father was killed.
Father’s Day was a 60 year afterthought to Mother’s day, but we fathers take what we can get. We’re thrilled to be remembered at all once a year and the silly cards and bad ties make us a little misty, but don’t tell anybody.
About the original Father’s Day pie giving tradition, cherry crumb is an excellent celebratory slice of pie. It’s tart, yet sweet and somewhat crummy. Not unlike a lot of us fathers.
Tuesday, May 19
PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH GROUP SPEECH
LIFE IN SIX WORDs
There’s a book out called “Not What I was Planning’ which has numerous people summing up their lives in six word statements. Joan Rivers quipped “Liars, hysterectomy didn’t improve sex life.” Humorist Ray Blount Jr. wrote “Maybe you had to be there.”
Novelist Joyce Carol Oates wrote “Revenge is living well, without you.” I can smell a bitter divorce here. Kelsey Ochs said “Follwed yellow brick road, disappointment ensued.”
“I wrote it down somewhere.” someone wrote. “Never finished anything, except cake.” “I colored outside the lines” and columnist Craig Wilson wrote “Dad was Santa. Down hill from there.
Maybe you could come up with your own summation, if you think you’re old enough. I got to thinking and here’s one reason, out of many, as to how I’ve finally summed up my life.
When I was stationed in the Air Force in England in 1969 I took some leave to see Europe. In Paris I bought a leather pouch where I put some foreign coins in, like French franks and Italian lira, as souvenirs.
I had it hidden in my barracks for two years till I packed it in my duffle bag to take home upon my discharge. Back in the USA I moved several times taking that pouch with me each time.
I brought the souvenir pouch into my office and put it on my desk for 33 years, looking at the coins once in a while to remind me of my travels. Then one night someone broke into our office thru a window the size of a small suitcase. A SMALL SUITCASE! And robbed us. My own office was ransacked and my Paris pouch was stolen.
Several months later the cops caught the thief, but he didn’t have the pouch full of my foreign coins with him. They were gone forever. Then last week I was watching the news and they mentioned the Euro, the standard currency that replaced all of Europe’s different bills and coins.
So even if I made it back to Europe one more time, I couldn’t replace my old souvenir francs and lira, if I wanted to. Which leads to the 6 word summation of my life which is “Hell, I never saw that coming!”
Anyone come up with a six word summation of their life? Anyone?
Before we continue here’s a couple of notes for your church bulletin.
THE SHADOW KNOWS but Cliff McLaughlin and his crew didn’t have a clue when they were painting the fellowship room and ended up repainting the shadows that skipped across the walls during the day.
For those of you who don’t know- the Reedsville Fishing Club is really just an old baseball bat that hits the fish onto the bank when they jump out of the water after they electrify Kish Creek
(And who do you have to thrill to get into the fishing club? Apparently Gene Glick, ‘cause if he doesn’t like you you’re a rod without a reel. Just ask him, he’ll tell you how he feels- always. Gene’s kinda like the Judge Judy of Reedsville.)
After you’re so old you can get the senior citizen discount on almost anything, including life itself. Some things are good about getting old, while others are not so great.
This covers both sides. The positive stuff about getting old is provided by the ubiquitous unknown comedy writer on the WEB. The more negative points of growing old are provided by yours truly. First are the perks on getting old.
Kidnappers are not very interested in you.
In a hostage situation you are likely to be released first, mainly because it’s way past your bedtime.
People no longer view you as a hypochondriac.
There’s nothing left to learn the hard way.
You can live without sex, but not without your glasses.
You enjoy hearing about other peoples’ operations.
Your investment in health insurance is finally beginning to pay off.
Your secrets are safe with your friends because they can’t remember them either.
That’s pretty much the end of the good stuff, so here’s some of the bad stuff with those senior citizen discounts on life.
You get more musical with age as rock and roll is how fitfully you sleep at night in between numerous trips to the bathroom, rap is what you do with presents and hip hop is what you do when you fall in front of people in public, then pretend you didn’t.
Cher is your Britney Spears.
When your wife winks at you and you think she wants to mess around, it’s probably astigmatism because she can’t see you properly and has to squint.
You nap before, after and during sex.
You run in place and get winded just trying to jog your memory.
You’re so old that you can remember when Walt Disney was a person and not a land or a world.
Happy hour and Miller time have long since replaced your youthful Howdy Doody time, which never gave you a hangover. And you feel more like Clarabell the Clown than Buffalo Bob.
You went from being a walker to using one.
The Pepsi Challenge once landed you in the hospital because you broke something taking it.
You’re disappointed if your biggest lottery winner is $1,000 a week for life. So maybe all you’ll win is a couple thousand bucks.
Sugar is something you’re diagnosed with and not supposed to have anymore.
No one expects you to finish a race now, let alone win it. In fact, expectations are so low for you that if you did actually accomplish something significant at your age, there’d be a full investigation by the proper authorities.
The only cutting up you’ll be involved in will be your nurse cutting up your food for you.
You keep seeing the medicines you take regularly showing up on the news as dangerous to your health and TV ads from lawyers saying that if your pills kill you your family can file lawsuits and seek damages against them by just calling this number.
You can now use your senior citizen discount for Depends, but not for Brylcreem because your hair went the way of your continence.
Life is full of moments that take your breath away, but at your age it could mean a blockage somewhere.
You now have trouble keeping your self winding watch going.
You’re so old that one stop shopping means a cemetery next to a nursing home.
You may not live long enough to pay off a new car, which is why you buy one.
The half moons on your fingernails have almost set.
You live for yesterday, because today sucks.
And finally you don’t have to be nice to people you don’t like anymore. What are they gonna do, snub you at the cemetery?
In case you don’t realize that you’re getting old, you’re in denial, here are some HINTS YOU’RE GETTING OLD
.YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLD
when the only thing that keeps you relevant to top 40 radio is that every few years they release another Elvis and Beatles’ song.
when you want to buy a condo in TV Land and live there, like you’re ten again when I Love Lucy was new.
when you worry more about your bowels than your bad breath.
when the last time you had a date the Vietnam War was going well.
when you download with a cocktail, not a computer, after work.
when you’re too cranky to try to be charming to a good looking member of the opposite sex.
when there’s nothing new under the sun, except for the skin cancer just diagnosed by your dermatologist.
when the only thing that doesn’t give you heartburn is breathing .
when the last time you had a handle on life was when you grabbed the handle on your pharmacy’s plastic bag full of your prescriptions for the next 90 days.
when you start thinking that the speed limit is a tad too fast and everybody beeps “Hi.” and shakes their fists “Hello.” as they speed around you on the highway.
when the next time you move it’s either to the nursing home or the cemetery.
when they don’t want you as an organ donor anymore because the warranty on your body parts has expired.
when you should wear a helmet whenever you go out for a walk.
when the food fad popcorn chicken causes your brain to lock up. Is it popcorn or is it chicken? Make up your #!@&* mind!
when it takes a team of specialists and a string of pharmaceutical companies just to get you to lunch.
when the varicose veins lining your legs is the most attractive part of your body.
Running rampant with my old age theme for today, here’s some AARP bumper stickers.
I’m retired. I was tired yesterday and I’m tired again today.
When I was younger, all I wanted was a nice BMW. Now I don’t care about the W.
CREMATION? Think outside the box.
We got married for better or worse. He couldn’t do better. I couldn’t do any worse.
Florida.? God’s waiting room.
Experience is a wonderful thing. It enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again.
I ask my wife if old men wear boxers or briefs? She said DEPENDS.
Food has replaced sex in my life…Now I can’t even get into my own pants.
Snap, crackle pop in the morning ain’t my freakin’ Rice Krispies.
Senior Campbells… New Large Type Alphabet Soup.
I’d like to end with two philosophical poems from my book BALD AIN’T BEAUTIFUL.
THE MAYTAG PHILOSOPHER
Life is like
The spin cycles
Of a washer.
You begin when
You’re born
And Delicate.
You rinse off
And grow up
To be Regular,
Like everyone else.
You meet someone
Who makes you Hot,
And marry them.
But you soon
Cool Down
And rinse again.
Then are agitated
Till you take
That Final Spin
And become Permanent Press.
THE MISFORTUNE COOKIE OF LIFE
From the day you’re born
Till the day you die,
It’s all just one long goodbye.
So the meaning of life is this-
To love and be loved while you’re here,
Then be missed when you disappear.
There’s a book out called “Not What I was Planning’ which has numerous people summing up their lives in six word statements. Joan Rivers quipped “Liars, hysterectomy didn’t improve sex life.” Humorist Ray Blount Jr. wrote “Maybe you had to be there.”
Novelist Joyce Carol Oates wrote “Revenge is living well, without you.” I can smell a bitter divorce here. Kelsey Ochs said “Follwed yellow brick road, disappointment ensued.”
“I wrote it down somewhere.” someone wrote. “Never finished anything, except cake.” “I colored outside the lines” and columnist Craig Wilson wrote “Dad was Santa. Down hill from there.
Maybe you could come up with your own summation, if you think you’re old enough. I got to thinking and here’s one reason, out of many, as to how I’ve finally summed up my life.
When I was stationed in the Air Force in England in 1969 I took some leave to see Europe. In Paris I bought a leather pouch where I put some foreign coins in, like French franks and Italian lira, as souvenirs.
I had it hidden in my barracks for two years till I packed it in my duffle bag to take home upon my discharge. Back in the USA I moved several times taking that pouch with me each time.
I brought the souvenir pouch into my office and put it on my desk for 33 years, looking at the coins once in a while to remind me of my travels. Then one night someone broke into our office thru a window the size of a small suitcase. A SMALL SUITCASE! And robbed us. My own office was ransacked and my Paris pouch was stolen.
Several months later the cops caught the thief, but he didn’t have the pouch full of my foreign coins with him. They were gone forever. Then last week I was watching the news and they mentioned the Euro, the standard currency that replaced all of Europe’s different bills and coins.
So even if I made it back to Europe one more time, I couldn’t replace my old souvenir francs and lira, if I wanted to. Which leads to the 6 word summation of my life which is “Hell, I never saw that coming!”
Anyone come up with a six word summation of their life? Anyone?
Before we continue here’s a couple of notes for your church bulletin.
THE SHADOW KNOWS but Cliff McLaughlin and his crew didn’t have a clue when they were painting the fellowship room and ended up repainting the shadows that skipped across the walls during the day.
For those of you who don’t know- the Reedsville Fishing Club is really just an old baseball bat that hits the fish onto the bank when they jump out of the water after they electrify Kish Creek
(And who do you have to thrill to get into the fishing club? Apparently Gene Glick, ‘cause if he doesn’t like you you’re a rod without a reel. Just ask him, he’ll tell you how he feels- always. Gene’s kinda like the Judge Judy of Reedsville.)
After you’re so old you can get the senior citizen discount on almost anything, including life itself. Some things are good about getting old, while others are not so great.
This covers both sides. The positive stuff about getting old is provided by the ubiquitous unknown comedy writer on the WEB. The more negative points of growing old are provided by yours truly. First are the perks on getting old.
Kidnappers are not very interested in you.
In a hostage situation you are likely to be released first, mainly because it’s way past your bedtime.
People no longer view you as a hypochondriac.
There’s nothing left to learn the hard way.
You can live without sex, but not without your glasses.
You enjoy hearing about other peoples’ operations.
Your investment in health insurance is finally beginning to pay off.
Your secrets are safe with your friends because they can’t remember them either.
That’s pretty much the end of the good stuff, so here’s some of the bad stuff with those senior citizen discounts on life.
You get more musical with age as rock and roll is how fitfully you sleep at night in between numerous trips to the bathroom, rap is what you do with presents and hip hop is what you do when you fall in front of people in public, then pretend you didn’t.
Cher is your Britney Spears.
When your wife winks at you and you think she wants to mess around, it’s probably astigmatism because she can’t see you properly and has to squint.
You nap before, after and during sex.
You run in place and get winded just trying to jog your memory.
You’re so old that you can remember when Walt Disney was a person and not a land or a world.
Happy hour and Miller time have long since replaced your youthful Howdy Doody time, which never gave you a hangover. And you feel more like Clarabell the Clown than Buffalo Bob.
You went from being a walker to using one.
The Pepsi Challenge once landed you in the hospital because you broke something taking it.
You’re disappointed if your biggest lottery winner is $1,000 a week for life. So maybe all you’ll win is a couple thousand bucks.
Sugar is something you’re diagnosed with and not supposed to have anymore.
No one expects you to finish a race now, let alone win it. In fact, expectations are so low for you that if you did actually accomplish something significant at your age, there’d be a full investigation by the proper authorities.
The only cutting up you’ll be involved in will be your nurse cutting up your food for you.
You keep seeing the medicines you take regularly showing up on the news as dangerous to your health and TV ads from lawyers saying that if your pills kill you your family can file lawsuits and seek damages against them by just calling this number.
You can now use your senior citizen discount for Depends, but not for Brylcreem because your hair went the way of your continence.
Life is full of moments that take your breath away, but at your age it could mean a blockage somewhere.
You now have trouble keeping your self winding watch going.
You’re so old that one stop shopping means a cemetery next to a nursing home.
You may not live long enough to pay off a new car, which is why you buy one.
The half moons on your fingernails have almost set.
You live for yesterday, because today sucks.
And finally you don’t have to be nice to people you don’t like anymore. What are they gonna do, snub you at the cemetery?
In case you don’t realize that you’re getting old, you’re in denial, here are some HINTS YOU’RE GETTING OLD
.YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLD
when the only thing that keeps you relevant to top 40 radio is that every few years they release another Elvis and Beatles’ song.
when you want to buy a condo in TV Land and live there, like you’re ten again when I Love Lucy was new.
when you worry more about your bowels than your bad breath.
when the last time you had a date the Vietnam War was going well.
when you download with a cocktail, not a computer, after work.
when you’re too cranky to try to be charming to a good looking member of the opposite sex.
when there’s nothing new under the sun, except for the skin cancer just diagnosed by your dermatologist.
when the only thing that doesn’t give you heartburn is breathing .
when the last time you had a handle on life was when you grabbed the handle on your pharmacy’s plastic bag full of your prescriptions for the next 90 days.
when you start thinking that the speed limit is a tad too fast and everybody beeps “Hi.” and shakes their fists “Hello.” as they speed around you on the highway.
when the next time you move it’s either to the nursing home or the cemetery.
when they don’t want you as an organ donor anymore because the warranty on your body parts has expired.
when you should wear a helmet whenever you go out for a walk.
when the food fad popcorn chicken causes your brain to lock up. Is it popcorn or is it chicken? Make up your #!@&* mind!
when it takes a team of specialists and a string of pharmaceutical companies just to get you to lunch.
when the varicose veins lining your legs is the most attractive part of your body.
Running rampant with my old age theme for today, here’s some AARP bumper stickers.
I’m retired. I was tired yesterday and I’m tired again today.
When I was younger, all I wanted was a nice BMW. Now I don’t care about the W.
CREMATION? Think outside the box.
We got married for better or worse. He couldn’t do better. I couldn’t do any worse.
Florida.? God’s waiting room.
Experience is a wonderful thing. It enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again.
I ask my wife if old men wear boxers or briefs? She said DEPENDS.
Food has replaced sex in my life…Now I can’t even get into my own pants.
Snap, crackle pop in the morning ain’t my freakin’ Rice Krispies.
Senior Campbells… New Large Type Alphabet Soup.
I’d like to end with two philosophical poems from my book BALD AIN’T BEAUTIFUL.
THE MAYTAG PHILOSOPHER
Life is like
The spin cycles
Of a washer.
You begin when
You’re born
And Delicate.
You rinse off
And grow up
To be Regular,
Like everyone else.
You meet someone
Who makes you Hot,
And marry them.
But you soon
Cool Down
And rinse again.
Then are agitated
Till you take
That Final Spin
And become Permanent Press.
THE MISFORTUNE COOKIE OF LIFE
From the day you’re born
Till the day you die,
It’s all just one long goodbye.
So the meaning of life is this-
To love and be loved while you’re here,
Then be missed when you disappear.
Thursday, May 14
ADULT - BEATLES SONG PARODIES
These songs were originally written by Lennon, McCartney & Moe and were not hits. Luckily, Mo died in a mysterious explosion high over the Mersey and went down like a truck stop hooker. So Lennon and McCartney rewrote them and the rest is musical legend. These songs, however, are musical history. Feel free to hummer along.
PESTER DAY
Lennon, McCartney & Moe
Pester Day, all my screwing seems so far away.
Now it looks like I have to pray for a lay, Oh
I believe in Pester Day
Suddenly, I’m twice the man I used to be
Swollen with sperm hanging all over me.
Oh, Pester Day, I need to COME SUDDENLY.
Why she says no, she wouldn’t say.
I pulled out my dong, which’s not wrong for Pester Day.
Pester Day, I beg for any sex game to play
Now I need a place (hole) to SLIDE AWAY, Oh
I believe in Pester Day.
Why she wouldn’t blow, I don’t know, she wouldn’t say.
I make my dong long when I plead on Pester Day.
Pester Day, ‘cause love’s such a hard game to play
Now, I need a place (hole) to slide away. Oh,
I believe in Pester Day.
A REALLY HARD DAY’S NIGHT
Lennon, McCartney & Moe
It’s been a hard day’s night, and I been humping like a dog.
It’s been a hard day’s night and I should be croaking like a frog,
But when I get home to you I find everything that you do
Will make me feel uptight.
You know I work all day to get me money for my honeys
But it’s not worth it when I hear the doctor say they gave me
STDs.
So why on earth do I moan? It’s cause when you throw a fit
You know, I feel like shit.
When I’m home everything seems NOT right.
When I’m home reeling it’s cause I’m real tight. Tight (Ummm)
Owww!
So why on earth do I moan? It’s cause when you throw a fit
You know, I feel like shit.
You know, I feel uptight.
You know, I feel uptight
PESTER DAY
Lennon, McCartney & Moe
Pester Day, all my screwing seems so far away.
Now it looks like I have to pray for a lay, Oh
I believe in Pester Day
Suddenly, I’m twice the man I used to be
Swollen with sperm hanging all over me.
Oh, Pester Day, I need to COME SUDDENLY.
Why she says no, she wouldn’t say.
I pulled out my dong, which’s not wrong for Pester Day.
Pester Day, I beg for any sex game to play
Now I need a place (hole) to SLIDE AWAY, Oh
I believe in Pester Day.
Why she wouldn’t blow, I don’t know, she wouldn’t say.
I make my dong long when I plead on Pester Day.
Pester Day, ‘cause love’s such a hard game to play
Now, I need a place (hole) to slide away. Oh,
I believe in Pester Day.
A REALLY HARD DAY’S NIGHT
Lennon, McCartney & Moe
It’s been a hard day’s night, and I been humping like a dog.
It’s been a hard day’s night and I should be croaking like a frog,
But when I get home to you I find everything that you do
Will make me feel uptight.
You know I work all day to get me money for my honeys
But it’s not worth it when I hear the doctor say they gave me
STDs.
So why on earth do I moan? It’s cause when you throw a fit
You know, I feel like shit.
When I’m home everything seems NOT right.
When I’m home reeling it’s cause I’m real tight. Tight (Ummm)
Owww!
So why on earth do I moan? It’s cause when you throw a fit
You know, I feel like shit.
You know, I feel uptight.
You know, I feel uptight
Tuesday, April 28
MOTHERS AND SONS-MOTHER'S DAY
There’s a special bond between mothers and sons. It’s the bond of servitude. Mothers generally wait on their sons hand and foot and sons wait on their mothers to wait on them.
It’s not a bad deal for a son, but it can be a killer for a marriage if the son expects to marry a gal just like good old dad did. Wives can be way too busy waiting on their own demanding children to wait on their husband/child hand and foot.
Sons suddenly become helpless around their mothers. They could be the king of the world, masters of their own domain or capable of leaping tall buildings in a single bound, but get around their mothers and they become little boys again waiting for mommy to tie a bib around them before they eat.
That’s somewhat different than the CEO who expects his secretary to do everything for him. In other words, men are babies. Sorry guys, the truth hurts till you feel like bawling. But I digress.
When I visit my 91 year-old mother Milly Roddey (Yes, Milly and Billy, isn’t that cute?) I usually bring fast food for our dinner. However, at Christmas time mom has the four rings of fire roaring on the range, pots are boiling over, pans are sizzling, the oven is broiling and she’s young again feeding her family, her only child, his favorites. You can see the light in her dimming eyes brightly shining as she takes on the roll of her lifetime as my mother.
Sons have to be a tad careful though around their mothers in what they say or do, or they could be compared to good old dad, as in “You’re just like your father!” which is not necessarily a good thing.
Statistically, husbands die before their wives, perhaps to get out of doing the dishes. Men can be lazy, yet practical at the same time. But no matter what, there are more widows than widowers on the market.
When you overhear a platoon of widows talking about marriage it sounds like they feel they did their duty and served their sentence and now they can finally do what they really want to do, without having a man underfoot. However, many widowers are looking for their next wives to take care of them.
Regardless, a mother’s son never calls or visits enough, while the daughters, who may very well help them out the most, can be ignored and taken for granted.
My mother has known me all my life. I don’t know that she’s always approved of me, but she’s faked it well because she’s a true mother. We can argue and wonder if we’re really related at all, but our ties go back to my boyhood birthday parties, a million home cooked meals, bonding together behind the bedroom door as my mad dad tried to kick it in to get at us, girlfriends coming and going, pride in my academic achievements ( like the one time I made the honor roll in high school, and never did it again because it took too much studying), dogs that died after years of devotion till they just wore out in their teens, letters from home when I was shipped overseas in the service and over five decades of counseling and consoling.
My mother is a tiny tower of white haired strength, feisty in her faith, lasting in her loyalty and always a mother to everyone around her. She’s the generic mom with the super sized heart.
I’m proud to be her son. She’s had a tough life and has persevered. I didn’t get to meet her till she was 31 and had me, but almost every year since something reminds me that I’m more like her than anything else. Even if it doesn’t always show, like I just don’t understand why she hates chicken corn soup. It’s soooooo goooood!
It’s not a bad deal for a son, but it can be a killer for a marriage if the son expects to marry a gal just like good old dad did. Wives can be way too busy waiting on their own demanding children to wait on their husband/child hand and foot.
Sons suddenly become helpless around their mothers. They could be the king of the world, masters of their own domain or capable of leaping tall buildings in a single bound, but get around their mothers and they become little boys again waiting for mommy to tie a bib around them before they eat.
That’s somewhat different than the CEO who expects his secretary to do everything for him. In other words, men are babies. Sorry guys, the truth hurts till you feel like bawling. But I digress.
When I visit my 91 year-old mother Milly Roddey (Yes, Milly and Billy, isn’t that cute?) I usually bring fast food for our dinner. However, at Christmas time mom has the four rings of fire roaring on the range, pots are boiling over, pans are sizzling, the oven is broiling and she’s young again feeding her family, her only child, his favorites. You can see the light in her dimming eyes brightly shining as she takes on the roll of her lifetime as my mother.
Sons have to be a tad careful though around their mothers in what they say or do, or they could be compared to good old dad, as in “You’re just like your father!” which is not necessarily a good thing.
Statistically, husbands die before their wives, perhaps to get out of doing the dishes. Men can be lazy, yet practical at the same time. But no matter what, there are more widows than widowers on the market.
When you overhear a platoon of widows talking about marriage it sounds like they feel they did their duty and served their sentence and now they can finally do what they really want to do, without having a man underfoot. However, many widowers are looking for their next wives to take care of them.
Regardless, a mother’s son never calls or visits enough, while the daughters, who may very well help them out the most, can be ignored and taken for granted.
My mother has known me all my life. I don’t know that she’s always approved of me, but she’s faked it well because she’s a true mother. We can argue and wonder if we’re really related at all, but our ties go back to my boyhood birthday parties, a million home cooked meals, bonding together behind the bedroom door as my mad dad tried to kick it in to get at us, girlfriends coming and going, pride in my academic achievements ( like the one time I made the honor roll in high school, and never did it again because it took too much studying), dogs that died after years of devotion till they just wore out in their teens, letters from home when I was shipped overseas in the service and over five decades of counseling and consoling.
My mother is a tiny tower of white haired strength, feisty in her faith, lasting in her loyalty and always a mother to everyone around her. She’s the generic mom with the super sized heart.
I’m proud to be her son. She’s had a tough life and has persevered. I didn’t get to meet her till she was 31 and had me, but almost every year since something reminds me that I’m more like her than anything else. Even if it doesn’t always show, like I just don’t understand why she hates chicken corn soup. It’s soooooo goooood!
Thursday, April 16
CRIME VICTIM'S STATEMENT--JACK T. RODDEY
This is the last thing left I can do for my beloved precious grandson, Jack Roddey in this courtroom. I come here to celebrate his life and all his lost potential. Jack’s life was full of family and friends who loved him dearly and his potential was unlimited.
He was consistently on the honor roll and made the distinguished honor roll his last school marking period. And he won a citizenship award for his winning essay at Sacred Heart elementary school.
Jack was a brave little boy. I remember once when he was 6 or so I took him to the doctors and he had to have four shots at once. Four shots! He didn’t complain or cry. He just sat there on my lap biting his lip and braced himself for his shots.
Jack always stood up for the handicapped, starting with his handicapped step brother, Mikey. If someone was making fun of a disabled child, Jack quickly told them off. He wouldn’t put up with bulying anyone.
Jack was also my audience for me being silly or telling silly jokes. Sometimes it seemed like he was the adult and I was the kid.
I’m here seeking justice for Jack. Justice for Jack, because he can’t speak for himself. His neighbor Josh ended Jack’s short life with a single simple pull of a trigger. That's all, to end such a special loving and beloved life. Josh continues to enjoy the love and support of his family and all that life has to offer a 13–year–old boy.
Josh moves on, leaving Jack behind FOREVER FOURTEEN.
My grandson Jack was the future I'd never see. Now he's the past I see over and over and over again in my mind. That past started horrifically on 1/16/09 about 1:15 pm with a split second shot that took away his life and everything he'd ever be. Jack made our world so much brighter with his presence, but so much bleaker with his passing.
His school friends wrote Rest in Peace, Jack T. Roddey. Rest in peace should NEVER have to be said to a 14-year-old boy! Ever! Jack, you should be running and jumping, laughing and playing, flirting and hugging, joking and helping others long after I'm gone. Instead, you're still and silent in your dark dank grave.
Oh Jackie, my heart is shattered and scattered to the ends of the earth and I see you everywhere; wherever there's video games, Dr. Pepper, popcorn chicken, a playground, sour candy, birthday cards, a backyard trampoline, kids and a boy's mischievous grin. Fun followed you around like a circus. Now that circus has left town, leaving behind misery and bittersweet memories.
In dreams Jack, I see you behind me stuck at that terrible January day waving and shouting at me, "Granddad stop! Wait Granddad! Don't leave me here! Please, Granddad! Please!" But I can't stop. I try to turn around. I try hard to go back and get you, but the present is too powerful and it pushes me forward, hurtling me thru life weeping without you, as you recede and get smaller in the distance.
You're like a beautiful book I reread in my mind every day till I reach the same tragic ending. Goodbye my darling grandson, I cherish every moment we had together. It went by in the wink of an eye and I'll never REALLY see you again.
Even if I could search the seas and wander the world endlessly and fly from planet to planet in every galaxy in the entire universe, I'd never find you and see your beautiful smile and your boyish face again. Or hear you laugh, tease you, joke with you or ruffle your curly blond hair ever again. You are gone forever and the enormity and weight of that crushes me.
I love you and miss you so so much, my sweet sweet goofy barefoot boy.
Granddad
He was consistently on the honor roll and made the distinguished honor roll his last school marking period. And he won a citizenship award for his winning essay at Sacred Heart elementary school.
Jack was a brave little boy. I remember once when he was 6 or so I took him to the doctors and he had to have four shots at once. Four shots! He didn’t complain or cry. He just sat there on my lap biting his lip and braced himself for his shots.
Jack always stood up for the handicapped, starting with his handicapped step brother, Mikey. If someone was making fun of a disabled child, Jack quickly told them off. He wouldn’t put up with bulying anyone.
Jack was also my audience for me being silly or telling silly jokes. Sometimes it seemed like he was the adult and I was the kid.
I’m here seeking justice for Jack. Justice for Jack, because he can’t speak for himself. His neighbor Josh ended Jack’s short life with a single simple pull of a trigger. That's all, to end such a special loving and beloved life. Josh continues to enjoy the love and support of his family and all that life has to offer a 13–year–old boy.
Josh moves on, leaving Jack behind FOREVER FOURTEEN.
My grandson Jack was the future I'd never see. Now he's the past I see over and over and over again in my mind. That past started horrifically on 1/16/09 about 1:15 pm with a split second shot that took away his life and everything he'd ever be. Jack made our world so much brighter with his presence, but so much bleaker with his passing.
His school friends wrote Rest in Peace, Jack T. Roddey. Rest in peace should NEVER have to be said to a 14-year-old boy! Ever! Jack, you should be running and jumping, laughing and playing, flirting and hugging, joking and helping others long after I'm gone. Instead, you're still and silent in your dark dank grave.
Oh Jackie, my heart is shattered and scattered to the ends of the earth and I see you everywhere; wherever there's video games, Dr. Pepper, popcorn chicken, a playground, sour candy, birthday cards, a backyard trampoline, kids and a boy's mischievous grin. Fun followed you around like a circus. Now that circus has left town, leaving behind misery and bittersweet memories.
In dreams Jack, I see you behind me stuck at that terrible January day waving and shouting at me, "Granddad stop! Wait Granddad! Don't leave me here! Please, Granddad! Please!" But I can't stop. I try to turn around. I try hard to go back and get you, but the present is too powerful and it pushes me forward, hurtling me thru life weeping without you, as you recede and get smaller in the distance.
You're like a beautiful book I reread in my mind every day till I reach the same tragic ending. Goodbye my darling grandson, I cherish every moment we had together. It went by in the wink of an eye and I'll never REALLY see you again.
Even if I could search the seas and wander the world endlessly and fly from planet to planet in every galaxy in the entire universe, I'd never find you and see your beautiful smile and your boyish face again. Or hear you laugh, tease you, joke with you or ruffle your curly blond hair ever again. You are gone forever and the enormity and weight of that crushes me.
I love you and miss you so so much, my sweet sweet goofy barefoot boy.
Granddad
Thursday, April 2
LOST IN D.C. AFTER DATE
Retirement- Nowhere to go anymore AND all day to get there. Oh, sorry I was just lost in thought. That happens a lot lately, especially when I see a pretty girl or monkeys fooling around on the TV. “Lost”- a TV series I never miss, even though I’ve never really understood a single episode.
Lost- Washington, D.C., the most confusing city I’ve ever driven thru. And this is genetic. I remember one family trip with my father driving down south trying to pass thru Washington, D.C., years before the beltway around the city was built.
My father, who was not a pleasant person at the best of times, had gotten lost and pulled over to ask directions. Off we went with the directions fresh in my father’s head, only to return several hours later to the exact same spot, having circumnavigated the center of the city to get there.
To deny that my dad was mad would be like trying to put the lava back into an erupting volcano with a tea spoon. I just remember flush faced boiling over anger and total silence from my mother and me the remainder of the trip.
Many years later I also got lost down town. I drove into D.C. from my Air Force barracks to pick up a cute English girl named Georgina who was a governess for a diplomat’s family that lived on so-called Embassy Road.
I knocked on their huge posh door and was ushered in as Georgina told the family, on one of the house’s many intercoms that she was leaving. “Ta, Ta.” Aside from a tour of the White House this was the nicest house I’d ever been in.
My big idea for our date was to see Elvis Presley’s 1968 comeback TV special. So I drove to Georgetown University, parked and entered buildings until I found a dayroom with a TV. We sat on a couch, like we belonged there, and watched Elvis swathed all in black leather in concert after I changed the channel.
Afterwards, I treated her to a fast food burger and fries then returned her to the castle. In other words, it was a great date and reasonably priced.
Now I only knew one way in and one way out of confusing Washington D.C. and I missed a turn. So I drove around the district like a drunk searching for a drink after all the bars had closed.
I got to see Abe at the Lincoln Memorial stand up and stretch after sitting all day like a statue for the tourists. I overheard Thomas Jefferson at the Jefferson Memorial declare that “All men are created equal, except for slaves.” Because he couldn’t have kept his plantation Monticello going financially without all his free slave labor. They later cut that last part out of the Declaration of Independence.
The White House turns all colors of the rainbow on Gay Pride Saturday nights. I spotted the Reflecting Pool churning with mermaids around 4 AM and the reflection of Marilyn Monroe singing “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” like a big haired plunging cleavage billboard in its waters.
At least that’s what I thought I saw in my sleep deprived fevered mind as I chased Route 95 beltway signs that appeared then suddenly disappeared just before leading you to the actual beltway.
I’m surprised I’m not still circling the city, but I got back before my duty started again on Monday morning. The last I heard about Georgina was that she had moved west and married a cowboy. Way to go, girlfriend. Giddyup, Limey.
Lost- Washington, D.C., the most confusing city I’ve ever driven thru. And this is genetic. I remember one family trip with my father driving down south trying to pass thru Washington, D.C., years before the beltway around the city was built.
My father, who was not a pleasant person at the best of times, had gotten lost and pulled over to ask directions. Off we went with the directions fresh in my father’s head, only to return several hours later to the exact same spot, having circumnavigated the center of the city to get there.
To deny that my dad was mad would be like trying to put the lava back into an erupting volcano with a tea spoon. I just remember flush faced boiling over anger and total silence from my mother and me the remainder of the trip.
Many years later I also got lost down town. I drove into D.C. from my Air Force barracks to pick up a cute English girl named Georgina who was a governess for a diplomat’s family that lived on so-called Embassy Road.
I knocked on their huge posh door and was ushered in as Georgina told the family, on one of the house’s many intercoms that she was leaving. “Ta, Ta.” Aside from a tour of the White House this was the nicest house I’d ever been in.
My big idea for our date was to see Elvis Presley’s 1968 comeback TV special. So I drove to Georgetown University, parked and entered buildings until I found a dayroom with a TV. We sat on a couch, like we belonged there, and watched Elvis swathed all in black leather in concert after I changed the channel.
Afterwards, I treated her to a fast food burger and fries then returned her to the castle. In other words, it was a great date and reasonably priced.
Now I only knew one way in and one way out of confusing Washington D.C. and I missed a turn. So I drove around the district like a drunk searching for a drink after all the bars had closed.
I got to see Abe at the Lincoln Memorial stand up and stretch after sitting all day like a statue for the tourists. I overheard Thomas Jefferson at the Jefferson Memorial declare that “All men are created equal, except for slaves.” Because he couldn’t have kept his plantation Monticello going financially without all his free slave labor. They later cut that last part out of the Declaration of Independence.
The White House turns all colors of the rainbow on Gay Pride Saturday nights. I spotted the Reflecting Pool churning with mermaids around 4 AM and the reflection of Marilyn Monroe singing “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” like a big haired plunging cleavage billboard in its waters.
At least that’s what I thought I saw in my sleep deprived fevered mind as I chased Route 95 beltway signs that appeared then suddenly disappeared just before leading you to the actual beltway.
I’m surprised I’m not still circling the city, but I got back before my duty started again on Monday morning. The last I heard about Georgina was that she had moved west and married a cowboy. Way to go, girlfriend. Giddyup, Limey.
Friday, March 20
ADULT- A LETTER FROM FALLING ROCK
Thought I’d drop you a line from Falling Rock, or maybe a pebble. The signs of spring are everywhere. There’s more falling rocks than you can shake a stick at, and even if you did, you’d still get hit. The tulips are popping, the daffodils are dazzling and the rolling fields of pot are in magnificent full bloom. And if the pot heads don’t smoke it all, it could be a banner year for a great cash crop of Mary Jane. Way to go, Co-Op!
The meth labs are bubbling and bubbling away waiting for the spring break college kids return to the Crystal Capital of the Country-Falling Rock. Pop’s Pharmacy and Solid Waste Removal Shit House is stocking boxes of date rape drugs right beside the Trojan vibrating rubbers and personal lubricating lotions. And the high school kids are screwing like the Las Vegas Bunny Ranch everywhere you go. Pregnancy tests are turning pink plus all over town.
Here’s a roll call of some of our town’s leaders and losers, so let’s rock and roll. Lil’ Tiny Tim just got out of prison due to bad behavior. He was too much for the state penal system. We’re so proud! Luckily, a license plate factory had already opened in town, so that on his first day of work he had more seniority than anyone there.
His parole agent, Tommy Lee Smith, thinks Timmy could become the “Parolee least likely to rob a convenience store with a bottle opener after he runs out of beer at 3 in the morning.” They give a ribbon for that. It’s a Pabst Blue Ribbon, but a ribbon none the less.
Bubba O’Bromaweitz was arrested for statutory rape after he tried to screw the Susan B. Anthony statue in the Old Maids’ Public Library. Bubba chipped his woody, so they let him off with a warning.
All the Gateway computers were confiscated by the police because they say they’re the Gateway computer to harder drives and heroin. The Falling Rock Swingers Club has been disbanded because its membership was down to one guy- Homer Handcock, who just wanted to get laid some weekend. He had no woman to share with anyone.
One of the Wal-Mart greeters cracked and started throwing carts at the customers coming in while shouting that the Devil lived in aisle 666. He was carted away. Then Satan came back from his break and asked what the devil had happened, while denying medical coverage for over half the store’s workers.
The pigeon slaughter house closed down because the one guy who ate pigeon pie every day, Garreth P. Featherston, was beaten to death by Brick, his homophobic waiter, for ordering his spotted dick for desert at the Buckingham Palace Hash House. He said “I’ll have your spotted dick, please.” not knowing that Brick had eczema down on his willywanger. After Brick found spotted dick on the British menu he apologized to Garreth’s corpse.
Grandma got run over by a reindeer, so she took after it in the pick-up and road killed that sucker into the rapture. Christmas was cancelled this past year in the holler due to Santa going to rehab for drunk diving too low.
Our cat, King Creole, caught 23 mice in the basement. They were all feeding on Aunt Lil, who had gone down there last New Year’s Eve to get some Moonshine Schnapps and hadn’t been seen since.
We’d put King out to stud, but he’s been spayed, so he’d just end up going thru the motions, not unlike the wife once a year on our anniversary.
Our town drunk, Bubba Fallindown, moved to Bub’s Brewery and Convalescence Home in Wet County, so we’ve been reduced to making fun of the school librarian, Miss Tiltbottom, who tends to overdo it on “all the Sangria you can drink Fridays” at Beefsteak Charlies.
Ronald McDonald, at the Meat Lane Mickey D’s, was arrested for having too many kids sitting lewdly on his lap during Happy Meal hour. They’d scrunch around on his lap wiggling till he levitated them. And the Hamburgler’s trial comes up on the docket next Monday for grabbing the Whopper in Big Jim Johnson’s pants.
Me and Bobbie McGee applied for that “American Idle” show saying we’ve been idle since the 60’s, when the guts from some road kill scared us so much on the way to our first job that we turned around and returned home. And we haven’t worked since. It turns out that “American Idle” is a singing contest, so we stopped applying for contests too.
Uncle Sally got a promotion to janitor at the sewage treatment plant, where, frankly, he has to put up with a lot of shit. But after years of taking his dates down there, he finally got lucky.
Dad had our family tree done and discovered that one of our descendants, Jimmy Crack Corn, could have signed the Declaration of Independence, but he don’t care. How ‘bout that!!
Goodbye from Falling Rock-where all the men are dented (from those falling rocks), the women are clueless and the children could care less.
Semi Sincerely,
Billy Bob Bobbey
The meth labs are bubbling and bubbling away waiting for the spring break college kids return to the Crystal Capital of the Country-Falling Rock. Pop’s Pharmacy and Solid Waste Removal Shit House is stocking boxes of date rape drugs right beside the Trojan vibrating rubbers and personal lubricating lotions. And the high school kids are screwing like the Las Vegas Bunny Ranch everywhere you go. Pregnancy tests are turning pink plus all over town.
Here’s a roll call of some of our town’s leaders and losers, so let’s rock and roll. Lil’ Tiny Tim just got out of prison due to bad behavior. He was too much for the state penal system. We’re so proud! Luckily, a license plate factory had already opened in town, so that on his first day of work he had more seniority than anyone there.
His parole agent, Tommy Lee Smith, thinks Timmy could become the “Parolee least likely to rob a convenience store with a bottle opener after he runs out of beer at 3 in the morning.” They give a ribbon for that. It’s a Pabst Blue Ribbon, but a ribbon none the less.
Bubba O’Bromaweitz was arrested for statutory rape after he tried to screw the Susan B. Anthony statue in the Old Maids’ Public Library. Bubba chipped his woody, so they let him off with a warning.
All the Gateway computers were confiscated by the police because they say they’re the Gateway computer to harder drives and heroin. The Falling Rock Swingers Club has been disbanded because its membership was down to one guy- Homer Handcock, who just wanted to get laid some weekend. He had no woman to share with anyone.
One of the Wal-Mart greeters cracked and started throwing carts at the customers coming in while shouting that the Devil lived in aisle 666. He was carted away. Then Satan came back from his break and asked what the devil had happened, while denying medical coverage for over half the store’s workers.
The pigeon slaughter house closed down because the one guy who ate pigeon pie every day, Garreth P. Featherston, was beaten to death by Brick, his homophobic waiter, for ordering his spotted dick for desert at the Buckingham Palace Hash House. He said “I’ll have your spotted dick, please.” not knowing that Brick had eczema down on his willywanger. After Brick found spotted dick on the British menu he apologized to Garreth’s corpse.
Grandma got run over by a reindeer, so she took after it in the pick-up and road killed that sucker into the rapture. Christmas was cancelled this past year in the holler due to Santa going to rehab for drunk diving too low.
Our cat, King Creole, caught 23 mice in the basement. They were all feeding on Aunt Lil, who had gone down there last New Year’s Eve to get some Moonshine Schnapps and hadn’t been seen since.
We’d put King out to stud, but he’s been spayed, so he’d just end up going thru the motions, not unlike the wife once a year on our anniversary.
Our town drunk, Bubba Fallindown, moved to Bub’s Brewery and Convalescence Home in Wet County, so we’ve been reduced to making fun of the school librarian, Miss Tiltbottom, who tends to overdo it on “all the Sangria you can drink Fridays” at Beefsteak Charlies.
Ronald McDonald, at the Meat Lane Mickey D’s, was arrested for having too many kids sitting lewdly on his lap during Happy Meal hour. They’d scrunch around on his lap wiggling till he levitated them. And the Hamburgler’s trial comes up on the docket next Monday for grabbing the Whopper in Big Jim Johnson’s pants.
Me and Bobbie McGee applied for that “American Idle” show saying we’ve been idle since the 60’s, when the guts from some road kill scared us so much on the way to our first job that we turned around and returned home. And we haven’t worked since. It turns out that “American Idle” is a singing contest, so we stopped applying for contests too.
Uncle Sally got a promotion to janitor at the sewage treatment plant, where, frankly, he has to put up with a lot of shit. But after years of taking his dates down there, he finally got lucky.
Dad had our family tree done and discovered that one of our descendants, Jimmy Crack Corn, could have signed the Declaration of Independence, but he don’t care. How ‘bout that!!
Goodbye from Falling Rock-where all the men are dented (from those falling rocks), the women are clueless and the children could care less.
Semi Sincerely,
Billy Bob Bobbey
Sunday, February 22
A WORKING SNOW DAY IN STATE COLLEGE, PA
I woke up running for my life down Beaver Ave. I didn’t know who I was or who was chasing me. A bullet winged my earlobe and then. Oh wait, this isn’t a suspense short story.
He loved the lilt of her laugh, but had misgivings about her bobbing Adam’s apple that went along with it. Opps, this isn’t a Romance with a Twist story.
Let’s begin again, eh? A permanent rainbow was arcing over State College. It’d been there almost a week. AccuWeather was sending a team of meteorologists downtown to study it. Oh boy, this is not a One Fine Day in Happy Valley story either.
Excuse me again. This is your all-knowing narrator. The hopeful author has just informed me that this is a so-called comedy short story. So a priest, a rabbi and a parrot walk into a bar….
OK, OK, Bill I’ll begin anew. It was Valentine’s Day and a huge blizzard was blasting towards Centre County. Mt. Nittany was shrouded in an icy mist in the shape of Jo Pa. The Nittany Lion statue on campus had grown a second coat in anticipation. It was 8:30 a.m. and a brick office building in downtown State College started filling up with glum employees, slumped over trying to cuddle with themselves to keep warm. Breaths frozen outside turned to drool inside.
The office manager, Brad, walked in first. He was a 6’5” and with his badly slumping shoulders and downcast head looked like a question mark. In fact, he had more questions than answers, but had to pretend he knew it all.
Janice from clerical entered next and Brad nodded hello and headed for his first cup of coffee in the lunch room, even before taking off his coat. If he could, he would have hooked up a coffee IV drip straight into his arm. But alas, Star Bucks had not developed that technology yet.
Soon the full complement of 10 had arrived, hanging their coats up like a second skin to shed and put on as needed.
Brad only came alive with his second cuppa as he walked around the small office taking attendance. Brad told Jenny how pretty she looked, which caused Linda to leap up and shout “Crossing the line! Crossing the line, boss!” This was based on some sexual harassment training they’d just had that nixed almost all personal comments to co-workers, leaving only grunts of appreciation.
To cover his tracks, Brad told Jeremy how pretty he looked too, so as not to appear sexist. Linda sat down in a huff, which covered her like a shroud, but she was excitable as an exclamation point and was coiled ready to pop up immediately whenever offended again.
Tim, a short squat bull dog of a man, who at 25 looked 40, was the first to ask Brad, “Any chance of us getting off early due to the storm, Brad?”
Brad assured Tim that he’d keep on top of it.
This stirred up the staff to start staring out the small slit windows searching for the first flake to fall, hoping for an early release. This was not unlike prisoners getting out of jail for good behavior.
They started quoting the AccuWeather forecast of 10 to15 inches by tonight, gusts up to 50 miles per hour with blizzard white-out conditions predicted. And a freezing night without power was possible if the power lines fell like dropped watermelons during a David Letterman TV stunt, from his theater’s roof.
A steady stream of staff trooped into Brad’s office to ask if he’d heard anything from the home office about getting out early. He said he was checking his computer constantly to catch any updates on office closings. He thought they were like school kids pestering Mom and Dad constantly about school closing the next day. He didn’t feel particularly paternal, as several were older than him and all were adults.
Brad called a quick staff meeting in the board room. They sat there talking and laughing at this unexpected break from work. At the podium he told them that the home office was again warning them against sending any e-mails that could offend someone that would get them suspended or even fired.
John shouted out “How ‘bout the e-mails telling us to do more with less. They certainly offend me.” People hooted and hollered in agreement.
“John, quite sending out all those jokes. This isn’t ‘The Last Comic Standing’ show here. It’s an office. OK?” Brad shot back. “Your e-mail is really their e-mail to be pulled up any time they need to. If they wanted to cut half the staff, all they’d have to do is print out your inappropriate e-mails, fire you, then you’d all be applying to greet shoppers at 3 a.m. at Wal-Mart so fast your head would spin like Linda Blair’s in ‘The Exorcist’.”
“Can you show us how that’d look, Brad?” joked John.
Brad suddenly remembered why he seldom held staff meetings. On the rare occasion they were actually listening to what he said, they’d just make wise cracks about it.
“And only work related internet use. Buying and selling baskets on eBay isn’t part of your job description, Polly. Now get back to what you laughingly call work”
Brad returned to his office, leaving them talking and catching up on what everybody had done in the last 15 hours, since they’d left work. Apparently, their lives were very eventful because they stayed awhile.
As soon as everyone had gotten back to work, the lights flickered and the computer screens went shut eyes black. A general hub bub erupted with exclamations of outrage and joy. Once the system went down it was virtually impossible to do anything. Your computer just became a paperweight to see your own reflection in. Cyber space creates a black hole when it orbits elsewhere.
Jenny walked into Brad’s office and plopped down in a chair. She was young, perky and full of promise, a willowy 25 year-old, who saw the glass as full when it was actually empty. Brad hated perky, but appreciated willowy.
Jenny became wiggly as a puppy at the mention of snow and wanted to share her thoughts with Brad.
“Don’t you just love a snow storm, Brad? That sheet of quiet white lying on God’s great canvas. It’s like spiritual. For sure.”
Brad responded less than enthusiastically “I absolutely hate winter. I have since I started to work. It was great when I was a kid. Now I have to drive to work when school snow days are called and snake down the treacherous roads and streets hoping to get home alive, when all I want to do is stay home.”
“But that first flush of freshly fallen snow is so serene and clean. Everything just slows down and that fast paced life you lead takes a breather.” Jenny glowed.
“Sure, unless you try to stop at a red light or a stop sign, then you just glide your way into incoming traffic that can’t stop either. On the third day the snow’s turned to gray icy snot that doesn’t go away till spring. Then it turns black, like everyone’s mood at the end of a long hard winter.”
“But you can go sledding and ice skating with your kids” Jenny rambled on.
“What, and tear them away from their iPods, Wiis, Play Stations, cell phones and the internet? They’re more plugged in than a power plant.”
“Oh, you’re just an old grump, Bradly.” Jenny growled.
“Hey, wait a second didn’t your car get wrecked or something last winter in all that wonderful white snow?” Brad suddenly remembered.
“Yeah. So?” snapped Jenny as she stormed out.
The smokers snuck outside to light up. The snow was falling hard, but landing lightly. They cupped each lighter like it was the Olympic torch to set their butts on fire and get that blast of nicotine deep into their lungs. They soon looked like Frosty the Snowmen on fire. They hadn’t been able to smoke in the office since it’d been banned on September 11th, their own personal 9/11 tragedy. They were edgy and jumpy, till they could get out into the frosty flakey air and start puffing furiously.
Like airport runway lights shutting down, State College clicked off for the day. There was nary a pizza shop or a bar left to lift the soul. Closings on the radio came faster than rabbits running across a road, but Brad’s office still hadn’t heard anything.
People monitored the radio like a jealous girlfriend watching her cheating boyfriend and they called their friends and families complaining that they were still at work.
Jenny sat there soberly remembering how a snow plow had smashed into her car on Route 26 as she sat there taking a scenic shot of a snow covered possum last year. Her date for Valentine’s Day had just cancelled due to the storm. They’d only had two dates before and she was afraid the momentum would stop, as he hadn’t mentioned a make up date. She hated winter!
It was 4:10, about the time the winter sun wisely gave up and went somewhere else to get warm. Joe ran into Brad’s office shouting that Seven Mountains was closing. Brad had several workers that needed to go over the mountain to get home. He tried one more time to reach the home office where everyone had probably gone due to the storm.
He waited ten minutes and then made an executive decision. He announced that he was closing the office. There was a rush to the back door with people yanking on their coats, while calling home on their cell phones. Thus proving they could multi-task, when so motivated.
Most had left their brushes inside their cars, so when they opened a door to get them to brush the snow off, a wall of white fell on a car seat to soak it. And they did this for every snowstorm. The learning curve must be very steep for this.
By the time Brad left the office he was alone in the parking lot. He got into his car, turned the key and heard a plop, plop, plop hitting it. He looked around and saw a gang of kids pelting him with snowballs.
At first he swore at them. Then he popped it into gear and took off after them. They scattered like crows at a hand clap. He started to laugh. Then he drove in circles around the lot, slipping and sliding like a lunatic. He twirled. He swirled. He stomped on the gas and spun out of control in circles, till he was dizzy and giddy as a school girl with a five o’clock shadow.
He burst into a big smile remembering his gleeful boyhood days. Breathlessly he called his wife on his cell phone to tell her he was coming home and that this weekend they should all go tubing on Tussey Mountain. They’d just grab the kids, unplug them and go. And maybe he could learn to ski. He’d always wanted to. He loved winter!
The moral of this slight tale is don’t get old, and if you can’t stop the aging process, keep the embers simmering on your inner child, because that flame can be lit in an instant. And don’t wear white after Labor Day because in a blizzard you could become invisible and get run over by a snow plow.
He loved the lilt of her laugh, but had misgivings about her bobbing Adam’s apple that went along with it. Opps, this isn’t a Romance with a Twist story.
Let’s begin again, eh? A permanent rainbow was arcing over State College. It’d been there almost a week. AccuWeather was sending a team of meteorologists downtown to study it. Oh boy, this is not a One Fine Day in Happy Valley story either.
Excuse me again. This is your all-knowing narrator. The hopeful author has just informed me that this is a so-called comedy short story. So a priest, a rabbi and a parrot walk into a bar….
OK, OK, Bill I’ll begin anew. It was Valentine’s Day and a huge blizzard was blasting towards Centre County. Mt. Nittany was shrouded in an icy mist in the shape of Jo Pa. The Nittany Lion statue on campus had grown a second coat in anticipation. It was 8:30 a.m. and a brick office building in downtown State College started filling up with glum employees, slumped over trying to cuddle with themselves to keep warm. Breaths frozen outside turned to drool inside.
The office manager, Brad, walked in first. He was a 6’5” and with his badly slumping shoulders and downcast head looked like a question mark. In fact, he had more questions than answers, but had to pretend he knew it all.
Janice from clerical entered next and Brad nodded hello and headed for his first cup of coffee in the lunch room, even before taking off his coat. If he could, he would have hooked up a coffee IV drip straight into his arm. But alas, Star Bucks had not developed that technology yet.
Soon the full complement of 10 had arrived, hanging their coats up like a second skin to shed and put on as needed.
Brad only came alive with his second cuppa as he walked around the small office taking attendance. Brad told Jenny how pretty she looked, which caused Linda to leap up and shout “Crossing the line! Crossing the line, boss!” This was based on some sexual harassment training they’d just had that nixed almost all personal comments to co-workers, leaving only grunts of appreciation.
To cover his tracks, Brad told Jeremy how pretty he looked too, so as not to appear sexist. Linda sat down in a huff, which covered her like a shroud, but she was excitable as an exclamation point and was coiled ready to pop up immediately whenever offended again.
Tim, a short squat bull dog of a man, who at 25 looked 40, was the first to ask Brad, “Any chance of us getting off early due to the storm, Brad?”
Brad assured Tim that he’d keep on top of it.
This stirred up the staff to start staring out the small slit windows searching for the first flake to fall, hoping for an early release. This was not unlike prisoners getting out of jail for good behavior.
They started quoting the AccuWeather forecast of 10 to15 inches by tonight, gusts up to 50 miles per hour with blizzard white-out conditions predicted. And a freezing night without power was possible if the power lines fell like dropped watermelons during a David Letterman TV stunt, from his theater’s roof.
A steady stream of staff trooped into Brad’s office to ask if he’d heard anything from the home office about getting out early. He said he was checking his computer constantly to catch any updates on office closings. He thought they were like school kids pestering Mom and Dad constantly about school closing the next day. He didn’t feel particularly paternal, as several were older than him and all were adults.
Brad called a quick staff meeting in the board room. They sat there talking and laughing at this unexpected break from work. At the podium he told them that the home office was again warning them against sending any e-mails that could offend someone that would get them suspended or even fired.
John shouted out “How ‘bout the e-mails telling us to do more with less. They certainly offend me.” People hooted and hollered in agreement.
“John, quite sending out all those jokes. This isn’t ‘The Last Comic Standing’ show here. It’s an office. OK?” Brad shot back. “Your e-mail is really their e-mail to be pulled up any time they need to. If they wanted to cut half the staff, all they’d have to do is print out your inappropriate e-mails, fire you, then you’d all be applying to greet shoppers at 3 a.m. at Wal-Mart so fast your head would spin like Linda Blair’s in ‘The Exorcist’.”
“Can you show us how that’d look, Brad?” joked John.
Brad suddenly remembered why he seldom held staff meetings. On the rare occasion they were actually listening to what he said, they’d just make wise cracks about it.
“And only work related internet use. Buying and selling baskets on eBay isn’t part of your job description, Polly. Now get back to what you laughingly call work”
Brad returned to his office, leaving them talking and catching up on what everybody had done in the last 15 hours, since they’d left work. Apparently, their lives were very eventful because they stayed awhile.
As soon as everyone had gotten back to work, the lights flickered and the computer screens went shut eyes black. A general hub bub erupted with exclamations of outrage and joy. Once the system went down it was virtually impossible to do anything. Your computer just became a paperweight to see your own reflection in. Cyber space creates a black hole when it orbits elsewhere.
Jenny walked into Brad’s office and plopped down in a chair. She was young, perky and full of promise, a willowy 25 year-old, who saw the glass as full when it was actually empty. Brad hated perky, but appreciated willowy.
Jenny became wiggly as a puppy at the mention of snow and wanted to share her thoughts with Brad.
“Don’t you just love a snow storm, Brad? That sheet of quiet white lying on God’s great canvas. It’s like spiritual. For sure.”
Brad responded less than enthusiastically “I absolutely hate winter. I have since I started to work. It was great when I was a kid. Now I have to drive to work when school snow days are called and snake down the treacherous roads and streets hoping to get home alive, when all I want to do is stay home.”
“But that first flush of freshly fallen snow is so serene and clean. Everything just slows down and that fast paced life you lead takes a breather.” Jenny glowed.
“Sure, unless you try to stop at a red light or a stop sign, then you just glide your way into incoming traffic that can’t stop either. On the third day the snow’s turned to gray icy snot that doesn’t go away till spring. Then it turns black, like everyone’s mood at the end of a long hard winter.”
“But you can go sledding and ice skating with your kids” Jenny rambled on.
“What, and tear them away from their iPods, Wiis, Play Stations, cell phones and the internet? They’re more plugged in than a power plant.”
“Oh, you’re just an old grump, Bradly.” Jenny growled.
“Hey, wait a second didn’t your car get wrecked or something last winter in all that wonderful white snow?” Brad suddenly remembered.
“Yeah. So?” snapped Jenny as she stormed out.
The smokers snuck outside to light up. The snow was falling hard, but landing lightly. They cupped each lighter like it was the Olympic torch to set their butts on fire and get that blast of nicotine deep into their lungs. They soon looked like Frosty the Snowmen on fire. They hadn’t been able to smoke in the office since it’d been banned on September 11th, their own personal 9/11 tragedy. They were edgy and jumpy, till they could get out into the frosty flakey air and start puffing furiously.
Like airport runway lights shutting down, State College clicked off for the day. There was nary a pizza shop or a bar left to lift the soul. Closings on the radio came faster than rabbits running across a road, but Brad’s office still hadn’t heard anything.
People monitored the radio like a jealous girlfriend watching her cheating boyfriend and they called their friends and families complaining that they were still at work.
Jenny sat there soberly remembering how a snow plow had smashed into her car on Route 26 as she sat there taking a scenic shot of a snow covered possum last year. Her date for Valentine’s Day had just cancelled due to the storm. They’d only had two dates before and she was afraid the momentum would stop, as he hadn’t mentioned a make up date. She hated winter!
It was 4:10, about the time the winter sun wisely gave up and went somewhere else to get warm. Joe ran into Brad’s office shouting that Seven Mountains was closing. Brad had several workers that needed to go over the mountain to get home. He tried one more time to reach the home office where everyone had probably gone due to the storm.
He waited ten minutes and then made an executive decision. He announced that he was closing the office. There was a rush to the back door with people yanking on their coats, while calling home on their cell phones. Thus proving they could multi-task, when so motivated.
Most had left their brushes inside their cars, so when they opened a door to get them to brush the snow off, a wall of white fell on a car seat to soak it. And they did this for every snowstorm. The learning curve must be very steep for this.
By the time Brad left the office he was alone in the parking lot. He got into his car, turned the key and heard a plop, plop, plop hitting it. He looked around and saw a gang of kids pelting him with snowballs.
At first he swore at them. Then he popped it into gear and took off after them. They scattered like crows at a hand clap. He started to laugh. Then he drove in circles around the lot, slipping and sliding like a lunatic. He twirled. He swirled. He stomped on the gas and spun out of control in circles, till he was dizzy and giddy as a school girl with a five o’clock shadow.
He burst into a big smile remembering his gleeful boyhood days. Breathlessly he called his wife on his cell phone to tell her he was coming home and that this weekend they should all go tubing on Tussey Mountain. They’d just grab the kids, unplug them and go. And maybe he could learn to ski. He’d always wanted to. He loved winter!
The moral of this slight tale is don’t get old, and if you can’t stop the aging process, keep the embers simmering on your inner child, because that flame can be lit in an instant. And don’t wear white after Labor Day because in a blizzard you could become invisible and get run over by a snow plow.
Monday, February 16
JACK RODDEY'S JOURNAL
The following is my grandson Jack Roddey’s Journal, an 8th grade class assignment. It’s the last thing we have of him. It was found when they cleaned out his locker.
He was shot and killed Jan. 16, 2009. A big part of our life ended that day. He was 14 and a sweet kind boy who visited us monthly, usually for the weekend.
This is my feeble, but ultimately futile effort to keep him alive by posting his final words on my blog to bring him back briefly for those who knew him. Or to bring him to life for those who didn’t.
With his personality and gifts, his potential was unlimited. He had been on the honor roll consistently and made the distinguished honor roll his last marking period. His parents found this out just before his viewing at the funeral home.
He was a great kid! Here’s Jack Thomas Roddey.
Jack Roddey period 4
Things I am Thankful for
I am extremely thankful for a bunch of things. I am thankful for not being poor. I am thankful for having shelter. I am thankful for Thanksgiving.
I am appreciative for my family being alive. They help m when I need help. They care for me when I’m sick. The are always there for me no matter what I do or how
dim-witted it is. They love and care for me and teach me wrong from right. They defend me from harm. They just flat out love me. J
I am thankful for having food and drinks. I never go hungry in my house. It is impossible. We constantly have food. I never thirst either. We ceaselessly have drinks and running water. I am happy and thankful for that because there are people out there that can’t come up with the money for food and running water.
I am thankful for not being deprived of money. My parents have jobs so that we don’t have to depart to a poor house. I earn money by doing chores. I buy loads of unnecessary things with my money.
I am thankful for having shelter over my head. It protects me from the scorching hot sun in the summer. It protects me from the freezing weather in the winter. It protects me from the rain and the snow. I love having a roof to sleep under at night.
I am thankful for Thanksgiving. I love seeing all of my family. I like the mountains of food that are on the table. I love thanksgiving turnkey. J I love having conversations with family associations I haven’t seen for months. I like to eat till I can’t eat no more. I like sleeping after the big meal. I like getting away from school for thanksgiving. I like going to family members houses for gigantic thanksgiving meals.
Jack Roddey
September 2nd
My favorite thing this summer was going to Hershey Park at the end of the summer. I took one of my friends and we rode a bunch of rides together. The best thing we rode was the Ferineheight roller coaster. My friend really was freaking out on it. When it started going up she started screaming and swearing and my parents just stared at her while this was all happening. It was the best rollercoaster I’ve ever rode and I plan on riding it every time I go to Hershey Park. The one time we waited in line for a long time like an hour and right when we were about to get on it broke down so it was depressing. I rode every roller coaster there at least once. It is a good place to go with friends and family. I can’t wait for the class field trip there at the end of the year.
September 5th
My Future plans are to get good enough grades so I can get a scholarship to some college so I can go to college and be able to afford it. Maybe I’ll get a really good paying job and be rich and be famous for doing something. I will live as long as I can. I will try to do something important. Of course I will try to win the lottery.
September 10th
I get everyone I can to be my friend. I have friends in a 7th 8th 9th ,and 10th grade. It is good to have as many friends as possible. I have so many friends because I like having friends to help me when I need help. The more friends the better social life you have.
September 15
I get on the internet and play some games. I play PS2 or Wii. I go hangout with my friends under the bridge and hangout for hours. I like to talk to people on the phone. I also like going over to someone’s house and hangout there for a couple hours.
September 18
I would hate to give up ice-cream and popsicles. In the summer they are helpful for cooling down. Popsicles are good for walking around town and places like that. Ice cream is better for when your sitting at home on a hot summer day. I love trying new flavors of ice-cream and popsicles.
September 23
If I won the lottery I would give a lot to charity. I would buy good company’s to get more money. I would spend a about 10,000 dollars a month. 1 million dollars a year to charity. Things like the Red Cross and important people like that would get a lot a money. I would definitely go to the best college.
9/26/08
My dad’s side of the family is crazy. We don’t have much money but we have enough to get by. We have all kinds of family get togethers. My family isn’t embarrassing like most families. Tomorrow we are having a get together and are playing cards and having fun. All of my family likes different types of music.
10/1/08
We don’t have any house rules. This is because we’ve never needed any because I use common sense. Also I’m always somewhere that isn’t home. I’m only home long enough to eat and do homework. That is why there are no house rules.
10/6/08
Some things that make me happy is hanging out with friends. Waking up alive each morning. Having my memory and free will. Not being poor. Having a family where most people are still alive.
10/14/08
There is no one I want to meet. I don’t have any idols. I have no goals in life. Well there is one person I want to meet but that isn’t till I’m like 100. That is Jesus and God.
10/17/08
My birthday is my favorite holiday. It isn’t a national holiday but without it I wouldn’t be alive. All of my friends and family celebrate it. I love getting presents and money. My birthday is on October 26. I can’t wait. J
10/22/08
If I could do anything in computer class it would be getting on stuff like myspace. We would still learn how to type. That is how I learned most of my typing skill. Sending message and IM each other helps with typing and reading. It is a good way to learn to type and to meet new people.
10/27/08
Over the weekend I did a lot. On Friday I went to this really dumb dinner then went over to the football game. On Saturday day I went to the field of screams. It was really scary. Yesterday was my birthday and I went to Hershey Park in the Dark.
Jack Roddey
Marking Period 2
10/30/08
I want to write about computers. They are very helpful with information and research. You can find anything on the internet. You can to talk to friends. You can play fun games also.
11/4/08
I am thankful for waking up in the morning and not being dead. I’m glad that no one in my family that was alive when I was born is dead. I’m thankful for having a house. I’m thankful for having food to eat and liquids to drink. I’m thankful for having a perfect Earth.
11/10/08
I don’t have plans yet for thanksgiving. I’ll probably eat a big dinner. I’ll probably see some family members. I’ll sleep in every day. I’m sure there will be some party that I’ll be going to.
11/13/08
Today I want to talk about people’s attitudes and people lying. Never let a friend borrow money even if they promise to pay you back. DO NOT BELIEVE THEM!!! Why are people always blaming me and yelling at me? I asked a friend “Can you move please? I need to sit down.” Then he called me rude! I hate people like that.
11/21/08
The 4-sight tests aren’t exactly, Fun. The reading one is the one I don’t like. I don’t like reading things that don’t interest me. I like the math ones better because we can use calculators. Math is my best subject.
11/26/08
My favorite school “subject” is lunch. It is a time in the middle of the day that we can relax. We get to talk to friends without worrying about getting in trouble. We get to go outside and hangout. It is the only real “fun” time of school.
12/5/08
The best thing I did over break was everything. On thanksgiving I ate 2 full plates of food. I went to the movies and saw “Role Models”. It was funny. I hung out with family. Of course I went hunting.
Jack Roddey
MP2-2
12/10/08
If I could fly I would all the time. I would fly places instead of walking or driving. I would help people. I would visit my relatives in England a lot more. I haven’t seen them forever.
12/18/08
I don’t have a new year’s resolution. Maybe I should get into shape. I don’t know. I never really pick one. I don’t know what I’ll do.
1/8/09
My holiday break was great. I hung out with friends. I got everything I asked for on Christmas. I was at my one friend’s house on new years. We stayed up till 4 or 5 am. I had a lot of fun during the holidays.
1/12/09
I don’t know what to write about. I like free topics days but I never can decide what to write. It is easier when you give us a topic. I don’t know how to get 5 sentences out of nothing but I’m doing it. Good-bye.
Jack was killed in a friend’s house a block or so away from his home four days later. His last word in his journal, as you can see, was Good-bye.
Goodbye, my sweet sweet goofy barefoot boy (he’d always take his shoes and socks off the minute he was inside a house).
Jackson, we will always miss you and love you so much till the day we die,
Granddad and Nancy
He was shot and killed Jan. 16, 2009. A big part of our life ended that day. He was 14 and a sweet kind boy who visited us monthly, usually for the weekend.
This is my feeble, but ultimately futile effort to keep him alive by posting his final words on my blog to bring him back briefly for those who knew him. Or to bring him to life for those who didn’t.
With his personality and gifts, his potential was unlimited. He had been on the honor roll consistently and made the distinguished honor roll his last marking period. His parents found this out just before his viewing at the funeral home.
He was a great kid! Here’s Jack Thomas Roddey.
Jack Roddey period 4
Things I am Thankful for
I am extremely thankful for a bunch of things. I am thankful for not being poor. I am thankful for having shelter. I am thankful for Thanksgiving.
I am appreciative for my family being alive. They help m when I need help. They care for me when I’m sick. The are always there for me no matter what I do or how
dim-witted it is. They love and care for me and teach me wrong from right. They defend me from harm. They just flat out love me. J
I am thankful for having food and drinks. I never go hungry in my house. It is impossible. We constantly have food. I never thirst either. We ceaselessly have drinks and running water. I am happy and thankful for that because there are people out there that can’t come up with the money for food and running water.
I am thankful for not being deprived of money. My parents have jobs so that we don’t have to depart to a poor house. I earn money by doing chores. I buy loads of unnecessary things with my money.
I am thankful for having shelter over my head. It protects me from the scorching hot sun in the summer. It protects me from the freezing weather in the winter. It protects me from the rain and the snow. I love having a roof to sleep under at night.
I am thankful for Thanksgiving. I love seeing all of my family. I like the mountains of food that are on the table. I love thanksgiving turnkey. J I love having conversations with family associations I haven’t seen for months. I like to eat till I can’t eat no more. I like sleeping after the big meal. I like getting away from school for thanksgiving. I like going to family members houses for gigantic thanksgiving meals.
Jack Roddey
September 2nd
My favorite thing this summer was going to Hershey Park at the end of the summer. I took one of my friends and we rode a bunch of rides together. The best thing we rode was the Ferineheight roller coaster. My friend really was freaking out on it. When it started going up she started screaming and swearing and my parents just stared at her while this was all happening. It was the best rollercoaster I’ve ever rode and I plan on riding it every time I go to Hershey Park. The one time we waited in line for a long time like an hour and right when we were about to get on it broke down so it was depressing. I rode every roller coaster there at least once. It is a good place to go with friends and family. I can’t wait for the class field trip there at the end of the year.
September 5th
My Future plans are to get good enough grades so I can get a scholarship to some college so I can go to college and be able to afford it. Maybe I’ll get a really good paying job and be rich and be famous for doing something. I will live as long as I can. I will try to do something important. Of course I will try to win the lottery.
September 10th
I get everyone I can to be my friend. I have friends in a 7th 8th 9th ,and 10th grade. It is good to have as many friends as possible. I have so many friends because I like having friends to help me when I need help. The more friends the better social life you have.
September 15
I get on the internet and play some games. I play PS2 or Wii. I go hangout with my friends under the bridge and hangout for hours. I like to talk to people on the phone. I also like going over to someone’s house and hangout there for a couple hours.
September 18
I would hate to give up ice-cream and popsicles. In the summer they are helpful for cooling down. Popsicles are good for walking around town and places like that. Ice cream is better for when your sitting at home on a hot summer day. I love trying new flavors of ice-cream and popsicles.
September 23
If I won the lottery I would give a lot to charity. I would buy good company’s to get more money. I would spend a about 10,000 dollars a month. 1 million dollars a year to charity. Things like the Red Cross and important people like that would get a lot a money. I would definitely go to the best college.
9/26/08
My dad’s side of the family is crazy. We don’t have much money but we have enough to get by. We have all kinds of family get togethers. My family isn’t embarrassing like most families. Tomorrow we are having a get together and are playing cards and having fun. All of my family likes different types of music.
10/1/08
We don’t have any house rules. This is because we’ve never needed any because I use common sense. Also I’m always somewhere that isn’t home. I’m only home long enough to eat and do homework. That is why there are no house rules.
10/6/08
Some things that make me happy is hanging out with friends. Waking up alive each morning. Having my memory and free will. Not being poor. Having a family where most people are still alive.
10/14/08
There is no one I want to meet. I don’t have any idols. I have no goals in life. Well there is one person I want to meet but that isn’t till I’m like 100. That is Jesus and God.
10/17/08
My birthday is my favorite holiday. It isn’t a national holiday but without it I wouldn’t be alive. All of my friends and family celebrate it. I love getting presents and money. My birthday is on October 26. I can’t wait. J
10/22/08
If I could do anything in computer class it would be getting on stuff like myspace. We would still learn how to type. That is how I learned most of my typing skill. Sending message and IM each other helps with typing and reading. It is a good way to learn to type and to meet new people.
10/27/08
Over the weekend I did a lot. On Friday I went to this really dumb dinner then went over to the football game. On Saturday day I went to the field of screams. It was really scary. Yesterday was my birthday and I went to Hershey Park in the Dark.
Jack Roddey
Marking Period 2
10/30/08
I want to write about computers. They are very helpful with information and research. You can find anything on the internet. You can to talk to friends. You can play fun games also.
11/4/08
I am thankful for waking up in the morning and not being dead. I’m glad that no one in my family that was alive when I was born is dead. I’m thankful for having a house. I’m thankful for having food to eat and liquids to drink. I’m thankful for having a perfect Earth.
11/10/08
I don’t have plans yet for thanksgiving. I’ll probably eat a big dinner. I’ll probably see some family members. I’ll sleep in every day. I’m sure there will be some party that I’ll be going to.
11/13/08
Today I want to talk about people’s attitudes and people lying. Never let a friend borrow money even if they promise to pay you back. DO NOT BELIEVE THEM!!! Why are people always blaming me and yelling at me? I asked a friend “Can you move please? I need to sit down.” Then he called me rude! I hate people like that.
11/21/08
The 4-sight tests aren’t exactly, Fun. The reading one is the one I don’t like. I don’t like reading things that don’t interest me. I like the math ones better because we can use calculators. Math is my best subject.
11/26/08
My favorite school “subject” is lunch. It is a time in the middle of the day that we can relax. We get to talk to friends without worrying about getting in trouble. We get to go outside and hangout. It is the only real “fun” time of school.
12/5/08
The best thing I did over break was everything. On thanksgiving I ate 2 full plates of food. I went to the movies and saw “Role Models”. It was funny. I hung out with family. Of course I went hunting.
Jack Roddey
MP2-2
12/10/08
If I could fly I would all the time. I would fly places instead of walking or driving. I would help people. I would visit my relatives in England a lot more. I haven’t seen them forever.
12/18/08
I don’t have a new year’s resolution. Maybe I should get into shape. I don’t know. I never really pick one. I don’t know what I’ll do.
1/8/09
My holiday break was great. I hung out with friends. I got everything I asked for on Christmas. I was at my one friend’s house on new years. We stayed up till 4 or 5 am. I had a lot of fun during the holidays.
1/12/09
I don’t know what to write about. I like free topics days but I never can decide what to write. It is easier when you give us a topic. I don’t know how to get 5 sentences out of nothing but I’m doing it. Good-bye.
Jack was killed in a friend’s house a block or so away from his home four days later. His last word in his journal, as you can see, was Good-bye.
Goodbye, my sweet sweet goofy barefoot boy (he’d always take his shoes and socks off the minute he was inside a house).
Jackson, we will always miss you and love you so much till the day we die,
Granddad and Nancy
Sunday, February 1
TWO SPECIAL DAYS WITH JACK T. RODDEY
“The stuff of life tis bittersweet, like burnt sugar, long on the days of toil and short on the eves of rest, but tis all we haveth twixt breathing and naught.” Shakespeare.
That’s Billy Bob Shakespeare, William Shakespeare’s loser brother, who wrote the flop play “Hamlet and Juliet”.
We all tend to count down the days till a vacation, short changing the day drift in between. I have a friend who’s always charting maps to his next vacation destination, living for the sudden spray of surf, the splurge of sunshine and the ringing rain of slot machine coins in all-you-can-eat buffet casinos.
Many of us look through the photo albums of our last family reunion, while waiting anxiously for the next one. We take tons of photos to capture the Kodak or digital moment that marks the highlights of our lives.
Some of us fill our days with dreams of moving to a better neighborhood, where life’s rewards increase with the taxes, or out of town to the bucolic countryside of squirrels, skunks and bears attracted by birdseed.
We sometimes proudly show pictures and home movies of our vacations where we lived a week or two as the residents of a paradise picked from brochures or from the Internet.
Some of us find a sense of reality in the reality TV of others who scheme for a better life, backstabbing and betraying for a bigger piece of the pie. There but for the grace of a producer god, go I. What we have is never enough, or so claim the commercials.
Many of us merge with the movies showing worlds of wonder and magic like “Harry Potter”, “The Lord of the Rings” and “Spider-Man” fighting crime and dead end jobs.
We follow our favorite professional sports’ teams whose stars follow the money, playing for and against teams they just went to or left. Their loyalty is to the biggest paycheck, while we fans root for our favorite uniforms, full of former enemies and gypsy heroes.
As parents we often try to stay in the lives of our children, who both need us to baby sit grandchildren and want their independence from us. We probably spend too much time worrying about what will happen when they don’t follow our advice. There’s nothing like the mistakes of your own experiences to move you to a different path, because what do your parents know? They’ve only lived forever.
There’s so much to worry about and wait for that I try to treasure the moment of the here and now, before it’s there and gone, and let it linger a little in my mind. Take last Tuesday, for example.
If it’s Tuesday, it’s Jack, my grandson visiting us. Jack and I hit a bucket or two of balls at a local driving range and then we all walked down the road to see a new bridge.
At the end of the evening, Jack and I sat on the back porch under a whirling fan; the ZZZT ZZZT song of the bugs looking for love in the breeze through the leaves of the trees was loud and constant as a buzz saw.
Our cat, sprawled like a fluffy dust mop on my lap, purred as I petted him under the chin. Home grown tomatoes lay ripening on a table, while bunnies bounced about the yard in the dark. A single table lamp lit up a portion of the porch as Jack read a story from his new “Nickelodeon” magazine in a strong and steady voice.
I rocked slowly beside him listening and drifting in and out of the dark with half closed eyes. The fragrances of our backyard flower bed wafted to and fro on the wind. My barefooted wife puttered around in the kitchen listening to Jack’s story telling too. Our dog kept rolling a tennis ball to my feet hoping for a toss and a chance to retrieve.
Everything bad that could happen to us was put off to another day, all deadly diseases and awful accidents in abeyance, as I spent a few precious moments with my beloved grandson, my loving wife and loveable pets. It was a special night like any other. It just doesn’t get any better than this.
IN SEARCH OF A CLEAN MAILBOX
It was a warm sunny autumn day in my home town and my grandson, Jack Thomas, and I had a letter to mail and we had all afternoon to do it before dinner. It was obviously time for an adventure.
Jack held the letter tightly in his little hand. Several blocks away we saw a mailbox. A ten-minute three-block walk wasn’t much of an adventure, so as we approached the blue squat tub and I declared that it wasn’t clean enough. I explained that if a letter were mailed in an unclean mailbox, it would arrive as a dirty letter and no one wants to get a dirty letter. In Jack’s six short years he has learned to humor me. So we had to find a clean mailbox. This was way before
anthrax airmail attacks, where dirty mail now has a deadly meaning.
Our long hot search had started. I saw several receptacles that I thought might be mailboxes like a birdhouse for airmail and a crate in a yard. Jack patiently explained “Granddad, that isn’t a mailbox.” I trusted his judgment there, but when he pointed out that a person’s porch mailbox could be our mailbox because you put mail in and the mailman picks it up, I had to stop the silliness a tad. Not wanting to be caught messing with someone’s personal mailbox, we had to pass up many promising porches in our pursuit of a clean mailbox, hygienic though they may be.
Heading toward Juniata College I stopped a student to ask him where there was a clean mailbox. He didn’t seem to truly grasp the sanitary concept, but pointed to a mailbox on the corner that ended up being too dirty.
We decided to take a break on a bench outside the college campus. Jack wanted to sit alone on his bench, but I wanted his company, so I sat right beside him. Whereas, he jumped up to sit on the other bench, where I immediately joined him. This game of musical benches continued for a while, till I said we were going on campus.
Jack didn’t want to do this as it was a school and his experience, as a first grader, was that strangers just didn’t walk into a school. I assured him that my father had paid them several thousand dollars in the 60s to send me there, so they all knew me. In fact, they still write me a lot, asking for even more money.
Finally, he went on campus with me. We felt we needed sticks for our hike, so we picked two sturdy tree branches for our gnarled walking sticks. On campus, Jack was very reluctant to climb the steep stairs to Founders Hall to continue our clean mailbox search, but he followed me, rather than be left behind at the bottom. On the porch we had a nice rock and talk in the rocking chairs, before setting down our sticks and going inside.
I asked a lady hurrying down the hall where we could find a clean mailbox, because we didn’t want to send a dirty letter. She seemed puzzled, almost took our letter to mail, but thought better of it and said there was one close off campus.
We left and walked across campus to the gym, which Jack loved. We went down to the basketball court where I told him I had played intramural b-ball with our team the Sneaker Squeakers. We were at the bottom of D league, the lowest league, and I was the co-captain because we needed two captains to share the blame. We only won one game when the other team failed to show. We celebrated for days.
While there I asked a young lady where we could find a clean mailbox on our adventure. She smiled knowingly and said she thought there was one in Ellis Hall. So off we went with our sticks. On the way I showed Jack how I could fly on my stick. While watching me he stated that I was only standing on my tippy toes. I assured him that I was indeed off the ground, only flying very very low. First graders can be so skeptical at times.
We didn’t find a clean mailbox at Ellis Hall, but did find a snack bar where I bought Jack a candy bar and a bottle of pop. We then continued our search off campus, where I showed my grandson the scientific principle of fizz. I held out his pop and let it drop to bounce off the sidewalk. I picked it up frothing at the cap, twisted the cap off and a Mountain of Dew erupted. He had seen this phenomenon before, but only by accident, never on purpose. He wouldn’t let me hold his pop from then on.
We meandered down Moore Street, trying to fly on our magic sticks, but getting no airlift due to gravity. I explained that Moore St. was so named because it had more street than any other. It could go all the way to Lewistown, some 35 miles away. But Jack had seen no such street on his ride here, so he doubted me. Hey, if you can’t trust your grandfather to tease you, then who can you trust?
Finally we found a clean mailbox, amazingly only two blocks from where we had started. I held it open and Jack slipped the letter in, where it would arrive sparkling clean at its destination- the garbage company. Then I tried to grab Jack’s pop bottle and drop it to see it fizz again.
FOREVER FOURTEEN
My grandson Jack was the future I'd never see, now he's the past I see over and over and over again in my mind. That past started horrifically on 1/16/09 about 1:15 pm with a split second shot that took away his life and everything he'd ever be. Jack made our world so much brighter with his presence, but so much bleaker with his passing.
His school friends say Rest in Peace, Jack T. Roddey. Rest in peace should never have to be said to a 14-year-old boy. Ever! Jack, you should be running and jumping, laughing and playing , flirting and hugging, joking and helping people long after I'm gone. Instead, you're still and silent in your dark dark grave.
Oh Jack, my heart is shattered and scattered to the ends of the earth and I see you everywhere; wherever there's video games, Dr. Pepper, popcorn chicken, a playground, sour candy, birthday cards, a backyard trampoline, kids and a boy's mischievous grin. Fun followed you around like a circus. Now the circus has left town, leaving behind misery and bittersweet memories.
Jack, I see you behind me stuck at that terrible January day waving and shouting at me, "Granddad stop! Wait Granddad! Don't leave me here! Please, Granddad! Please!" But I can't stop. I try to turn around. I try to go back and get you, but the present's too powerful and it pushes me forward, hurtling me thru life weeping without you, as you recede and get smaller in the distance.
Goodbye my sweet sweet grandson, I cherish every moment we had together. It went by in the wink of an eye and I'll never really see you again. Even if I could search the seas and wander the world endlessly and fly from planet to planet in every galaxy in the entire universe, I'd never find you and see your beautiful smile and your precious face again. Or hear you laugh, tease you or ruffle your hair ever again. You are gone forever and the enormity and weight of that crushes me.
I love you and miss you so so much, my sweet sweet goofy barefoot boy.
Granddad and Nancy
That’s Billy Bob Shakespeare, William Shakespeare’s loser brother, who wrote the flop play “Hamlet and Juliet”.
We all tend to count down the days till a vacation, short changing the day drift in between. I have a friend who’s always charting maps to his next vacation destination, living for the sudden spray of surf, the splurge of sunshine and the ringing rain of slot machine coins in all-you-can-eat buffet casinos.
Many of us look through the photo albums of our last family reunion, while waiting anxiously for the next one. We take tons of photos to capture the Kodak or digital moment that marks the highlights of our lives.
Some of us fill our days with dreams of moving to a better neighborhood, where life’s rewards increase with the taxes, or out of town to the bucolic countryside of squirrels, skunks and bears attracted by birdseed.
We sometimes proudly show pictures and home movies of our vacations where we lived a week or two as the residents of a paradise picked from brochures or from the Internet.
Some of us find a sense of reality in the reality TV of others who scheme for a better life, backstabbing and betraying for a bigger piece of the pie. There but for the grace of a producer god, go I. What we have is never enough, or so claim the commercials.
Many of us merge with the movies showing worlds of wonder and magic like “Harry Potter”, “The Lord of the Rings” and “Spider-Man” fighting crime and dead end jobs.
We follow our favorite professional sports’ teams whose stars follow the money, playing for and against teams they just went to or left. Their loyalty is to the biggest paycheck, while we fans root for our favorite uniforms, full of former enemies and gypsy heroes.
As parents we often try to stay in the lives of our children, who both need us to baby sit grandchildren and want their independence from us. We probably spend too much time worrying about what will happen when they don’t follow our advice. There’s nothing like the mistakes of your own experiences to move you to a different path, because what do your parents know? They’ve only lived forever.
There’s so much to worry about and wait for that I try to treasure the moment of the here and now, before it’s there and gone, and let it linger a little in my mind. Take last Tuesday, for example.
If it’s Tuesday, it’s Jack, my grandson visiting us. Jack and I hit a bucket or two of balls at a local driving range and then we all walked down the road to see a new bridge.
At the end of the evening, Jack and I sat on the back porch under a whirling fan; the ZZZT ZZZT song of the bugs looking for love in the breeze through the leaves of the trees was loud and constant as a buzz saw.
Our cat, sprawled like a fluffy dust mop on my lap, purred as I petted him under the chin. Home grown tomatoes lay ripening on a table, while bunnies bounced about the yard in the dark. A single table lamp lit up a portion of the porch as Jack read a story from his new “Nickelodeon” magazine in a strong and steady voice.
I rocked slowly beside him listening and drifting in and out of the dark with half closed eyes. The fragrances of our backyard flower bed wafted to and fro on the wind. My barefooted wife puttered around in the kitchen listening to Jack’s story telling too. Our dog kept rolling a tennis ball to my feet hoping for a toss and a chance to retrieve.
Everything bad that could happen to us was put off to another day, all deadly diseases and awful accidents in abeyance, as I spent a few precious moments with my beloved grandson, my loving wife and loveable pets. It was a special night like any other. It just doesn’t get any better than this.
IN SEARCH OF A CLEAN MAILBOX
It was a warm sunny autumn day in my home town and my grandson, Jack Thomas, and I had a letter to mail and we had all afternoon to do it before dinner. It was obviously time for an adventure.
Jack held the letter tightly in his little hand. Several blocks away we saw a mailbox. A ten-minute three-block walk wasn’t much of an adventure, so as we approached the blue squat tub and I declared that it wasn’t clean enough. I explained that if a letter were mailed in an unclean mailbox, it would arrive as a dirty letter and no one wants to get a dirty letter. In Jack’s six short years he has learned to humor me. So we had to find a clean mailbox. This was way before
anthrax airmail attacks, where dirty mail now has a deadly meaning.
Our long hot search had started. I saw several receptacles that I thought might be mailboxes like a birdhouse for airmail and a crate in a yard. Jack patiently explained “Granddad, that isn’t a mailbox.” I trusted his judgment there, but when he pointed out that a person’s porch mailbox could be our mailbox because you put mail in and the mailman picks it up, I had to stop the silliness a tad. Not wanting to be caught messing with someone’s personal mailbox, we had to pass up many promising porches in our pursuit of a clean mailbox, hygienic though they may be.
Heading toward Juniata College I stopped a student to ask him where there was a clean mailbox. He didn’t seem to truly grasp the sanitary concept, but pointed to a mailbox on the corner that ended up being too dirty.
We decided to take a break on a bench outside the college campus. Jack wanted to sit alone on his bench, but I wanted his company, so I sat right beside him. Whereas, he jumped up to sit on the other bench, where I immediately joined him. This game of musical benches continued for a while, till I said we were going on campus.
Jack didn’t want to do this as it was a school and his experience, as a first grader, was that strangers just didn’t walk into a school. I assured him that my father had paid them several thousand dollars in the 60s to send me there, so they all knew me. In fact, they still write me a lot, asking for even more money.
Finally, he went on campus with me. We felt we needed sticks for our hike, so we picked two sturdy tree branches for our gnarled walking sticks. On campus, Jack was very reluctant to climb the steep stairs to Founders Hall to continue our clean mailbox search, but he followed me, rather than be left behind at the bottom. On the porch we had a nice rock and talk in the rocking chairs, before setting down our sticks and going inside.
I asked a lady hurrying down the hall where we could find a clean mailbox, because we didn’t want to send a dirty letter. She seemed puzzled, almost took our letter to mail, but thought better of it and said there was one close off campus.
We left and walked across campus to the gym, which Jack loved. We went down to the basketball court where I told him I had played intramural b-ball with our team the Sneaker Squeakers. We were at the bottom of D league, the lowest league, and I was the co-captain because we needed two captains to share the blame. We only won one game when the other team failed to show. We celebrated for days.
While there I asked a young lady where we could find a clean mailbox on our adventure. She smiled knowingly and said she thought there was one in Ellis Hall. So off we went with our sticks. On the way I showed Jack how I could fly on my stick. While watching me he stated that I was only standing on my tippy toes. I assured him that I was indeed off the ground, only flying very very low. First graders can be so skeptical at times.
We didn’t find a clean mailbox at Ellis Hall, but did find a snack bar where I bought Jack a candy bar and a bottle of pop. We then continued our search off campus, where I showed my grandson the scientific principle of fizz. I held out his pop and let it drop to bounce off the sidewalk. I picked it up frothing at the cap, twisted the cap off and a Mountain of Dew erupted. He had seen this phenomenon before, but only by accident, never on purpose. He wouldn’t let me hold his pop from then on.
We meandered down Moore Street, trying to fly on our magic sticks, but getting no airlift due to gravity. I explained that Moore St. was so named because it had more street than any other. It could go all the way to Lewistown, some 35 miles away. But Jack had seen no such street on his ride here, so he doubted me. Hey, if you can’t trust your grandfather to tease you, then who can you trust?
Finally we found a clean mailbox, amazingly only two blocks from where we had started. I held it open and Jack slipped the letter in, where it would arrive sparkling clean at its destination- the garbage company. Then I tried to grab Jack’s pop bottle and drop it to see it fizz again.
FOREVER FOURTEEN
My grandson Jack was the future I'd never see, now he's the past I see over and over and over again in my mind. That past started horrifically on 1/16/09 about 1:15 pm with a split second shot that took away his life and everything he'd ever be. Jack made our world so much brighter with his presence, but so much bleaker with his passing.
His school friends say Rest in Peace, Jack T. Roddey. Rest in peace should never have to be said to a 14-year-old boy. Ever! Jack, you should be running and jumping, laughing and playing , flirting and hugging, joking and helping people long after I'm gone. Instead, you're still and silent in your dark dark grave.
Oh Jack, my heart is shattered and scattered to the ends of the earth and I see you everywhere; wherever there's video games, Dr. Pepper, popcorn chicken, a playground, sour candy, birthday cards, a backyard trampoline, kids and a boy's mischievous grin. Fun followed you around like a circus. Now the circus has left town, leaving behind misery and bittersweet memories.
Jack, I see you behind me stuck at that terrible January day waving and shouting at me, "Granddad stop! Wait Granddad! Don't leave me here! Please, Granddad! Please!" But I can't stop. I try to turn around. I try to go back and get you, but the present's too powerful and it pushes me forward, hurtling me thru life weeping without you, as you recede and get smaller in the distance.
Goodbye my sweet sweet grandson, I cherish every moment we had together. It went by in the wink of an eye and I'll never really see you again. Even if I could search the seas and wander the world endlessly and fly from planet to planet in every galaxy in the entire universe, I'd never find you and see your beautiful smile and your precious face again. Or hear you laugh, tease you or ruffle your hair ever again. You are gone forever and the enormity and weight of that crushes me.
I love you and miss you so so much, my sweet sweet goofy barefoot boy.
Granddad and Nancy
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