Broken Cruise and Fireballs in the Sky

Broken Cruise and Fireballs from the Sky

So let's take a peek and see what's been happening recently in the news, shall we?

First, I guess, and the item that concerned my wife and I more directly than a lot of what's been going on, was the saga of the good ship Carnival Triumph and its fire and engine problems of last week. I know that I, along with many others, surely watched with interest as the multimillion dollar ship with over 4,000 souls on board spent the better part of four days bobbing around in and eventually being towed halfway across the Gulf of Mexico. The stories reaching us from the ship after the power failure were sketchy early on and seemed to be of the panicky-sounding variety. Little power. Sanitation almost non-existent. Pooping in bags and peeing in showers. Bread and ketchup sandwiches. Horrible smells. Sewage on the floor and running down the walls. Ship listing. Sleeping on deck chairs and on the casino floor. Slot machines were too tight. Moby Dick attacking the ship almost hourly! (Naw, not really the case in the last two examples.)

Pretty much the antitheses of a cruise vacation.

Communications with the passengers from the shore was limited to quick cell phone contacts when other ships were close enough that their telephone connections could be used. Obviously there are no cell towers in the center of the Gulf and few, if any of the passengers had sat-phones.

As the situation deteriorated there were eventually two tugboats dispatched which eventually arrived and slowly towed the ship to Mobile, Alabama. It was originally intended for them to haul the boat to Progresso, Mexico, but the ship had drifted so far north by the time the tugs got there it was smarter to pull it north to the U.S.

Besides, the Gulf current ran in that direction.

And there was also the fact that around 900 of the cruise passengers did not have U. S. Passports. Docking in Mexico would have entailed mucho paperwork for those passengers to return to the U. S. by air or in some fashion other than that of the ship they had been cruising in. The cruise line does not require you to have a passport for a cruise that is returning to the same port it left, but it strongly recommends that you do so, specifically for situations like that. It would have been a total nightmare for those non-passport folks trying to return home from Mexico.

The cruise left Galveston on Thursday for a 4-day cruise to Cozumel, Mexico. It should have returned there Monday, but, instead, ended up late on the following Thursday docking in Mobile, Alabama. I found myself, for some reason, humming the chorus from the theme song of Gilligan's Island: “...three hour cruise.”

It was not a “fun” cruise on one of Carnival's “Fun” ships. Not even close.

But in every report I've heard, the crew of the ship was praised for their incredible dedication in doing their best for their passengers and for their above-and-beyond work ethics. I've heard NO negative reports on the crew's performance of their duties. None. And, after having cruised and seen how hard the staff worked on a normal cruise, I expected to see none. Obviously, gigantic kudos to each and every one of them!

So, taking all this excitement in consideration, I ask myself, “Will I cruise again?”

Perhaps the question ought to be, “What are the odds that something of this sort will happen on our cruise, should we elect to take one?”

The answer, of course, is a number so small as to be almost insignificant. Probably in the ballpark of getting hit by lightning at the same time as getting hit by a car.

Definitely worth the “gamble”.

But would I ride on the Triumph?

Ah, another interesting question. The answer is probably not if there were another option available. Not that I believe that the Triumph will have a similar problem in the foreseeable future, but... Hell. Why take even that chance?

But, when all is said and done, life is a gamble that you'll never win. You just try to pick the circumstances that'll give you the best odds for the longest run.

So expect to see another cruise blog from yours truly and his esposa sometime down the road.

Aren't you excited? I am!

&&&

Looking at another piece of news that occurred recently, did you get a chance to check out the stories about the meteor bombardment that happened over in Russia? Wasn't that interesting. And did you happen to view some of the videos on Youtube that were taken of the event?

Holy crap-in-your-pants-and-call-your-mama-Sheera, Batman! That was some of the most terrifying footage that was NOT done by CG I've ever seen! You'd have SWORN those videos were hacked together by some sci-fi-loving computer geeks or were trailers for some upcoming end-of-the-world horror movie.

They were absolutely incredible!

But maybe the most fascinating part of those videos was the reactions of the Russians who were filming them. Or should I say non-reactions? I do not speak Russian, so I can't positively state what was said during and after the fireballs tore through their sky, the sonic booms burst windows for miles and miles around and the rocks themselves thundered into the ground just down the road, but it seemed like they didn't seem too terribly concerned.

Not even a little!

Either they were pretty drunk from too much vodka, or they just didn't give a damn!

A lot of the videos were taken from dash cams on cars, so you can actually see those immense fiery trails from the howling incoming meteors, then the white-hot fireball screamed overhead and the video flashed a solid white as the camera was overloaded with the glare. Then the doggone thing shrieked to a thunderous landing somewhere just out of sight. A few seconds later the tremendous sonic boom shakes the car and landscape all around them like an earthquake.

And the Russians in their cars keep yammering on and on as if the cataclysmic event happening just over their heads were something inconsequential that they experienced every day!

I can just imagine what some of my friends and fellow countrymen might have done in that situation! How poorly we'd have handled it. How quickly the conspiracy theorists would have grabbed onto the event and started pointing fingers at the government. Or to the aliens that just had to have something to do with it.

And I thought about how the Russians just continued on with their conversations as to where they were going to eat lunch, whether it would be blintz's or borscht and black bread that day and wasn't that last bottle of vodka we drank a bit more watered down than usual?

They probably thought it was just Putin screwing around.

It's certainly a wild and crazy world.

Synchronicity

Synchronicity

I went to the gym today. It was Friday and I try to make it there on Fridays along with Mondays and Wednesdays. I'm working on making these treks a habit. Hopefully it's working. It's not my most favorite activity but it's one that I know is important. So I soldier on...

So I'm at the gym and trudging along on the ol' treadmill, bumping up the speed from time to time to make sure I'm not getting lazy, eyes half-way watching the TV that was in front of me and tuned to the Weather Channel. There was the usual pair of commentators in front of the camera, a guy and a girl, pointing to the weather map. I noticed that the lady half of the pair was wearing boots. I wondered about that, knowing that there was probably a zero chance of any snow or slush in the studio. But perhaps her wardrobe choice might have been dictated by the big story of the day.

Yes, as you may have guessed, the story of the day, this day, was the big snowstorm beginning to pound the northeast.
It's name was Nemo.

As an aside, when did they start naming winter storms? Wait a minute while I google that...

OK gang, here's the scoop. Naming winter storms is apparently a marketing ploy by the aforementioned Weather Channel! The National Weather Service is not happy about this new practice and has advised it's forecasters NOT to follow along, but their admonition is apparently falling on mainly deaf ears. The media has latched onto the practice and is promoting it. So... This storm is named Nemo.

If you haven't pictured a little orange-and-black animated fish by now you must have been living in a cave for the last decade.

Anyhow, so I'm plugging along on the treadmill, watching the weather lady in her shiny black boots pointing to the giant mass of blue and green grinding its way north by northeast on the map behind her. Interspersed from time to time the channel would go to a remote shot somewhere in the soon-to-be affected area and there was the mobile troops from the Weather Channel out there, wearing their logo-emblazoned parkas and yammering about the upcoming cataclysm. At least that is what they seemed to be implying – I wasn't really listening. Good old Jim Cantore, the erstwhile franchise symbol and point man for the channel was there, of course. Seems he's always out there in the thick of things where the weather's the worst and wind's the fiercest. Unfortunately, while I was watching, the snow was yet to arrive and Jim was being forced to point to a yardstick which was poked into the ground and indicate how high they were expecting the snow to accumulate. It was actually a bit laughable watching their ace reporter pointing to a stick.

Poor Jim.

As I'm watching this almost comical charade play itself out on the television, I'm also listening to my mp3 player. I'm a hell of a multi-tasker! I've loaded down a number of rousing classic rock songs to help me forget my efforts at the gym and to help me keep moving. And don't ya know it, the next song that rolls into my earphones is “Go Your Own Way” by Fleetwood Mac.

And the song, along with the soon-to-be-blizzard on the TV, almost made me stumble on the treadmill. For you see, that song, a really good single from the 1976 album “Rumors” and vocalized by Stevie Nicks had, in my mind, taken me back to ANOTHER blizzard a long time ago.

Let me explain.

My wife and I had married in 1972 and moved into a brand-new mobile home. This mobile home was planted in a park about 8 miles east of the town where I grew up in and where we both worked. We'd been married about 6-and-a-half years when January 26, 1978 rolled around.

We both drove to work that day, her to an office at a manufacturing facility on the west side of our home town and me to an insurance office headquarters in the north part of town. The news that morning was ominous and warning of a heavy snow storm bearing down on us. We were starting to become a bit concerned. Later that day when the wind really started to blow and the snow started coming down in earnest, both of our employers dismissed their staffs early. We'd made some contingency plans earlier and had decided that, if the weather got really bad, instead of trying to make the 8-mile trip back to our trailer, we'd make the one-mile trip to my dad's house and see how the storm progressed from there. He had several spare bedrooms and I knew he could put us up if we couldn't make it home that evening.

The news called that storm “The White Hurricane”. The winds gusted to 80 miles per hour and the barometer crashed to record lows. The snow came down like a vertical avalanche and then the winds took it and piled it in ever increasing drifts. It buried cars, blew out power and killed 51 Ohioans. It was probably the strongest and worst winter storm to ever hit Ohio. It was eventually categorized “a severe blizzard”, something that rarely if ever occurs in these parts.

My wife and I made it to my dad's house, but not easily. I've never ever driven in anything like that, either before or since. Visibility out the windshield was close to zero with the snow absolutely pelting down and the wind howling and carrying it sideways. And what I remember as the weirdest part, the day started out quite warm for January, creepily warm and very still, as if the weather gods were holding their breaths before blasting out the blizzard. The temperature dropped 30 or more degrees within an hour and the storm was then upon us.

We were extremely glad to be in my dad's sturdy brick ranch and watching the howling blast out the windows and not out in it.

We eventually ended up spending 4 days or so out there. I remember about the second or third day my brother talking himself out of a traffic ticket for riding his snowmobile right through our city's downtown. He was on a grocery-and-cigarettes run for those of us stranded in the house and decided, since everything was snow-covered, to take a detour through the middle of town to “check things out”. Luckily the police had more pressing matters to take care of, so a quick warning was all they gave him.

So there we were for four days, hunkered down, waiting for the plows to come through, waiting for the weather to clear up a bit, waiting, waiting. And while we waited, we played games, talked, watched TV and listened to music.

My brother had his 8-track stereo outfit in the family room in the basement, so we ended up down there a lot of the time. Yes all my young readers, an 8-track. That was the pinnacle of music technology at that time, so don't sneer.

His selection of music seemed to be somewhat limited for some reason, but the one cartridge that he really liked listening to was that doggone “Rumors”. So we must ended up having listened to that one 15 to 20 times. Or more! It got so I could almost hear the music while I was asleep. Maybe I even could! He might have been playing it even then!

Anyhow, our exile at my dad's house finally came to an end and we all went back to living our lives again. Our trailer was still there, albeit dangerously low in fuel oil. Dad and I had to cart some diesel fuel from a nearby truck stop to keep us going until our fuel oil delivery man could get through the drifts to our park. We lost all our house plants to the cold, but we survived and went on with our lives relatively unscathed.

So here I was again watching another blizzard tearing into the country and again listening to Stevie Nicks singing the 1977 hit “Go Your Own Way”.

And I realized that everything is cyclical. Everything that goes around, comes around if you wait long enough.

But this time it was someone else who would have to hunker down, who would have to watch the howling snow out their windows and bide their time until they could emerge from their refuges and blink at the newly-fallen snow.

So I hummed the Fleetwood Mac song on the way to work this afternoon, remembering, remembering, thinking of the past all those many, many years ago and thanking my lucky stars that the blizzard was over there this time and not over here.

“Loving you

Isn't the right thing to do

How can I

Ever change things that I feel?

If I could

Maybe I'd give you my world...”



The River Flows

The River Flows

Every now and again I'll find myself running across a phrase or possibly a quotation in something I'm reading that will begin to spark the hidden philosopher in me. Not too often, but once in a while it'll hit me in my sweet spot and start the old synapses firing.

Most of the time I'm pretty prosaic and down-to-earth and try not to second guess the universe as it flows past me. Things are as they are and most processes and situations generally have their own inertia about them and tend to go on being what they are. Habits become ingrained and my mind starts to become dull. However, once in a while, as I said before, I'll see something that rings so true that it pulls the veil from the eyes of my everyday life and makes me say, “ Of course! That's so true! How could I have been so blind!”

Perhaps if I'd studied philosophy as a younger man these occasionally uncovered gems might not be as enlightening or surprising. But my education in that area is sadly lacking, so when I do discover those ideas they are as refreshing as a cool rain shower on a hot July afternoon.

Tonight I ran across another one.

Way back in the Golden Age of Greece there was this gentleman by the name of Heraclitis. The history books say he lived from 535 BC to 475 BC. (And, as an aside, don't you wish the years of your life were counting down instead of up?) Anyhow, he was a famous Greek philosopher who was known for his doctrine of change being central to the universe.

Sort of an early-day Einstein stating a counterpoint to his explanation that all things are relative.

The quote of Heraclitis' that I ran across tonight was, “No man ever steps into the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.”

Something to really reflect on, isn't it? Not only do all things change in the outer world, but you yourself change day by day, hour by hour. You're not the same person who you were this morning. Not only physically, but mentally also – maybe even more so mentally.

Each day we learn. We discover new things. Our minds can change. We may find out that things that we accepted as true or which we thought were “set in stone” are not necessarily so. We might now even be willing to accept that those things might now be polar opposites of what we used to think! And whether we accept it or not, the world does moves on and does carry us, willingly or unwillingly, to wherever it's heading. Perhaps it might not be as apparent on a day-to-day basis, but think back to last year, or five years ago.

Or ten.

Is the world the same as it was then? Are you? If you're not living with blinders on you have to respond in the negative. Things change. Always and forever.

Look at a photo of yourself from a decade ago. Now look in the mirror. If you see the same face looking back at you, you better make an appointment with your optometrist! That fact may make you sad or may make you happy but it should always be apparent.

It's phenomenally easy to fall into a rut and think that life is same-o, same-o. You go to work, eat, sleep, etc., etc. You see generally the same people, the same faces, the same tasks placed before you. It may be the habit that humans are best in – falling into ruts and making them deeper and deeper until they're too high to see out of.

But same-o, same-o is not reality.

As an example, consider this:

I work at a job that requires me to watch a monitor which displays the condition of a group of public water systems. The levels of their water towers, the speed of water being pumped out of their pumps and into those towers, the amount of chlorine being injected into each of the water systems to make the water safe, the water flowing out of the towers as demand increases. When I'm training a new operator in this particular job I always make sure to tell them to look at the monitor right then and take notice of it. And I then tell them that they will never see it look the same again. Never. The reason for this is that the display shows a snapshot of a dynamic system. Not a static system. A dynamic system is always changing and is never the same.

I guess you could compare life to that dynamic display I watch five days a week. I've monitored it for almost 12 years now and have never seen it showing the same screen. Never. There is always something different. Something is always moving up or moving down. The gallons-per-minute displays are always moving – a little faster now, a little slower later.

We even used to play a game where we would watch to see if ever three certain towers might be at the same level at the same time.

I saw it happen once for about 5 minutes.

In 12 years.

But everything else on the screen was different.

I guess the parallels with the world and yourself as compared to my microcosmic world of county water systems are pretty evident. Life is a dynamic system, not a static one.

It might even be like taking a rifle shot at a moving target from a moving train during a heavy wind on uneven terrain. In the dark. That particular shot will never present itself the same again.

So when you wake up tomorrow, take a good look around. Take a mental picture of your world and put it in your mental box of keepsakes. Because when you wake up the next day the world and YOU will no longer be the same.

The river and you will have moved.

For better or for worse...

December Again

December Again

I had an interesting conversation recently which you, faithful reader, might find interesting. My wife and I were sitting in our favorite “Friday” restaurant waiting for our lunches to arrive when our waitress stopped at the table for a moment and said to me, “You know, I'm kind of interested in starting a blog. I know you write one because I read the one you gave the boss a few months ago. I liked them a lot and think I might be able to write some too. There are a lot of funny and interesting people who eat here and I'm sure that some stories I could tell about them would be really funny.”

The restaurant I'm referring to is the breakfast-and-lunch place that my wife and I frequent on most Fridays for lunch, as they have the best fish dinner in town! Bar none! And, for the record, the waitress's name who asked about blogging is named Lois. She's probably the most senior of the wait staff in this restaurant, at least she is from my observation. When Mike, the boss, doesn't show up, she handles the place and does a cracking good job of it, also. I don't know too much about the politics of the restaurant, but if she isn't a full partner in the enterprise, she should be. (hint to Mike)

I was pleased that she had stopped to chat a minute (they're always real busy that time of day) and that she'd read my scribblings and had enjoyed them. Writers and bloggers always appreciate an attaboy on the all too infrequent occasions we get one. I was also pleased she had came to me to ask about this fascinating pastime. I answered her with some quick, off-the-top-of-my-head suggestions and followed up the next time we were at that restaurant with some more detailed ideas.

She's been working at this particular establishment for a lot of years and I'm sure she's seen just about everything. I, for one, would really, really like to read her stories!

In any event, talking to Lois and helping her start fiddling with this cool hobby has got the old juices starting to flow and maybe the words will follow.

Let's see...

The trees in this northern portion of Ohio have all shed their fall foliage and now resemble gray, skeletal hands reaching toward the ashen sky. The wind blows cold and carries the scent of Canadian snowfields far to the north. It's either late fall or early winter, I guess, depending on your viewpoint. Seasonally speaking, of course. The calendar says winter doesn't start for another week or thereabouts. The heavier jacket I'm now wearing most days says the calendar is wrong again.

Christmas is drawing a bead on us, too, sitting 11 days away and laughing its ho-ho-ho's as we scurry here and there accumulating our offerings to its hungry maw. But this year I'm pretty much ready for it. Speaking of “being ready for it”, I got asked that very same, oft-repeated question this week by a nurse at the place where I get my allergy shots. She said, “Are you ready for Christmas yet?”

I answered her with a question, “How many times have you said that today?” (she sees LOTS of patients daily)

She said, “A LOT!”

We both laughed at the banality of the question and how it's recital was almost required this time of year. Tell me you haven't heard it yet.

I always try to make her laugh during my visits there. She's one of the world's good girls and I enjoy my short time with her every three weeks. It's amazing how much you can learn about someone in 10 minutes a month or less. I might know more about her life story than I do many of my co-workers.

Anyhow...

As I said, Christmas approaches. It is Christmas, isn't it? There is always that seasonal argument about “Merry Christmas” versus “Happy Holidays”. I don't think there should be, at least to my way of thinking. When I say “Merry Christmas” I'm ALWAYS referring to the single day. Christmas. When I say “Happy Holidays” I'm referring to the conglomeration of Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas, New Years and, if you want to push it, Martin Luther King Jr. Day. I try to be precise in what I call stuff. So don't bug me about my seasonal greetings. I know what I'm saying. I use the written term Xmas from time to time also. I know that bugs people, too. Sorry. I'm old and set in my ways and it's quicker to write. Get used to it.

Another thing. I hate to break it to you but I've realized recently that I'm a bad person. For a number of reasons, actually, one of which I'll explain now. (the others maybe sometime in the future)

My wife and I have friends who live in a desert area not too far from Sedona, Arizona. We've known the lady for years and years – 40 plus – and the husband for some time also. We love them both to pieces. But... They're in Arizona and they only get back to Ohio infrequently.

And that's no doggone fun.

But recently they've decided to move back to Ohio. I know, I know, that's like a salmon swimming DOWNstream to spawn or a moth being pulled AWAY from the light.

Just. Doesn't. Happen.

But in this case, it does. I won't go into the reasons why they're heading this way. They're private to the couple and, anyhow, not relevant to this story. But at the time of this writing, they are in the midst of driving their motor home packed with household belongings across the country and are northeast Ohio bound.

Leaving their dry, warm, sunny desert to return to the snow, cold, sleet, icy rain, dreary days and general miserableness of a typical northern Ohio winter.

And I love it! They're going to be just up the road from us! And we'll be able to see 'em lots and lots!

I'm such a bad, bad fellow, aren't I?

The Science of Politics and a Wounded Dog

The Science of Politics and a Wounded Dog

There were a couple things that attracted my interest recently that I thought I might share with you. They were things that affected me in a couple different ways. See what you think.

The first was that I attended the movie “Lincoln” on Sunday and was totally blown away by it. The acting was nothing but incredible and I'll be dumbfounded if there won't be multiple Academy Awards resulting from it. Just off the top of my head I'd say Tommy Lee Jones, Sally Field and Daniel Day Lewis were as good as I've ever seen them in any film. Or maybe anybody else in any other film. Stellar work and they most definitely deserve the utmost kudos from everyone.

But what drew my attention beyond the superb acting in this fine film was the fact that the United States Congress was just as contentious, just as starkly partisan and just as mule-headed back in 1865 as it is in today's version. Nay, if the film portrayed events even close to accurately, I'd say they were even more so, if you can possibly believe it. As you may recall from your history books, the country was still divided during the period portrayed, North and South, and the bloody Civil War was just winding down. Then, as now, the Senate had passed a bill which was being held up in the House. This one, however, was the 13^th Amendment which would outlaw slavery and involuntary servitude except as punishment for a crime. This was a very contentious issue in those days as you might imagine. Lincoln knew, that when he had freed the slaves with his Emancipation Proclamation back on the first day of 1863, it was only “good” for the duration of the war. After peace had been achieved, the proclamation would probably no longer be in effect. He further postulated that the proclamation might even be illegal and, if so, would be quickly overturned in the courts. The only way he could guarantee the abolishing of slavery was with an amendment to the Constitution.

During the course of the movie we see Lincoln using every ounce of his power and his political savvy to change the minds of a certain number of Representatives to his way of thinking, to make sure that they had enough numbers to pass the bill when it came up to a vote.

I smiled as I saw the way each “nay” vote was changed to an “aye” and realized that the science (or is it a craft?) of politics has changed not one iota in the last 150 years. People are persuaded, cajoled, shamed, flattered, given political favors, intimidated, indirectly (or directly) bribed and emotionally hijacked to gain a favorable vote. You can see this process continuing even to this day. And, to be honest, I don't condemn or condone any of these practices. It is what it is. It's just politics. At least in the time of Lincoln and according to the movie, he was a master at his trade and was able to skillfully obtain the results that he needed.

If the portrayal of Lincoln which I watched yesterday was anything close to accurate, he would have been a man I'd have liked to know personally. He was shown to be an extremely likeable man and a great president.

So why are you just sitting there? Go see the movie!

&&&

The second thing was this:

About a week ago there was a ghastly story running on our local television news. In a park in Cleveland Heights, a good Samaritan out walking her dogs had found a dog which had been tied to a tree and shot twice. He was then, apparently, left for dead. The Samaritan phoned the police and when they arrived they found the animal was still alive. He was bundled off to a veterinary clinic and cared for and his life was saved. As of November 30, the dog, named Forest for the place he was found, was doing much better but was still in a lot of pain and still had a long way to go before he would arrive at a full recovery. The video that was aired showed a beautiful mastiff that was extremely underweight for what he should have weighed. The television news report goes on to state:

“He was neglected, malnourished and tied up; forced to eat concrete or gravel.

He is eating now, but still limping because of the gunshot wound to his chest.

He was also shot in the face.

Cleveland Heights police are analyzing the bullet for fingerprints and DNA, to find out who shot the dog.”

He's the most lovable-looking pooch, sort of a brindle black and brown Mastiff with the most calm, trusting eyes you've ever seen. Once he's back to his normal health I'm positive he'll find his forever home almost immediately.

But just think:

Someone tied this poor dog to a tree and shot him.

And shot him again.

And botched the killing.

I'm a dog lover. Let's get that stated up front. When I see stories like this I get so angry that I could just spit. I want to find the sub-human who did those horrific acts to a trusting, loving pet and have him punished in the exact same manner as he punished the dog. But before tying him to a tree and shooting him I want to beat him and beat him some more. Then make him eat some concrete and gravel!

But I know that won't happen.

He'll probably just get a fine and maybe, just maybe, will be forbidden to own a pet.

For a couple years.

And. That's. Just. Not. Right.

The First Tuesday after the First Monday in November

The First Tuesday after the First Monday in November

You know, I think I've changed my mind. I had originally thought that I'd start this blog out with some shouting and some rage. I've had an anger building in me for months and months and was going to vent it now in one explosive purge. I was going to rant and holler about the political ads on the television. I was going to wail and moan about the many, many political phone calls that have clogged my telephone for many, many weeks. And I was going to especially scream about all my “friends” on Facebook who have been “kind” enough to inform me about how diabolically awful each of our presidential candidates are.

But I'm not going to. I've decided to tone it down and to behave rationally. Hollering would be the easy way and there are times, non-withstanding what some acquaintances might say, where I don't take the easy way.

So, my friends, let's look at each of the above named annoyances, shall we?

Television/radio ads. There surely have been lots of them, haven't there? A majority of the ones I've viewed were of the presidential variety, but as we approached election day the lesser races began to show their faces too. Some of the ads were quite clever, some were informative, some were quite emotional. A lot were half-truths, near-truths and outright fabrications. A good chunk of them were attack ads, of course. “Don't worry about what I'm going to do, just look what this ne'er-do-well has done in the past.” A lot of those ads hinted at the fact that the candidate probably ought to be arrested, in jail or rode out of town on a rail.

At least.

Some said that if you would elect this guy the country and/or the world will definitely be going to hell in a hand-basket. Definitely. Others said that if you supported “the other guy” you were, at the least, deficient in some brain function and, at the worst, a traitor who should be summarily executed. A lot of them stated “facts” that were easily found to be incorrect and had been demonstrated so for quite a while. Apparently the ads were working with the supposition that if you throw enough mud against the wall, some of it would stick. Or that if you tell someone that “A” did XYZ enough times, a few of the audience members will begin to believe “A” did that despicable thing. Those are all well-known brainwashing techniques.

Did you get brainwashed?

Let me ask you another question. Did any of the ads make you change your mind after you'd made your choice? Did one of the ads make you hate your guy so bad you jumped on the other guy's bandwagon?

Didn't think so.

In any event, there were oodles and oodles of them, weren't there?

So be it. It's a free country (despite what some ads would have you believe). If someone wants to place an ad and spend his money to do so, why shouldn't he be able to? “What if it's a lie”, you might ask.

So what? Half of the ads you see selling products are half-truths at best. Be happy for the television (and radio) stations who are realizing a great windfall to their bottom lines. Those political dollars are going into someone's pocket. All television and radio advertising executives are wearing grins these days, you betcha!

And the phone calls. Annoying? My God, yes. But I find I'm beginning to enjoy hanging up on them. I pick up and listen. Since I doubt very much if Pat Boone would be calling me personally, or Obama or Romney, I hang up on them. Same for all of them. Simple! I look at the caller id. Do I know him? Answer and hang up. Answer and hang up. Answer and hang up. Takes 2 seconds and doesn't clog your answering machine.

The Facebook freaks? I am simply amazed by the number of my friends, and I use the term quite loosely, who are simply batshit CRAZY about their political views! I have quite a number of them who seem to ONLY think about politics and how AWFUL the “other” guy is. I've seen stuff on there I'm surprised hasn't generated visits from the Secret Service for their vileness. There seems to be a LOT of hate out there, folks. Others are just dumb. They remind me a lot of third graders going na-na-na-na to their playground rivals. Lots of hot air and rhetoric to justify their puerile emotions. Don't they realize that almost NO one is interested in their political postings and posturing? Even the ones who agree with them? We get it! We know who you like and who you don't! Don't tell me for the 98^th time!

And I find all this seriously puzzling.

Have any of the candidates personally done something to any of them? Did they come to their door and beat up their wife? Steal their car? Shoot their dog?

Come on now! Go outside and take a deep breath. Take an aspirin and a nap. Give it a break!

Your guy doesn't wear a halo and the other guy doesn't have horns and a tail. Half of your friends and relatives LIKE the other guy, much as you'd like to ignore it. Very close to half of the electorate, if polls are to be trusted, LIKE the other guy too. Are they ALL misinformed boobs? Closet subversives? Soon-to-be anarchists?

Of course not!

Don't forget that they all think you've got a screw loose, too, by your support of your guy.

This is America and we ALL love a good contest. Our sports team is the best! Our high school was the best! Our kids are the best!

It's what we are and how we operate. We are passionate people and very demonstrative on our likes and dislikes.

Deep breath, relax, remember you weren't going to get upset. Stay calm.

So... Tomorrow is election day. Sometime tomorrow morning I will rise from my bed, dress, get in the car and visit my polling place. And then I'll vote for the man I want to be president. (And of course some other stuff, too.)

I'd like to see him win. I'd like to see him do what he's promised he's going to do.

But is America going to go down the tubes if the other guy gets in?

Hell no!

I'm very sure that either man, if elected, will do his damnedest to do a good job. He'll work day and night to attempt to make his country the best in the world. He'll bust his ass and his hair will turn gray (or grayer) because of it. He will serve the people who voted for him and the ones who didn't to the best of his abilities.

And he'll probably do a fine job. A damn fine job.

One thing's for sure though, whoever wins the crown.

He'll be my president. And that's good enough for me.

Lumbar Stupidity

Lumbar Stupidity

Hi Gang. Thought I'd check in with another quick blog on how the world is treating me. I'll get into the particulars in a minute, but first how about a movie reference? See if you can remember. This film was released in 1994 and was the top-grossing movie in North America that year. It won scads of Academy Awards including best picture, best director, best actor and more. Yep, I'm talking “Forrest Gump”. And at a certain point in this much-beloved movie, Forrest mouthed the immortal words, “Stupid is as stupid does!” Remember that? I never actually figured out exactly what he meant by those words. Perhaps it pertained to his simple-mindedness. Perhaps it had a deeper meaning that eluded me when I saw the movie. In any event the line seemed apropos when he said it and I guess that was the important part. But thinking about that movie, which I was recently, and thinking about that line has got me also thinking about stupidity in general.

And something stupid in particular that I did recently.

You may recall my talking about stupidity in a couple of my previous blogs. My own stupidity in particular and how those particular acts of stupidity had always led to consequences – always – and mostly bad consequences. But I'd like to differentiate tonight between what I see as two different kinds of stupidity if you don't mind following my train of thought.

The first kind of stupidity I'd like to call “being stupid kinda on purpose”. This is where a situation arises where you need to do something that might result in an undesirable consequence, but you say to yourself, I can get away with it just this once. You're an active participant in your upcoming act of stupidity and it's eventual “bad result”. You realize, in your heart of hearts, you're doing something stupid, but the censor circuit has been disabled in your brain and you go ahead and do the deed anyhow.

The second kind is what could be called “stealth stupidity”. It refers to an act of stupidity that you don't even realize you're doing. After the fact, in retrospect, you can see the parts all aligning to the eventual uh-oh moment, and you can then identify the stupid thing you did, but going in it's pretty much invisible.

I guess I was stupid in the second way sometime Saturday. I say sometime because the actual stupid act could have been any one of several different possibilities.

Here's the story.

I have a bad back. It's a problem that lots of folks born around the time I was are presently experiencing. Things down in the lower back neighborhood start wearing out and start allowing other things to grind together that aren't supposed to. That wearing out/grinding/nerve punishing action results in pain. Sometime the pain is slight and more of an inconvenience. Other times it's a fully-charged car battery zapping a thunderbolt into your lumbar area and sparking bright crackles of agony along all the nerves in the area.

I've had this situation going on in my lower back for some years now. Most of the time it's the old low-level stuff, kind of a background noise – like the speaker hiss of an old LP playing one of your favorite songs. If you concentrate a bit you realize that your lower back sorta/kinda hurts, but it's not too bad. It can be mostly ignored. But every now and then... you move a certain way or you pick up something a bit incorrectly... or you don't do your back-strengthening exercises as often as you know you should... or you bend over a few degrees more than you should...

Or it's Thursday morning and your name ends in a vowel...

Whammo!!!

In other words, sometimes the hurt comes when you do that stupid thing. But other times it pops in and says HELLO for no apparent reason!

But of course there obviously was a reason for the pain in your back. You did do something dumb. But your lower back is a sneaky son-of-a-gun and can spark up hours and hours after you did your inadvertent miscue and it can be extremely difficult to ascertain when the injury actually took place.

So sometime Saturday I apparently shook hands with Mr. Stupid. I bent or reached or stretched or twisted or lifted or... Who the hell knows.

I woke up Sunday in my usual way – with a trip to the bathroom. No surprise there. But when I stood up and walked the 12 steps to the can and had to do it half-bent over, I realized that sometime the day before I'd made one of those boo-boos and I was now entering a period I like to refer to as payback time.

I'd gone through this rigamarole before, I wasn't a newcomer to this party, and I knew that it usually took from 3 days to a week-and-a-half to get back to the modest physical state I call normal. Occasionally longer. But each episode I go through occurs when I'm older than before, obviously, so what has happened in the past is only a possibility of what will occur in the here-and-now. So...

Sunday was a not-so-nice day, lower-back speaking. I took pills and smeared several flavors of either hot-feeling or cold-feeling goop on my back. Some of the products promised both! Hot ice or cold fire. Seemed a bit contradictory. Anyhow, after taking the painkillers and smearing the goop I dug out my wife's blue aluminum walking cane that we'd saved from an old injury of hers and used it to get around the rest of the day. I just couldn't straighten up much – when I tried to that ol' thunderbolt would z-z-z-zap my back and I'd yelp like a beaten puppy. I had to stay bent over a bit just to cope. My wife and I had an movie date planned with another couple for later that afternoon and she asked me if I wanted to cancel. I said I'd tough it out, so we went to the movies and a dinner afterward and I muddled through somehow albeit looking more like Quasimodo than anything human and bipedal. Thankfully the activities of movie-watching and meal-eating were all mostly sedentary, so I could mostly sit and sitting wasn't nearly as painful as walking was.

Sunday finally ended and I relished hitting the bed that evening. I could lay without pain and that was a wonderful, wonderful thing.

Monday was a holiday at my place of employment and would have been another day of rest for my barking back, but I'd volunteered to work and was obligated to go in. I have a sit-down office kind of job, so I thought it ought not to be too tough. Moving around that morning was even more painful than the day before and I said “ouch – ouch – ouch” a lot, but I managed. I did notice that our dog kind of shied away from me most of the day. Probably my unmanly whimpering or something like that which spooked him.

It's now around 9 o'clock in the evening and my work shift is over half done. I just returned from a trip down the hall to get some water and discovered that I could walk pretty much upright and that the pain had subsided considerably.

Perhaps it's time for some quiet celebration? Or is this improvement just a chimera, just a product of pain pills and aromatic ointment?

I'm hoping, dare I say it, that I might be seeing the beginning of the end of this latest episode of lumbar lunacy. Or is it the end of the beginning of the episode? Or not?

I guess only time will tell.

But I'm really looking forward to gettin' back to normal. I got stuff to do!

Wish me luck.