The end is near!

The end of our long holiday weekend, that is. I'm the world's worst about looking forward to time off, and dreading seeing it end, too. Right now K and I are drowning our sorrows non-alcoholicly at Starbuck's. K does this every Sunday, but as I usually work Sunday afternoon's, this is quite a treat for me. My instructions are to sit here and read for hours on end. And if my butt starts hurting, shut up and keep reading. Haha!


I saw on the Internet that Eurostat, the EU agency that keeps track of all the statistics, says that the UK has the highest obesity rate in Europe, and Italy has the lowest. Italy, with all the pasta and bread they eat? How's that possible? If I ate that kind of food daily I'd be the size of a house! I'll just stick with my meat and potatoes. Um....wait...


I read in the newspaper that Sergio Scaglietti has died. If you've ever admired the beautiful lines of a vintage Ferrari, you've admired the genius of Mr. Scaglietti. Just look at the cars driving around today (IMHO usually very bland) and you'll appreciate his sense of style even more. RIP, sir.


A family birthday party tonight, then it's back to the cold, cruel world tomorrow. :(


S

You might be a redneck if....

....your momma puts "ammo" on her Christmas wish list.


K's former boss....she's now working "upstairs"....for some reason recently decided she wanted a concealed handgun license.  She successfully completed the classroom portion and passed the shooting part as well with a gun she rented from the gun range.  Now she wants to buy her own semi-automatic pistol. Trouble is, she knows nothing about handguns.    Tomorrow morning I'm taking her to the Gun and Knife Collector's show in Dallas and will try to give her a crash course in what she needs to know about firearms, especially about safety.  I'm afraid her out shopping for a gun by herself would be like the little naive lady at the unscrupulous car repair shop.  


She's not that big of a lady and she keeps talking about getting a .45.    She mentioned that her rented gun jammed several times during her test, which tells me her wrists might not be strong enough to handle the recoil from a .45.  I'm going to try and talk her down to a 9mm.  I hope she'll listen.  Then comes live shooting at a range, and finally care and cleaning.   When I get through with her she'll be a regular Annie Oakley.  ;)


S


Late edit:  K's boss called to say she's sick.  This is twice she's asked me to take her, and twice she's been "sick".  Maybe she does need to go gun shopping by herself after all.

My Thanksgiving story....

My Mom was, by her own admission, a lousy cook.  Every Thanksgiving, in order to avoid eating her cooking, Dad would buy a large turkey and take it to Moore's Barbecue and they would smoke it for him for a modest price.  My grandmother would make the dressing, and we'd always flatter Mom by telling her what great mashed potatoes she prepared, even though we all knew they were instant potatoes out of a box.  Her speciality was a side dish of celery sticks stuffed with store-bought pimento spread.  Go figure.


One year, for whatever reason, Mom decided she'd try to cook a turkey herself.  Dad still pined for some smoked turkey, so he went out and bought a small turkey breast and took it to Steve Moore for smoking.  (NOTE:  meat shrinks when it's smoked.)  When he went to pick it up the afternoon of Thanksgiving eve, Steve brought out a little foil ball about the size of a baseball and handed it to him.  His small raw turkey breast had cooked down to a bird he could carry home in his coat pocket.


Dad's faced dropped when he saw it, but smiled anyway and asked Steve what he owed him.  Steve just looked at my dad, then looked at the pitiful little bird, and said, "Um...no charge, sir.  Happy Thanksgiving."  Hahaha!


The funniest part was, Mom's turkey dinner turned out to be darn good, and we all enjoyed a fine Thanksgiving meal.  Today I'm sure Mom, Dad, and Grandmother are all sitting at The Big Table enjoying the greatest feast ever, including real mashed potatoes.  I'll be thinking of them.


Happy Thanksgiving to you all, too.


S

I definitely missed my calling

So I'm watching the news the other evening and they interviewed an SMU professor to get his insight on whatever the topic was.  Now get this....the guy was identified as a Professor of Comedic Arts and Science.  I wonder what the curriculum is to get a degree in Comedic Arts and Science?  (You think the other professors laugh at him? Sorry.)  First my high school guidance counselor failed to mention "Brazilian bikini wax technician", then she skipped right over a career in Comedic Arts and Science.  In retrospect I'd say she pretty much sucked as a guidance counselor.  ('Course, she herself had a degree in sociology and was lucky to have a job at all.)


Speaking of sociology, when I was at Harvard on the Plains, aka Texas Tech University, I took a course on the Sociology of Leisure.  True!  I was a senior, had already maxed out the courses I could take in my major and was in dire need of something to give my GPA a nudge, and that's what I came up with.  I also took "Home and Family Life" in the School of Home Economics (44 girls, 4 guys....Bazinga!).  I went to sign up for "Pots and Pans", which they tried to legitimize by calling it "Household Equipment", but the class was already full.  I guess the jocks got there first.  Geez, I can't imagine why? *wink*


S

Feelings

You know the stereotypical situation where the wife, or maybe the shrink, asks, "How does that make you feel?"  I never understood that question.  My possible answers to that question would be glad, sad, tired, hungry....that's about it.  To me those are "feelings".  When asked, "What does your heart say you should do?", I go blank.  I think in very practical, concrete terms.  My heart doesn't talk, it only pumps blood, but I know X is the right thing to do, so I go with that.  Is that the same thing?  


Am I some oddball for NOT being able to think in the abstract?  I build homes.  Lumber, brick, pipes, wires.....and of course, concrete.  Could this be some insidious, subliminal emotional/physical link?  An occupational hazard?


"How do you get from here to there?"  You take I-30 west to Frog Knot, then turn north on US 94, go 6 miles.....  No, the answer the questioner is looking for is, "You go where your heart takes you, where your soul can breathe and smile."  Huh?  


I must be the dumbest rock in the quarry, because none of that kind of talk makes any sense to me.  I guess thinking in concrete terms has become some kind of societal handicap these days.  (Wonder if I can get one of those special handicap parking tags?  Oops...sorry...yet another concrete, practical thought.)


S 

The Impatient Generation

We like generational labels.  Tom Brokaw once called those who lived through WWII "The Greatest Generation" and the label stuck.  Very nicely done, Mr. Brokaw.


Then sociologists jumped in hoping for their 15 minutes of fame with titles for other age brackets, such as Generation X, Generation Y, the DINK Generation (Double Income, No Kids), and even Boeing couldn't resist the urge, naming their newest iteration of 737 airliner the 737 NexGen, or NG.  All this has left me very confused.  What generation am I?  I propose that I'm part of The Impatient Generation, and in fact I'm the Mayor of Impatientville.  No, make that President of ImpatientLand.  Or even better, King of ImpatientUniverse.  


I stand in front of a microwave oven and yell, "HURRY UP, DAMMIT!"  There's always someone in my way, whether it's on the highway or in the grocery store check-out line.  MOVE, PEOPLE!  CHOP CHOP!   To me, a green light means GO, not "I think I'll soon be moving my foot over to the tall, skinny pedal on the far right, where I might exert some gentle downward pressure on it in the hopes of making the 400 HP vehicle I'm driving lurch forward ever-so-slightly."  No, patience is not one of my virtues.


Why do I bring this up now?  Because this morning I fired up my trusty Apple computer and it said, "Updates available.  Do you want to install them now?"  Um, sure, why not?  BIG MISTAKE!  The process began and said it would take three minutes.  My ass!  Try double that.  Grrrrr.  Then it had to write some new program and install it, or something like that.  Then the screen went blank.  Then I had to push the start button and watch the Colored Wheel of Death spin round and round and round and....  Finally, here I am.


Why do they ask you when you turn your computer ON if you want to install updates?  If I'm turning ON my computer I'm wanting to perform some search RIGHT NOW.  That's why I'm turning it ON.  If I wanted to search for something 15 minutes from now I'd turn it ON 15 minutes from now.  DUH!


Why don't they ask you when you're turning your computer OFF if you want to install updates?  Then it could take it's sweet time....all night, even....and I could care less.  Maybe this makes too much sense for the Geeks who run ComputerWorld.   Am I alone on this?  ;)


S

"We're the healthiest horse in the glue factory."

Let me leave *this* with you to comtemplate over the weekend.  Frankly I doubt you'll even get past the required short commercial lead-in, but you're missing a strong, honest message if you don't.  Seems like when I post some fluff people read it and leave comments, but if I post something serious it's passed right over.  


This is a short conversation with former US Senator Alan Simpson (R, WY) where he outlines the real mess our country is headed towards if we don't get our act together soon.  Where are politicians like him today?  We have way too many slick talkers and no straight shooters.  "Stirring the pot" is more admired than solving problems.  *shaking head*


Have a great weekend, friends.


S