Got Your Stuff Stored?

NSA Collection of phone data legal, judge rules.

This is how our system of jurisprudence works.  If you don't like the ruling of the first judge to hear it, take your case to another court.

Personally, I don't care who collects my phone data.  They don't even need storage space on a computer.  They could keep an entire decade's records on a hand-written 3 x 5 card.

Yet I suppose on principle I should come down on one side or the other.

Words Matter, and So Do Spiders

Three or four years ago, vanilla was on about the silliness that PETA sometimes engages in.  Now Ingrid is at it again.  This time the target is New Jersey Governor Christie who demonstrated poor judgment by killing a spider.  So she says.

Yet this no where nearly rises to the level of foolishness engaged in officially by the government of the State of Washington which has undertaken to purge all state documents of words which could be  considered lacking in gender neutrality.  Newly forbidden words include "penmanship," "fisherman," "journeyman," and "clergyman."  More problematic were terms such as "seaman" and "man hole."

But not to pick on my beloved Washington where I resided for seven beautiful years, at least sixteen other states are engaging in similar efforts.

Lyonnaise

She (in the kitchen prepping supper):  Do you want me to lyonaisse these potatoes?

What I heard:  Do you want me to lionize these potatoes?

What I thought:  What the ??

I:  You need to speak some language I understand if you want a response.  What the heck does a lion have to do with cooking?

She:  el-wye-oh-en-en-a-eye-ess-ee.  Fry them with onions.

I:  Fix them however you like them.

What I did: To the online dictionary.  Yes.  "lyonnaise" to fry potatoes with bits of onions.
Who knew?  Well, BBBH knew!

TV News

Moments ago

News reader on TV station:  Coming up next, storms leave a sloth of damage.

He may have meant "swath of damage," but are we really sure?

Oh, (s)No!

Outside the wind is blowing and the snow is swirling about.  I am so thankful!  For the wind and snow?  Oh, no.  I am thankful that I am inside, warm and dry, roof and walls protecting me from the elements, furnace warming the interior to toasty comfort.

Newspapers and Education

Just yesterday Grace at Dragon's Alley and I were engaged in a conversation via blog comments about the careless manner in which newspapers seem to select their homophones these days.  I commented that, while I was not ungrateful for a daily local paper, said paper was rife with examples of such bad selections.

Today came the paper and there was this one:

Seems, though, that AP gets the credit for this one, rather than the local editor.

Then this

which is not in the same category, but it does seem to be a selection of a word which is merely close to the one needed.

I have such fun with the newspaper these days!

s no way!

Snowed right here in good ol' Tipton during the early morning hours of October 23.

Isn't that a kick in the shins!

AP TV

Found some decent and entertaining programming on television last night.  The network is called "Animal Planet."

Another TV Trial Run

Thursday evening; okay let's check out "Parenthood."

 For the first twenty minutes or so I actually thought this might offer something of interest.  And perhaps it does, if your life is not sufficiently filled with angst, tribulation, and annoyances such that you wish to peek in voyeuristic-ally on others' problems.

As it turns out, as is the case with most network television, the commercials were much more interesting than the programming.











Seems to me this is going to be a good winter for catching up on the reading of those classics you always planned to read, yet never got around to it.

More "New" TV

So I passed on a "White Collar" rerun in favor of the new Michael J. Fox Show because I have liked Fox for many years, enjoyed his work, and admire his handling of his illness.

They should have called it the "Alex P. Keaton Show" and brought Fox back as an ultra-conservative yet powerful politician in today's going-to-hell-in-a-handbasket politically correct EC liberal milieu.

But, ho-hum, it is an attempt at a sit-com fraught with political correctness in its own right.  Sit-com.  No, I personally couldn't sit through the first half hour.

Back to reruns and old movies this season, it seems.

More "TV Review"

The Missus subscribes; I just bring it home from the mailbox.  What caught my eye here, though, was the "60 Hot Shows" blurb.

I submit that there probably have not been sixty "hot shows" in the history of the medium.  Depending, perhaps, on what is meant by "hot."

New Season: TV Review

Herk walked down my driveway and watched my puttering with a little project for half-minute, then he said

Didja watch the new show, Blacklist?

I did.

Whatcha think? Pretty cool, huh?

Totally derivative.  The crook-aids-law-enforcement straight from White Collar;  blood and gore from any number of crime programs, just another in the list of shows that hope to see how far they can go, and how soon they can turn your stomach; kick-ass tough girl on the side of good from NCIS, NCIS -LA, SVU, and any number of other programs; spouse with a secret life, well you've seen it all before.  And James Spader played his role with the same arrogance with which he played a lawyer in Boston Legal.  Why not?  Lawyer, crook.

I see no compelling reason whatsoever to put the show on my watch-list.

Herk was already half-way home.

Style

"Funny," Tildy said, "how some women can go to the finest boutiques, spend the greatest quantity of money for an outfit, then look like crap wearing it.  Others can go to Walmart, spend thirty bucks and look like a million dollars."

Yep.  One who has a sense of style will always look stylish, and she who has no such sense cannot buy it for any amount of money.

Still, it is beyond me why women of all sizes and shapes have to wear the latest "look" whether it looks good on them or not.

Work

"President Obama has called on Congress to raise the minimum wage from $7.25 to $9.00 per hour."

I was working for the minimum wage of 65 cents when Congress raised the minimum wage to 90 cents.  Man!  What a windfall!  (Well, I mean, I got 38% increase.  Obama is suggesting an increase of approximately 24%.)

Yes, I am old.

Thumb

While working in the garden yesterday, the integrity of my integument was compromised.  Significant insult to left thumb, patched with salve and bandage.  Good thing I don't text.  I'd be dead in the water.

Our World, Their World

The prandial conversation turned to matters of societal responsibilities to the less fortunate.  The Lady said, “As Jesus said, ‘Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day; teach a man to fish and he will eat for a lifetime."’”  With a mild demurrer, but no rebuke, I suggested that while that was a well-known saying, we have no evidence that Jesus said it.   In response to the question, “When were you hungry, and we fed you?”  Jesus did say, “When you did so unto the least of these, you did it to me.” 

In any event, we veered a bit from the topic to explore the biblicization of common sayings.  Conventional wisdom is rife with bon mots and platitudes which are credited to The Bible.  “Spare the rod and spoil the child” is one of the most often misplaced (or misquoted) “scriptures.”  What actually is in the Bible is this:  “He who spares the rod hates his son.”

Bible and other classical literature notwithstanding, we live in a day in which darned few people know much of anything.  Except technology.  They know technology and how to utilize it.  Puts us old duffers in a whole different world, and one, I think, that the younger ones hope soon fades completely from societal memory.  

Now how did I turn a dinner conversation into a rant?

Worry?

"Worry isn’t the result of your problems. Worry is the result of you thinking you can control your problems." --Pete Wilson

Gives Me a Pain

Sign beside the highway and in front of chiropractor’s office:

Wanted

10 chronic pain suffers.

“They mean ‘sufferers,’”  she said.

“They can’t spell, or don’t know the difference,” said I.

“Well, it got our attention.”

“Yeah, and we both know what they mean.  Spelling is over-rated.”

Alert!

"The State Department announced this week the creation of its first office dedicated to outreach to the global faith community and religious leaders."  --WaPo 7/27/13

No matter where you may fall on the belief-unbelief spectrum, if this is not troubling to you, you are sound asleep and the alarm is turned off.

"Good morning!  I am from the government, and I am here to help you."

Welcome, Little Prince

The newsreader said, "The people are pottying in the streets here in London!"
Can't the authorities do something about that?

Blessings on you, little man
Born naked, and yet you can
Someday be the king.
What an interesting thing.
For we're both just
Water, chemicals, and dust.
I'll live life free, I trust
You'll do exactly what you must.

Fast Fooding It

I seldom go to Mickey Dee's and even less often do I purchase a food item there.  I almost never go through a "drive-thru" at any establishment.

But I want to do something nice for the spouse, and I'm in a hurry.  I'm thinking egg biscuit at Burger King (she loves eggs), but McD is 40 yards closer, so I swing into the drive through.  Order egg mcmuffin.  Pull around to window, wait for two cars in front of me.  My turn.  Finally.

I have a five in my hand.  Man at window starts to hand me sack and drink.  Are you sure that's mine?  I didn't order drink.  He hands me drinking straw, opens sack, announces content.  Okay, then. Hands me sack, but says, You aren't going to give me that five, are you?  Unless the food is free, yes.

Didn't you pay back there?  (Back where? I am thinking.)  No.
I can't take money here.  I'll have to get the manager.
(Handing sack back to McEmployee)  Forget it.

I burn the forty yards to the BK, park, go inside.  Order egg biscuit, which I have in less time than it takes to tell.

Thanks, McD.

By the way, did you know that that 69 cent sandwich is now three bucks at either of those establishments?  Sheesh.

Reading at the Mall

Barn-like store, huge.  I am sitting on a bench just inside the exit.  It is pouring rain outside.  I am reading a book.  The Missus is shopping.

A man, forty-something, bearded, ball-cap, five-six and one-forty-five, approaches the door which opens automatically, two women behind him with gigantic carts piled high with cheap crap.

Woman on the left hollers at man, "Where's your phone?"

Man stops, turns, "In my pocket!"

Woman, "Don't sit on it!"

Man retorts, but by this time I am laughing so hard I can't make out his words.

Man shoots me a look; I raise the book, "Funny book, very funny!"

Surely he couldn't see that the book was about the Holocaust.

Like That's Going to Happen

You may call it what you want, or you may not give it a name, but when the military removes a nation's leader and installs a provisional leader, it is a coup d'etat whether or not you like the term. Mr. President, our nation is required to immediately stop the flow of foreign aid to a country in which such a coup has occurred. So do your duty, already!

Turn it Off

I was reading, had the tube on for white noise in the background.  My ears pricked up when I heard the reader say something about "Bood Wire."  I looked up in time to see these gorgeous nightie models flaunting their wares, and again the voice over was talking about "...in your Bood Wire."

So he wasn't talking about my cousin, Bud Wire afterall.

Segue to news reader, who goes on about homeless people living in the streets, then concludes with "blah, blah, blah, as is so many in America."

Click.

Paint and Palaver

I was weeding along the side of the house.  I had noticed that Herk and Tildy were at their front entryway with paint and brushes.  Projects they attempt to do together seldom turn out well.

As time passed, I could hear some back-and-forth, but I could not make out their conversation.  Until, that is, I heard:


Herk:  *blah blah, something*  Bwahahaha!

Tildy: Just shut up and paint!

Herk:  I wish you had a sense of humor!

Tildy:  I wish you had some sense!

$26.99/lb. Yikes!

Planning to grill out on the Fourth, but the steaks are too high.

People

Foofaraw in our area.  Proposed hog operation vs. youth camp.  People want their bacon, but somehow imagine it can be produced without the inconvenience of hog poo.  (Well, maybe it could be produced in someone else's neighborhood.)

Bacon, or a place to send the kids for the summer?  Make up your minds.

Nap Interrupted

The neighbor's windchimes

are clacking in the blowing

of the summer breeze.

Family

Timothy David,

my son, and Mary, his wife,

moved to Montana.

There they had children,

three or four, or maybe more.

I've not heard in years.

Bitterman Update

Herk walked over to the flower plot I was weeding.  I straightened up, not so much to eyeball him while we talked as to give my back some relief.  "Some nice looking flowers," he remarked.  "Thanks," I said.  "The bearded iris would be my favorite flower if only the bloom lasted longer."

"Oh, yes," Herk responded, "beauty fades quickly, doesn't she?"  I knew Herk was not talking about flowers, so I didn't make any comment.  Now, it is well-known that his wife, Tildy, was a real beauty in her youth, and she has the pictures and the clippings to prove that that fact was recognized by the County Fair committee back in nineteen-something-or-other, for she was Queen that year.  Herkimer doesn't realize it sometimes, or perhaps he is simply not as thoughtful as he might be, but Tildy has aged well, and she is, as is sometimes said of a lady of a certain age, "a fine figure of a woman."  What I am saying is, Herkimer is darned lucky, and he doesn't even know how lucky he is.  In all fairness, though, I should say I don't have to live with her, and Tildy does have a way with words.

We chatted a bit about the storms in Kansas and the flax crops in North Dakota, then Herkimer took his leave, and I bent again to the task.

Pain

Prostrate on the floor

He's fallen and can't get up.

Getting old is hell.

Lonely

    Broken derelict

Washed up on the sands of time.

Who remembers him?

Then and Now

When I was a kid, we played cops and robbers.

Today, kids are cops and robbers.

Toothpicks

On display in the museum was this model built entirely of toothpicks by someone who clearly had too much time on his hands.  Anyway, ahead of me was a cute little girl of perhaps thirteen summers who looked at the model briefly then turned to a docent and asked, "Why didn't they use colored toothpicks?"

The gentleman  had a look on his face which clearly indicated he had never before heard such a question, nor did he seem to have a ready response in his repertoire.

The placard indicated that the construction required 85,000 toothpicks.

Bigify for detail.

Back. For How Long?

I have not been able to post here since early April.  Yet as mysteriously as the "works" disappeared they have now reappeared.

There may be some elves at Blogger who enjoy messing with our heads.  You may recall that vanilla had a similar experience earlier this year.

So I am back, but there are no promises that posting will occur with any regularity.  One has to have a thought in his head before he can write, you know.

Click!

The takeaway

The follow-through

I was sitting on the bench beside the pond enjoying the sunshine and watching the loon as he would dive and resurface far from his entry point.  Trying to guess where he would emerge in hopes of getting a snapshot was my immediate entertainment.

Then I heard the "click" and it was a familiar sound.  I looked up and across the pond.  On the other side of the lane and perhaps eighty yards away I spotted the old coot practicing his golf swing.  It is okay for me to designate the gentleman as such, for I am an old coot myself.  As I watched him a while, I concluded that he may not have the most powerful swing on the course, but I daresay he would make someone a formidable opponent, or an excellent partner.

I was never a golfer, and in fact I had never played the game until after I retired.  Ellie, my wife at the time, was an avid golfer and an accomplished instructor.  She offered to teach me the game.  So.  Then she bought me a new set of clubs.  And.  We became golf buddies.

Though I missed her terribly, of course, I continued to tromp the fairways for about seven years after her death.  Her brother, Richard, became my pal on the course.  He, of course, is much better at the game than I ever was, and he continues to play on a regular basis.  I quit the game because of the pain in the left shoulder and my reluctance to see a surgeon about that.

"Doc, my shoulder hurts when I swing a golf club."

"Then don't swing a golf club."

Seems right to me.

Elusive Duck, Social Turtles,

and Invisible Frog

String Too Short to Tie

 The sun breaks through the cloud cover!

Stroll over to the pond.  Redhead duck!

Feed the turtles.

I am moderately pleased with the shot of the duck.  Elusive critter, he is, given to trying to avoid observation.  This picture shows the diagnostic blue bill with black tip.  Last year we had several whistling ducks around the pond.  Haven't seen them this year.

I do have better turtle pictures.  All one does is sit on the bench and they show up, sometimes as many as a dozen of them.  Well, that is if one throws little cookie bits into the water!

As I was sitting on the bench thinking I had never seen any frogs around the pond, I concluded that perhaps the turtles had eaten them all.  Wrong.   No more thought than from a nearby clump of bull rushes, "Brr-rump, brr-rump" in a deep bass register!

Nature Walk

String Too Short to Tie

 Stepped out the door and spotted this cheerful little insect resting on a chair.  An idea of size can be noted by comparing it to the grommets and lacing.

Walked to the pond.  As I stood beneath a tree looking at the pond, I heard a rustling in the leaves above me.   I might have ignored the rustling, for it might have been a squirrel, or even a breeze wafting through the trees.

But apparently I had been spotted, and the creature fluttered its wings as it attempted to move to a spot I would not see.  I looked up.  The bird was well-hidden.  Well, except that I did spot it.  I aimed the camera and *snap* and quiet as the shutter was, it startled the bird into flight.  And not only this bird, but its companion as well which I had not seen!

Jeepster!

String Too Short to Tie

Willys-Overland Motors built the Jeepster for about three years, from 1948 to 1950. The mother of a girl in my high school senior class owned a jewelry store and curio shoppe downtown. The girl, Geraldine, drove a Jeepster. Many of us were green with envy, though we would never admit it. The four-cylinder engine provided sufficient power for cruising around, but the thing was no good of course at a stop-light challenge. Thus the car was dismissed as “girly.” Yeah, we were a sexist lot, acned, hormonal, and envious. But then, Gerry was a girl, after all. And if you were one of the truly lucky guys, you would actually have ridden in the Jeepster!

Scootering around Rockport yielded this old car spotting. The Jeepster is sitting next to a couple of old boats and between two buildings right downtown. As BBBH observed, “It’s been sitting there for a long time.” The grass is witness to that, and yet it has no flat tires. 

The last of the phaetons, and a nice looking old car.

Farm Living

String Too Short to Tie

It was during the time we lived in Bladen that I was awakened to my surroundings and began to recognize a world outside myself.

A few days ago, BBBH was reading one of her Westerns, or perhaps a pot-boiler with a western setting, I'm not sure which, and I was, yes, you guessed it, at the computer.  She made a comment on her reading by way of asking, "Can you imagine living in a soddie?"  Actually I could, for while I never lived in one, I remember visiting people who did.

My father had a cousin, Lester Taylor, who lived on a farm not far from us, perhaps less than twenty miles distant.  Lester had a family, yet I do not recall how many children there were, nor their names.  I do remember a couple of things about the visit. (I don't recall whether or not we visited more than one time.)  The first thing that happened when we got out of the car was that a terrifying and fearsome great grey gander, beak open and squawking like Donald Duck, ran toward me, obviously intent on devouring me, or  at the very least, inflicting serious bodily harm on my person.  I put my puny little four-year old legs into action and tried to flee the monster.  This encouraged the beast to pursue me.  He ultimately nipped the seat of the dratted short pants I wore.  Daddy rescued me, but the terror lived on.

On to the house.  While my recollection may not be totally reliable, I believe the sod house was about half dugout/half above ground.  I am surprised yet to this day that once inside this earthen structure, the home-like nature and furnishings of the place were much like any other house I'd ever seen.

So, yes, I can imagine what it might be like to live in a soddie.  Thank you for asking, Beautiful.

Easter!

He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay. –Matthew 28:6

Easter is the most joyous of holidays, for it is celebrated in commemoration of our salvation through the resurrection of Jesus Christ!

May you be blessed on this day, and evermore in His salvation.

Sincerely,

Bob and vanilla

Rerun of a fun story

String Too Short to Tie

This story was posted last fall.  It is an Easter story, though, in a manner of speaking, so here it is again at this joyous season.

The Pig and the Duck

Our cottage was situated on a very nice lakefront lot with a fifty-foot seawall and pier.  The area close to the seawall, especially at the east end of it, was soggy a good bit of the time, though it was planted to grass.  Too, forget-me-nots grew freely in that area, and very pretty were the shiny blue punctuation marks they provided in the lawn.

Across the lane and opposite our next door neighbor's house lived a young man named Steve with his son, Trey.  One summer, probably about our tenth year at the lake, Steve acquired a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig as a pet for himself and his son.  What a cute little pet!  The neighbors adored the animal, and it was allowed, more or less, free range of the territory.

Summers come to an end, though, the October leaves are raked, the pipes are drained and the cottage is put to sleep for the winter.  But oh, frabjous Spring when the place is reopened and "the season" starts again!  Now we discover that Pig, while still very friendly, is much larger than she was in the fall.  As the summer wears on and the days become hotter and hotter, the human inhabitants of the environs spend more and more time in the lake.  The Pig likes to swim, too, and she strolls across the lane and down to the lake for a dip betimes.  However, she is a pig, and pigs are given to rooting and wallowing.  Pig discovers the soft spot in our yard this side of the seawall.  The little blue flowers are so attractive.  Let's dig them up!  Pig is a very talented digger, and when the hole is sufficiently deep to satisfy her needs and accommodate her body, she wallows.  This is not a pleasing behavior to the human inhabitants.  Pig must be banished from the yard.

Now it should be related that Pig had a playmate and frequent companion, for at Easter time Steve's next door neighbor acquired a little duckling.  Duck grew, as ducks will, and it attached itself in friendship to Pig.  Everywhere Pig went, Duck tagged along.  Duck's owner would take Duck to the lake and attempt to get it to swim, but Duck was having none of it.  Believe it.  A duck that did not want to be in water.  So much for the old saw, "Takes to it like a duck to water."
Karen was frustrated that Duck would not swim, for it was her plan that when fall came the duck would respond to the call of the wild and fly off to wherever ducks go when the vee formations soar overhead.

I was fortunate enough to witness this little vignette.  One afternoon Pig walked across the lane and down to the lakefront.  Duck waddled along close behind.   Pig stepped into the water, launched herself and started to swim leisurely around the area.  Duck stopped on the bank, quacked loudly, no doubt scolding Pig for her reckless behavior.  But it became clear that Pig was enjoying her swim and was not giving it up.  Duck stepped into the water; and to her surprise she discovered that she could remain afloat on the surface.  Then she discovered that she could swim!  Oh, fun together with friend in the water!  The story of the pig that taught the duck to swim.

Fall came, leaves were raked, and so on.

When the cottage was opened in the spring we missed the presence of Pig.  I saw Steve one evening and asked what happened to Pig.  "Well," he said, "she went to the farm.  When I got her I was told she would probably get to a weight of 45 pounds in her adulthood.  When she got to 150 pounds I realized that I could no longer keep her as a house pet."

All things come to some end.

Good Friday

String Too Short to Tie

 

 Yes, when He was on the cross, we were on His mind. Think of that!

 "And the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom." -Mark 15:38

By the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, we may enter into God's Holiness.



BBBH does this song.  It is my favorite number in her repertoire.  I think we have it on tape, but it has not been digitized.

Moonshine

er, I mean, Moon rise 

through the Oaks.

String Too Short to Tie

Clear!

Pictures were taken on the eve of the full moon,

March 26 about five hours before officially full.

Fishy? I Think Not

I wish to express my appreciation to Bob Warr for allowing  me to  use his blog as a platform for my posts for an undetermined length of time.  Thanks, Bob.

Sincerely,

vanilla

STRING TOO SHORT TO TIE 

Disclaimer: This article is for entertainment purposes only. It is not a theological treatise, nor is its intent to make fun of anyone’s practice of faith.

Fish on Friday

We protestants who lived north of the Arkansas River chided (read: made fun of) our Catholic friends who would drive south of the river on Fridays to partake of their evening meal, for there they felt free of conscience to eat red meat. It was widely believed that Catholics were to abstain from meat on Fridays as an integral part of the practice of their faith. Failure to do so made the offender a sinner in the eyes of fellow Catholics and a hypocrite in the eyes of the protestants.

The trip across the river had its roots in some medieval history. Because of their service in the Crusades, Pope Urban II granted a dispensation to Spanish counts allowing them relief from the meatless Friday rule. In 1571, Pope Pius V extended the dispensation to all lands under Spanish rule. Hence, Spain’s colonies in the New World were excepted.¹ Even though Spain had long since lost her rule in the New World, and even through domination by various peoples, and right on into the twentieth century American world in which I lived, the observation continued in those geographical areas originally dominated by Spain. In the West, the northern boundary of Mexico was the Arkansas River, and hence the Catholics of Texas, New Mexico, and a portion of southern Colorado considered themselves under the dispensation of Pope Pius V.

In 1951, the faithful in the area were advised that indeed they should follow the practice of abstinence from meat on Fridays, along with the rest of the Catholic world. Much confusion exists to this day, and Catholics generally believe that to eat meat on Friday is not sinful, but that Friday should be a day of penance as clarified by the Holy See in 1966.²

¹Michael P. Foley, Fish on Friday: The One that Got Away, Musings of a Pertinacious Papist, December 30, 2010.

²ibid.

Blog On Loan

Friends,

I have been approached by vanilla, owner of the blog "String Too Short to Tie."  He has explained to me that for some inexplicable reason he has lost his Blogger Dashboard which makes posting and managing his blogs extremely difficult.  He has noticed that I have been posting but rarely recently and he wondered if I would allow him to co-opt my blog until such time as he figures out what to do with his.

I have agreed to this, so starting tomorrow, the content from STSTT will be published on "Bob Warr and Picket Fences."  I hope you enjoy reading the material presented here.

Until later.
Sincerely yours,
Bob Warr

You've nowhere to go but up when...

...you wheel your cart into the Walmart self-check out area and the check-out monitor says, "Take your cart out and get at the end of the line."

I mean, when you are insulted by a wallyworld employee,...

Sequestration

Friday next the world as we know it implodes.  Or so we are told by the wonderful wizards of Washington.

We are being advised by our illustrious leaders that all sorts of services, protections, programs are going to end due to sequestration.  (Now there's a word I bet you don't use in your daily conversation.  At least, not until recently.)

Look.  There will be no cuts in the actual spending.  Sequestration will create a 2.4% (or 2.3%, depending on whose figures you believe) cut in budgeted expenditures.  That is to say, a cut in the proposed spending.  How does that require the layoff of hundreds of teachers, military personnel, air traffic controllers, and so on?


Answer:  Someone is not telling the truth.

Home on the High Plains

Denver, February 17

Bunnies are eating brake lines and electrical wiring on cars parked at the airport.

“Hey, Jack, gimme a bite of that brake line.”

“Scram, Peter. Get your own brake line.”

Improved fencing coming soon.

Self Aggrandizement, Show Biz Style

i am an hour and fifty-three minutes into The Grammy Awards Show.  And why is that?  you might ask.

It is a function of a one-room one-TV house and a wife who wants to see the Grammys.

I am opposed to Television "Awards" programs on general principles..  I am opposed to this particular program on so many levels as to make it a violation of the rules of posting for Bob Warr to list them.

Oh, well.  The things we do for love.

Weather Whether We Like it or Not

Headline:  How much snow did Nemo bring?

Enough already.  Nemo is a fictional fish.  I understood the naming of tropical storms, but what is it with the personification of every weather disturbance that occurs anywhere?

NOAA:  Get over yourselves.

Hair Today

10:54 A.M.  We are seated sixth row, center section.  10:58 Pastor walks in side doors, seats himself, front row, right section.  Something about his appearance.  I guess his hair looks exactly as it did last Sunday.  "I wonder if he wears a toupe," I thought.  No more than thought, and the Lord, apparently, prompted preacher to respond, for the gentleman laced the fingers of both hands together, placed them on the back of his head and gave a gentle <tug, tug>.

Football games are played in wind, snow, ice, rain, you name it.  As they should be.  So what is this stopping the game for a power outage?  That's just wrong.

Concrete Facts about Cement

...then he heard the elderly lady say, "concrete, cement.  It's all the same to me."

"Just yesterday," Bob said, "I had that discussion with the Missus.  When you add water and aggregate to cement you get concrete.

"Whatever," the lady said.

"Exactly," said the Missus.

Then the old guy to his left asked, "You've been married how long, and you don't know you are wasting your breath?"

Kick the Can

For two months (at a minimum) I have been hearing congress-critters of one stripe or another saying over and over again, We cannot kick the can down the road.

Clearly they underestimated their abilities.