Tag Archives: funny

March 15, 2013 · 5:00 am

Carnage and Paradise in 4 Bullets or less.

1) I have to write an outline for project at NamelessFaceless next week.

A)I love outlines.

B) I think in outlines.

Oh the humanity of it all. 14 March- Broken Bone Day in Minnesota.

The Cities were hit with a wintery mix of ice and snow overnight Wednesday. In that order, which makes a difference because.. the snow covered the ice, which resulted in people flying in all directions and not of their own accord:

-          Your favorite old fat ass fell on said ass not once, but twice on the ice. Twice in the same morning I made contact with the sidewalk in a way that I’m loathe to repeat.

Aside here- you know, I’ve lived here in the Great Del Norte Blanco for 18 years and in that time have actually never slipped on wild ice. Meaning ice that wasn’t where it was supposed to be. I have slipped on lake ice, but that’s kinda of expected. But on the street never. Twice in one morning.

Neither fall was particularly devastating.

The first one was one was a face plant where the feet went south whilst the head went north. I broke my fall with right hand, my left successfully hanging on to a cup of coffee that I’m proud to say, leaked not.
The second fall, that was more of a death spiral where the plant foot begins to rotate in a clockwise direction and, being unable to stop it, one attempts to mitigate the fall by sort of rolling to the ground in the same direction. The bad news on that kind of fall, more of my um, expansive shall we say, surface area came in contact with the street resulting in wet pants.
Wet dress pants. Which in the words of George Orwell is Doubleplusungood.
But I wasn’t alone

-          Friend of mine broke his leg falling yesterday. While he was in the emergency room his wife counted no less than 10 others in assorted arms, legs plus a couple hips for good measure.

-          Several people in my cube farm reported difficulties with traction and gravity. And these aren’t oldsters like me.

Still, it’s a small price to pay for the privilege of living in paradise. I have a rather narrow definition of paradise but it looks something like this (as long as I’m in the list making mode.)

“List making mode” you ask, “wtf is that?” Thanks for asking, it’s that thing where you lack the creativity and impetus to string more than two sentences together so you hit the “Bullet” button on your word processor and then you get a list of stuff that people mistake for coherent thoughts but really were just lazy drivel. Drivel BTW is the old English term for “blog”. You can use them interchangeably sayeth I. See what I did there? Old English, sayeth, clever eh?  

If anyone has gotten down this far, personally would have hit next on my Flipboard reader about three paragraphs ago, my definition of Paradise is a place with the following attributes:

  1. Comfortable shoes
  2. Interesting weather.
  3. Free Wifi.
  4. Warm place to shit.

Other than that I’m not sure what else you need. The Baseball package would be nice too.

So would a lake.

But that’s it.

Oh, add good coffee. What’s good coffee you ask?

  1. Dark roasted Arabica beans.
  2. Ground seconds before brewing.
  3. Made strong, like I like my women. And  my opinions.
  4. Made by someone else and brought to me.

Quiet would be nice too. No talking in Paradise. Well, no conversation anyway. I find conversation in my house to be really really difficult because everyone else won’t stop talking. F’n exhausting.

Maybe a conversation with some interesting folks. Hmm.. that would be cool for short periods of time.

As you can see Paradise is unattainable, at least in my current existence, but three out of four on these two lists ain’t bad. Notice what Paradise isn’t:

  1. Beaches and palm trees. I find beaches interesting only when storms are coming in or when cool dead things are washing up on shore. Other than that I get bored after a few nanoseconds. Palm trees BTW, dirty trees that drop things on you like coconuts and palm fronds, which in my experience can seriously kill you. Gimmie a pine tree. Looks nice and kills the grass under it. Call that “self-maintaining”.
  2. Swimsuit models at my beck and call. Unless they’re bringing me coffee I really have no use for a bunch of scantly clad babes. At some point they’re going to want to strike up a conversation with me and conversations.. this is my paradise, no talking. BTW just one reason why I’ve never embraced radical Islamic terrorism, the promise of 100 virgins to me sounds like spending eternity locked in a house with 100 teenage girls. I would seriously put that on a list with a different title if you know what I’m saying.
  3. Free Golf. Not even going to bother with that one.
  4. Bottomless glasses of 25 year old single malt.. Boy that’s a toughie but you know, but I certainly don’t to spend half my time in Paradise hung.

There you have it..

But Sank, this makes no sense whatsoever, what’s this drivel blog about? Fact is I’ve spent the last several weeks spending much of my waking hours in PowerPoint. 4 bullet point lists are the backbone of American business these days. I remember when a “deck” was something you stood on when you walked out your back window. Now it’s a way for Business Folks to measure accomplishments. The bigger the deck the more accomplished you are.

I, want to be accomplished. Four lists which are only slightly connected. I might have earned an MBA.

Now, you have it.

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January 27, 2013 · 10:08 pm

Weekend Update- Craps, Party and a Hand Cannon

Busy.

Best description of the weekend.

Fun.

Also a good descriptor.

Friday night was the annual Friends of Scouting affair. Typically I wouldn’t attend one of those, having been voted off “Scout Island” a long time ago. However, Mrs S, the instigator of this affair had organized a Casino Night to attempt to get more parents out to the affair. Fact is no one likes Friends Of Scouting, it’s their version of the United Way Pledge campaign. Fill out the card, pledge some money, blah blah blah. But add in a craps tables and Ka-Boom! I’m there. I’m so there.

CrapsgameAmong my more niche skills, I can deal craps in a pinch. Love me some craps. The evening turned into a teaching seminar on craps, how to bet, how to lose.. all good fun. I just wish that some of the luck I see when we’re playing for fun when I’m at the tables in Vegas. Know what I’m say’n?

FOS went until about 9:00, the post gathering at Casa Del Sank-a-ray went on to about 2:00am.

I’m too old to stay up until 2:00, kills the next day. Rather kills the later part of that day.

Saturday all I could muster was the return of the craps table to the rental place. We paid about $40.00 for a POS craps table that I”m guessing cost about $150 to make. Figure they rent the thing about once a month (I asked), and guessing by the looks of it have had it for about 10 years.. I need to explore this rental business, seems profitable.

Saturday night the annual lodge awards banquet. AKA Table Lodge. This was no low key affair. Actually this was an interesting affair since we were hosting in a new place, with new guys for the first time, went very well. Went very well but none the less one of those things that it’s good to be done with. Stress gone.

Sunday was a slow day, two meetings on my calendar and an appointment at the pistol range with my bride and some friends. We haven’t been out shooting in a while and it was nice get back out there. One of our friends brought his new “bear swatter”. He’s going up to Alaska in the fall to hunt caribou and moose in the outback. That’s done with rifles BTW. But, he was told some protection for when grizzlies take interest in the 50lbs of moose meat your carrying is a good idea. He chose a Ruger Super Redhawk Alaskan with .454 Casull ammo. I got to shoot a few rounds through it. All I can say is I hope the feeling in my right hand comes back soon. MRs S asked if she could try, I uh.. said not a good idea. I shot three rounds and that was enough for me. I told her next time, and to prep when we go home, hold your hand up and let me hit it with a hammer a few times. About the same feeling.

Hand cannon.

Mrs S did step up from the .22LR she’s been shooting, moved up to a .45 Auto. My 1911. That’s actually about 4 steps up in weight and recoil. I was prepared to see it fly out of her hands so for her first shot I gave her 1 round. Which she put right through the center of the target, and hung on to the gun. Looked at me and said “I don’t think you respect my skills”. I stood corrected. I have to say, when it comes to shooting pistols, for a woman with a neurological condition that makes her have to hold a glass with two hands to avoid spilling it from involuntary shaking, she can flat out shoot. First time with a .45 and she had 5 out 8 rounds in the 9 ring, and three were touching each other. As they say “nice grouping dear”. She wrote it off to beginners luck, which in her case, is a proven fact.

- First time golfing; 85.
- First time fishing; Limit of crappies in 20 minutes, all of them better than 15 inches.
- First time trowing axes at scout camp; stink’n bullseye.
- First date: A grand slam home run over the deep center field wall, thank you very much. :) Um me in case you weren’t tracking.

Yup that first date was where she met her first husband, also me! And boy did she get lucky there. I just have to remind her a few times a day. Well one of us got lucky anyway.

Like I always say, “The only thing I’ve ever been lucky at in my life is love.” True dat.

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January 26, 2013 · 11:06 am

Rocking the Buzz Cut since 1968-

Saturday. Finally.
I had so many things to write about this week. So many intended posts. Such wasted brain power. Can too much brain power be a problem? I reflected on this question earlier this week when I entered into discussion with colleague regarding the aesthetics of a shaved head. Seems that a fellow of work has decided to forgo the complications brought from managing a head full of nasty long hair and has completely shaved his head. I myself happened on the freedom a shorn scalp brings many years ago following an unfortunate incident during a home haircut. Being too cheap to shell out what at the time was $7.95 to a beauty school drop out at SuperCuts for a 10 minute service I attempted to do it myself, and learned by experience the First Law of Home Haircuting;
The is only one sure thing in the world of do it yourself haircuts: the BUZZ.
Fellow at work however, being somewhat braver than I, has gone as step further and completely shaved his head. Bald. Mr. Clean. Domius Chromius. Buff’n Wax. Top Side Brazilian. Shinerbok, he is completely bald.
Oh that I had the courage to sport a glistening, waxed head of hairless magnificence.
Or do I?
On further contemplation I realize that if you were to create a chart describing the amount of time spent working on ones hair, or head in baldness, it is not a decreasing trend-line that ends a zero. Rather, moving from buzz to the lowest hair height, BALD actually increases your hair workload significantly. Unless of course you have been blessed by your mothers X Chromosome with the gift of complete and total baldness. For reference, see this chart:

If I adopt complete baldness I would have to extend my morning shaving routine to include my head, which sounds problematic on a couple fronts.
My father said to me once, when I first grew my goatee, had it all cultivated and trimmed up, “Boy” he said, in the way Texans do, “Why’ya grow’n on ya’face what grows on ya’ass for free?” Interesting colloquialism, but didn’t apply to I don’t have a beard on my ass, but I get the point. He also referred to the goatee as a “hippie patch” and finally a “prison pussy”. And this was before Pussy Riot was even a twinkle in some Putins eye.
Mostly he called it ugly. But he did like my buzz cut. Called it “sensible”, thought it looked I was 5 years old again. For reference, here’s a picture of me rocking a buzz cut in 1968 with my two best friends, Jerrold and Janiel. Last time I saw them was 1970. I guess “best” wouldn’t be the most current adjective to describe our relationship these days. I should reconsider. However it’s funny that I can remember these two, their names, the fact that they were twins, their parents names, their house, their pool, the neighborhood and I yet can’t remember the name of the guy who has worked across the hall from me for the last year. My harddrive must be full. My head is exploding with useless facts. Maybe that explains why I can’t be bald.

You know what’s also remarkable about this picture? I’m rocking a button down oxford cloth dress shirt. Short sleeve I know, that’s uncool, but hey it was 1968. I mean come on, check out Janiel’s dress. How drop dead cool is that print? I wonder if she’s still groovy 45 years later? Does she have a daughter? Does her daughter know about this dress?
I don’t know the color of that shirt because color film hadn’t been invented when this picture was taken. Never the less this is a very exciting image for me. My wife on rare occasion offers feedback about my wardrobe. Among her concerns are that I’ve been wearing the “same style shirt” since college, a blue button down oxford cloth dress shirt. This is true but there’s so much more to the story. I now have incontrovertible evidence that I have in fact been wearing that same style shirt since kindergarten so hell to the yes on you woman. And, I do wear other things too. I would also point out that since 2003 I’ve been wearing black tee shirts on the weekends. I mix things up. I’m fashion sensible.
Why would a guy who cuts his own hair to level BUZZ to avoid having to fuss with it even consider anything but the same easy care outfit every day? I am consistent.

Regarding Chickie, my pet chicken. Chickie lived with us for 2 glorious weeks in the summer of 1968. Worried about the social and political turmoil of the time my parents attempted to distract me with a pet. A pet chicken. Unfortunately they didn’t pay attention to the local ordinances in Sacramento concerning the chickens, the law being that said birds had to be dead and plucked before you could keep one in the house. My folks sent Chickie to farm, lot my pets went to a “farm” by the way. “Farm” is euphemism for Pet Death Camp in my family.
Anyways I was told Chickie would be processed there, which meant he was made compliant for city living and could be my pet again. He wasn’t as interesting a pet once he was cold and all hollowed out, he stunk and didn’t move much. So we ate him. Nice lesson in the circle of life.

Lets bring this rambling POS back home.
My head.
I want to shave my head, or rather wanted to shave my head, but on analysis have concluded that I’d be actually dong more work to maintain my beauty than I do with my current buzz cut. A cut that goes back at least 4.5 decades. I also have been prohibited, by decree of the family steering committee, to shave my head because, and this is difficult to write, as it was difficult to hear, I have a um.. well lets just toss it out there.
I have a weird head. It’s odd, and thats not really attractive.
For one thing it’s freakishly large. That comes out in the photo above. Was large then, is large now. BTW, no correlation to anything else, you’re thinking of feet and hands. I wear a size 8 hat. Same size as my shoes unfortunately.
My head is also defective. I don’t know if I’m a forceps baby, back then probably was, doctor also probably had a cig hanging out of his mouth as was pulling me out with the salad spoons. My head has several dents and lumps. Should the science of phrenology make a comeback, I’m going to make a mint as a head model for new practitioners. I think my head is large and deformed because the skull I was born with just can’t handle the amount of grey matter and useless facts it’s been asked to contain.
Mrs S has another theory which I won’t dignify with a mention here, suffice to say she recommends that I grow enough hair to “even out the weirdness”.
Buzz cut it is.

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January 22, 2013 · 5:43 am

Home Improvement Gender Based Conflicts

2013 continues to be my least favorite year of the decade. I know we’re only 21 days in, give it a chance.

Bullshit. When I want an Oompa Loompa I want it now. Basically the problem this year so far has been my inability to find/make/allocate/manage time. I thought with a couple kids out of the house I’d be free as bird to pursue more esoteric pursuits, engage my passion for paint-by-numbers pictures and wordsearch puzzles.  Sadly this has not been the case.

OK enough whining.

Had some an update from the gender wars this week. I found myself sitting on the sofa in the living room with my bride. Just the two of us, last time we sat and talked like that was probably in 2000. That was the year we took our first and what would be our last, at least to date, vacation together, just the two of us. Scary times, nothing to do but answer questions, and not just the good kind of questions, defined by me as ones with one word responses, these were questions that required engaging conversation which have me running away,  and fast. Actually the Ghost of Montezuma intervened on day two of the that week at Club Med and Mrs S was unavailable for the last 4 days of the trip. It sucked for her, but made a quiet week for me. Too bad we were in Mexico and not somewhere good like Apple Valley or Balsam Lake.

We were sitting there quietly doing whatever it is we do when we’re quiet, most certainly involves a cell phone or a computer in my case, and Mrs S started to list off a few projects she has in mind for the house. This is always interesting. Personally I’ve never initiated a home project in my life. I don’t look at a house that way, something I want to, or can make better. I tend to look at it from the “how do I get comfy here” perspective. I bet a lot of husbands do the same thing. Why fix something that ain’t busted. She was talking about new windows, I get that one, an island for the kitchen… Ironic in my opinion, when the spouse who never sets foot in the kitchen makes proposals for how to improve it. And finally a very general “And I want to do something over there’’ which she said as she was making a hand gesture in the direction of our staircase. “Over where?” “Over there, the staircase, the banister needs replacing, I’d like to put some wood on the landing, get rid of these railings things over here”.

“Over where?” I asked, but changing the inflection from Over to Where thereby asking a question as opposed to challenging her directly. I got the “you simpleton” look. The banister is apparently “dated”, and looks like it came out of the 80’s. House was built in 1985, the home shows would call that woodwork either “original” or “period”. I think we should leave it alone. And I told her so. Wrong answer. We need to modernize and get the banister current.

This is a great example of a first world problem, and I told her so. Apparently since I live in a first world country, and have a first world family I am qualified to have this as one of my problems. And she told me so. Directly. Sometimes words hurt when they aren’t meant to. This was not one of those cases. Her words were meant to hurt, just a little.

The railing however.. we have one of the those seemingly useless little railings, comes out from the wall about 6 feet and helps the lame and moronic understand where the entry hall starts and the living room ends. It is a little retarded. But.. it has a use, especially in the winter. When I come in after walking home from the bus stop it gives me a handy place to drape my coat, and that decorative round knobby thing on the end of the railing, well its a very handy tie rack. Actually it holds a weeks worth of ties, which makes it easy for Mrs S to find then so she can take them upstairs to my closet when she is taking rest of the laundry up. And I told her that.

Some arguments sound better in my mind then they do when I say them.

I lost this battle for practical over design in our bathroom years ago. Again, project required. New shower installed, new shower door. Instead of the 1970’s slider doors, we put a real door with hinges and everything. Problem is, well there’s two. First problem she had frosted glass installed instead of clear. I thing clear glass makes showers more open and sexy. She thinks the same thing and that’s why it’s frosted. And explains the deadbolt on the bathroom door.

The other thing is the door opens against the wall where at one time the towel rack was. We can’t have a towel rack there now.. would break the door. Oddly enough I am the ONLY person in the house who thinks a towel rack near the shower is a handy thing to have. The rest of my roommates are perfectly comfortable picking up a towel off the floor to dry off with. This is OK in the winter if you put the towels directly over the heat register, cheap way to have a heated towel, but by and large this whole arrangement is annoying. I don’t want to be annoyed having to leave my coat and tie on the floor in the living room. Would make it hard for Mrs S to find my ties to go hang them upstairs. I could put them on the new banister. I wonder if they have a model with a tie rack?

BTW, new slider door installed on the porch last year. Contractor got the left opening door instead of the right opening door. He was told not to worry about it, it’d be fine. Well, 1) the light switches are on the wrong side of the door now, I’m the only one who even a little bit bothered about that, 2) the dog continues to run head on into the wrong side of the door. This is actually pretty amusing so I’m going to call that a wash. But it does illustrate the futility of my influence in the house. It’s like there’s a Family Steering Committee and I’m not on it.

On the other hand do I want to be on it? Probably not.

So, more home improvements on a house that I think is prefect, except for the bathroom. If it weren’t for my bride I’m sure I’d never know how many things needed to get done around the house.

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January 12, 2013 · 7:31 pm

Morality Popo in d’house.

Bonfire of the Vanities over here at the casa these days. There’s a personal version of the infamous Dominican Friar Girolamo Savonarola around here and he, or she, is putting a serious kill Mr Sank’s Buzz.

At least that’s how I see it. The blame rests squarely on HBO and Showtime. Unbelievable what utter filth they have on those channels. Why just this week I discovered something called HBO On Demand. Where, if you dig long enough, you can find HBO Late Night. I like to stay up late, I like to watch old Twilight Zone reruns late at night. I think it was one of the greatest shows of all time frankly, at least from a writing perspective. And since the yoots of today don’t give a crap about good TV and old TV it’s been relegated to late late night TV.

HBO Late Night doesn’t have Twilight Zone, but it did have a documentary about a place where they’re raising bunnies in Nevada, Moonlight Bunny Ranch. I like reality TV, sometimes. I like bunnies, that for sure. Well, when this thing came on, there was a lot of cotton tail, but not much rabbit. I was shocked at what I saw. The first one was about all about how this hotel or hospitality business or what ever retains their employees when they don’t even pay them enough to buy a decent set of clothes.

Seriously. In that first episode the nice owner, Dennis Hoff brought in a consultant, a Ms. Heidi Fleiss from Los Angeles to work with the team to teach them about customer service. In all seriousness, Heidi looks like she’s hit her lip on the handlebar of a bike. There’s as much fat injected into her two lips as I carry around naturally in my two ass cheeks.

Anyway, you get the point. I always wondered how those legal bordellos in Nevada worked. Now I know, just to be sure I watched every episode that was available and after 7 straight hours of bordello reality TV I think I have a pretty good idea. I know more than I did before I started watching it anyway.

This idea was reinforced when Mrs S came down stairs to see why the lights were on and found me half asleep on the sofa while some sort of naked twister game was going on her television. I didn’t hear her coming, but I certainly heard her leaving. KILL HBO. “But it’s free”, “don’t care, don’t want my TV soiled by that…”

Sigh I lie me some dirt apparently.

Settle down there Dear. I was only watching for educational value, It’s a business I’m not all that familiar with. Actually she’s had more exposure to that business than she lets on thanks to our trips through Reno. 2009 we were waiting on the curb for my brother in law to pick us up and a lady in a fur jacket, boots with 8” spikes and feathered hair stood next to us. I commented “check it out, working girl.” And was dressed down to my sox. Something about “you always assume the worst” and “you’re descended from pigs you… you… MAN”. 11 seconds later a limo with Moonlight Bunny Ranch on it pulled up, she got in and I was pretty vindicated.

Following year I arranged a cab to drive us the 45 minutes over the hill to Incline. Arranged it from Minneapolis. She was the first to see the car, came back in where I was waiting on skis, “YOUR PICK?” she said with a accusatory tone? Huh? Walking outside there was our car with a massive Mustang Ranch Museum and Club sign on the top and a wrapper that frankly I found quite interesting.

Had no idea. Really didn’t. Reno. Go figure.

Boardwalk Empire, one of the things I like about HBO.. great show. Was catching up on it one Saturday morning. There’s occasional nudity in that show too. Of course the one 3 minute scene in a 60 minute show with some nudity, Ok a lot of nudity, with some sound effects as well as it was kinda of a passionate little scene happened to be the time when she came downstairs, about an hour earlier than I expected, grabbed a bowl of cereal and silently walked into the den to see what I was watching.

I do not have a problem, thank you.

More calls for HBO to be gone.

I’ve been told the Tudors is an excellent show, it’s over on Showtime. I like history. Sat down with the family, “kids this is about Henry the VIII, interesting show. It starts, episode 1, King and is court are discussing going to war against France. In 3 minutes they come to agreement and the King retires to his bed chamber where, in 11 nanosconds finds himself in looking for a lost contact with one of his chamber maids. And apparently they didn’t have clothes on in the 1500’s, at least not as often as I thought. The transition from throne room to bone room was rather abrupt. I had no idea. No had no idea. But as soon as the chick pulled her string..

Ok just a second here. Did 16th century clothes, and they wore a lot of clothes back then, really all come off with one string pull? It takes longer for Kevin Love to tear off his tear away sweats at a Timberwovles game than it took Lady Humpalot to strip to au natural from her dress, bodice, under bodice, dressing gown, slip, stockings and underoos.

Not that I’m complaining, other family members did that for me.

AS this happened BTW, time went into slow motion…

Nudity on TV. Enter the Matrix.

Daughter’s hands instantly covered her eyes.

Mrs S leaned forward screaming in slooooowwww motion “GEEEETTTT THHEEE REMMMOOOOOTTTEEE”

Middle Kid had his iPhone up and in photo mode aimed at the screen.

And I.. did nothing. Dropped a jaw a bit and sat there. Frozen. Eyes glued.

And may have, under my voice said “awesome”.

Well, I got a lecture that “no one wants to see that on TV” I’d argue otherwise, but that wasn’t the time or place. Never the less with a couple teenage boys evidence would indicate, based on the “recently viewed” list on the streaming HBO channel, that in fact, someone does.

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November 13, 2012 · 7:44 pm

Best of OITW- Trout School or Schooled by Trout

Pesonally I think this is one my better pieces of writing, not that I have many which fall into the category of “Good”. But this I believe, is one.

From July 2010

 

 

It is the nature of things that some of the simplest of creatures can provide you with the most profound of lessons, especially when it comes to Natural Law. Natural Law being that  being that which exists in nature and therefore, has validity everywhere.

I got to explain this phenomenon to my college kid this weekend as he seeks to understand the way of things.

Nate and I spent most of Saturday in pursuit of the lads new favorite fish, the wily trout, using his new favorite technique, the fly. More especially the “dry” fly with floats on top of the water, mimicking the bodies of insects who are emerging from the stream to find love and happiness in their 2 hours of life above the water. As the caddis flies and mayflies pile up on the water, spent after some good lov’n, the trout in the stream go into a feeding orgy stuffing themselves with insects. Among fly fishermen, it’s the zone.. something that you can’t quite predict when it’s going to happen, but if you’re on the water when it does… it’s awesome.

It’s also the reason that really serious, over-the-top fly fishermen soon become sort of amateur entomologists, spending their time studying the insect life of streams, trying to get a handle on what bugs hatch when, and then what colors they are when they do, so they can run around creation snipping the hair off rodents and feathers off chickens and turkeys in an attempt to replicate the same. That whole fly tying deal.. for me, at my age, I consider it an accomplishment to tie a fly ON my line without putting on a pair of high powered cheaters. Tying small hackles, snipped from a single down feather on to a size 22 hook.. that ain’t happening. I think it’s sort of like the elderly male version of scrap booking to be honest.

This trip to Wisconsin included my good buddy Jon the Fly Guy. Jon, is as serious a fly fisherman as there is in the world. He’s been to the rivers of Yellowstone, he’s fished Hat Creek in California where the trout are so discerning that breathing wrong while casting will upset the pool and put the fish off a bite. I like to fish with Jon, if for no other reason than it’s such a kick to see what he’s going to be wearing on a given trip. This is the guy who, if he could figure out how to make a living at it, would be a professional fly fisherman and as such dresses like a walking Orvis catalogue.

The man uses only the finest gear, rods with names I don’t recognize because the guides were wrapped on the thighs of virgins while looking at pictures of English chalk streams. His waders alone cost more than my spec car.. Jon’s a hero to Nate. Jon lives in California and regularly fishes the eastern drainages of the Carson River, where Nate first picked up a fly rod. He ties his own bugs, he builds rods, we wears the latest in sun protecting bug resistant clothing, and he’s got one seriously bitch’n set of waders and boots. But, as I point out to Nate, waders keep out water, and keep in smells and that’s about all they do. When push comes to shove we all drop’m down in the outhouse the same way.

Jon comes out to the Midwest on business a few times a year and if the season’s right he always takes me up on my open offer to hit a river while he’s here. As one who never looks past an opportunity for new fishing experiences he’s usually brings his stuff with him. That being said, fly fishing in Wisconsin, as opposed to fly fishing in California, is quite a different experience. For one thing, the rivers here would be called “creeks” out west, and the fish are typically smaller, and typically mostly brown trout. It’s also not quite the yuppie scene that it is in Cali. That’s not to say we don’t have our share of wannabe’s out there who shop at the boutique shops and would like to believe that they’re fancy fisherman.. but around here you’re just as likely to see guys with Bass Pro or Cabelas equipment standing in rivers in their shorts and sandals happily casting away.

The nice thing about Midwest fly fishing is that, although the fish are smaller and they’re not usually as discriminating as the delicate Redwood Creek strain of rainbow that I spend my youth casting too.. they are just as fun to catch and there’s a hell of lot more of them in a typical mile of river here than there are in a typical river there. That means, you do get to participate in the “catching” part of fishing not just the “fishing”. That also means that here, as opposed to my 20 year career of fly fishing out west, occasionally fish do not survive an encounter with the big guy as such are not released back into the stream… Occasionally they are get BBQ’d on the creek side.. Which I believe is part of the experience, one that’s lost on the yuppie crowd.

One thing that Jon brings with him when he comes is his portable fly bench. This little device sits on the dashboard of the car and allows him to whip out a few flies when he feels his current inventory is missing something. Personally, I’ve carried the same half dozen flies into river every year and it’s always the same bunch. Elk hair caddis, parachute adams, yellow sulpher, blue thingine, hares ear and a prince nymph. Later in the summer I throw in a few grasshoppers and a nifty little beatle pattern and I’m good to go. I also have a nice supply of Royal Coachmen.. the RC is a fly that looks like nothing in creation, thereby bucking the idea that trout are picky. I like them for the bluegills and panfish on our lake.

For Jon however, it’s all about trout. If you were to ask Nate about his favorite fish I think he’s starting to lean towards trout as well. Bass fishing is fun, it’s something that I grew up with and as such really understand it well, but at the same time, it’s a noisy pastime that involves boats and gas and electronics, expensive lures, lots of different rods and reels, and very little of the wilderness experience. My Wisconsin mentor Paul, often fishes with little more than shorts, a vest, a rod and a hat. If it weren’t for the stinging nettle on the bank I’m not sure he wouldn’t be out there naked from time to time.

With bass fishing, you miss a big part of that outside experience. Most of the time you’re fishing right off someones dock. And while that has it’s advantages, especially during the sunning season, especially at certain houses on our lake known to house coeds during the summer months.. It’s not the same as the feeling you get when you’re out there up to your ass in the fishes environment, water moving around you, wildlife around you, limestone cliffs on the side of the river… you might be 20 minutes from a metropolitan area, but once you descend into the river you’re really on another planet.

The last time Jon came out to visit we took him down to one of our favorite rivers in Western Wisconsin. The highly regarded, and deservedly vaunted Rush River. We packed up in the early afternoon, hoping to hit the water about 3:00, the evening hatches of baddis usually happening around 6:00 or so. As advertised Jon was decked out with amazing equipment. His newest toy was a 7’ 3wt Winston flyrod.. A wispy little stick with the sensitivity of torn cuticle, it’s a thing of beauty. Designed for the most delicate of casts to the most finicky of trout it seemed a bit much for the beer drinking cheese head trout you find in Wisconsin. Jon assured me it was “sweet” and “just right for fishing emerging midge patterns. Since I can’t even see a damn midge without a serious pair of cheeters I never fish them. Nate however was fascinated…

Parking the car, we walked down the bank to the river. I was violating Paul’s trust, as he had shown me these places in confidence. But it’s not like they were that secret, they were, after all below a highway bridge. Approaching the water Jon made the SHHH Sign and creeped up on the first little pool. There were a few rises.. bugs were in the air, and above them the swallows were swiping and diving,. We found some spots to get into the water and started fishing.

As is typical I had a hard time seeing the eyelet on my fly, which meant it was about 20 minutes before I could start casting. “You fishing or what?” Jon asked. Nate, my son, who’s been with me on a ton of these outings knew better… “He can’t see the fly, he’s going to ask me to come up there and tie him on in a minute.” “NATE:…

Tied on we started the art part of the sport. I may not be able to see flies so well these days, but I can cast like a demon. My favorite part of the sport, right after landing a good fish, is throwing big sweeping casts to fish, real or perceived, as far upstream as I can, just to see the line descend on the water, and watch the fly drift down the slick. It’s as fun as dropping those ½ oz jigs inches from docks fishing for bass.

I wasn’t doing too well, but Jon seemed to be on to something. He had a couple small fish on his emerging midge nymph whatever thingie. Seeing my buddy catch fish while I enjoyed casting, Nate dropped all family loyalty and headed up the river to Jon. One of the great things that happens on rivers in the afternoon is the passing of time. It’s amazing how such a mundane activity at home, or in the office, can become a religious experience on a stream. The shadows of the day get longer, the colors of the afternoon take on more pastel hints and the light begins to fade, the activity on the river picks up.. fish bugs starts flying and the swallows above began to be replaced by the bats.

I hate bats. I especially hate fly fishing when there are bats around because I’m certain one’s going to take my fly on a back cast and I’m going to catch one of the little rats. Then what cha gonna do.. I’m not touching it. My understanding is breathing air near a bat brings about plague and rabies.. no good bats.

As I was moving up the river Nate came running down to me… DAD… There’s some huge fish in this pool and Jon went to the car.. I need your keys.. “What’s he doing?” “Tying flies”… Catching up to them I learned that there was a blue thing hatching and Jon needed something other than the 200 patterns he had in his fly box. It’s amazing to see a guy who can whip out a fly in a 30 seconds in the back of a car… He tied up a half dozen and came back..

“There’s a whole ton of fish up there…” Up there was big pool upstream from where I’d been fishing. Jon had been casting to them with some dry flies with no luck. The fish where rising but he wasn’t able to get a hit. Even worse, they were doing that thing trout like to do to piss you off, where they rise to0 your fly, look at it and decide they don’t like it for some reason and drop back down to the bottom. Apparently that’s what had been going on with Jon and Nate… fish were coming up and looking over their stuff, but they weren’t committing. Jon, after skimming the water with yet another gadget, a fancy little net and a magnifying glass, had determined that the problem was the flies they were using were missing a critical color.. in this case blue, found in the wings of the bugs now floating on the surface.

Nate and Jon started casting their new bugs.. with the same results. “finicky little devils” was about all Jon could come up with. By now it was the sun was starting to set on the bluff, we still had a couple hours of light, and I was pretty confident that the best fishing was about to come. Actually, the locals also know when the best time to be on the river is, and as it got a bit later, we started to see the occasional angler walking along the river. Seeing the “good” hole was taken they’d nod, wave and move on to the next stop. I was enjoying watching my kid casting, and really wasn’t all that motivated to get back in the river.

As I sat and watched the guys, who by now had thrown several dozen different patterns at these fish, a old guy with an old eagle claw rod and spinning reel came wandering down the bank. Exchanging pleasantries he remarked on Jon and Nate standing the river.. “There’s some big fish in that hole”. “yeah, we know, that’s what they’re trying to catch.” “They’re tough.. don’t take flies too good”. About that time a fish rose with a splash that sounded like someone throwing a rock into the water. “That’s a good one!” Jon looked up.. “I have no idea what they’re rising too.” We’ve tried caddis, dunns, attracters, terrestrials.. not a clue, they’re pretty picky.

The fellow I was with laughed. “watch this”. He reached into vest and pulled out a tub of garlic flavored marshmallows. With a wink, he tossed one of the marshmallows up stream.. as it drifted down there was an explosion as a fish attacked the yellow blob…

Jon and Nate looked up.. “What the heck was that”. “Sugar Jon. .they’re hitting on sugar.. garlic flavored.” The old fellow laughed and threw in another one, with the same results. “I guess they get sick of bugs after a while. They’ve been eating marshmallows since I was kid”.

Turns out the fish are pretty picky, but what they aren’t is finicky. The lesson for Nate here, and Jon for that matter.. don’t over analyze, and never underestimate the wisdom of experience.

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November 9, 2012 · 6:00 pm

Best of 2000 Posts #9 The Flying Taco Story

This one is from July 2007, i’m embarrassed to say I lost my temper, embarrassed and proud.

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November 8, 2012 · 6:24 pm

2000 Posts

In recognition of 2000 posts a friend of mine made a suggestion that I do a series of greatest hits. Hmmm, something worth replaying here? Do I have 10 posts worth repeating? Surely in the last 2000 posts I can find something.

Actually I think it’s a fun idea. My readership has grown exponentially in the last couple years so there’s probably some good stuff in the past that no one ever read. What the hell, I’m a-gonna do it. Sit back, relax and enjoy, 10 of my favorite posts over the last 8 years here on Old and in the Way.

So here’s the first one, a rather hilarious recounting of some toilet issues that plagued us in the last few years. thank God we’re past those, for now.

From August 19, 2010

Demons in the house

I’m looking for a reference for a good Exorcist, just send them my email. Will interview at their convenience.

I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier.. for some reason demonic possession didn’t occur to me as a possible culprit in the on going saga of the Sank Guest Toilet. Just to recap;

-        February 2008: the infamous potty speech in which I gather the children around the throne and ask the question “does anyone here know what this silver handle is for?” I was told at that time that the person or persons responsible for never flushing was in our house was, to quote my detective stories on TV.. an “UNSUB”. An UNSUB who goes by the aliases “Not me”, “I don’t know”, and my personal favorite, “what?”

-        September 2008: Middle kid uses 3 rolls of toilet paper to stop a bloody nose. I’m surprised he didn’t pass out from blood loss, simply laying down would have worked faster. When told, by me to “throw away” all the piles of bloody TP in garbage and not in the can.. predictably he puts it all in the can and flushes. Result.. the great paper jam of 2008.

-        February 2009: kid comes in from the cold, “accidently” drops disposable hand warmer in the toilet. Rather that fish it out.. he sends it down the sewer.

-        April 2009: Several tropical fish are killed when my aquarium heater malfunctions, a family memorial service is held around the can, the family gathered for a celebration of life as our pets take the “coldwater high dive” to fish heaven. Two days later same can requires a vigorous plunging which results in a pale washed out fish zombie laying the bottom of the bowl. Shudda known then.

-        July 2009: Gerry Gerbil sheds his mortal coil and assumes room temperature. I saw the body in the am on the way out the door and ignored it.  I don’t know what happened to the body, but a CSI team who specialized in crappers did discover a white hair in the bathroom which was identified as being from a rodent. Middle kid is suspected simply because.

-        August 2009: Several small earthquakes were felt in the vicinity of the downstairs bathroom. A message was left on the NOAA problem line, it was not returned.

-        September 14, 2009: Toilet requires serious plunging to remove a clog. Immediate cause was not easily determined. Ants and spiders are observed migrating out of the downstairs.

-        By late September the dog is no longer using what was his favorite potty for his afternoon cocktail. He will not enter the bathroom.

-        October 9, 2009: Toilet is described as “slow”. There are unusual tremors happening in the bathroom downstairs, toilet is no longer flush to the floor indicating inflation in the subfloor.

-        Sunday, 0ctober 10, 2009: I received a call from Mrs S in a seriously panicked voice, “You must return home immediately. The down stairs toilet has erupted.”

And so began a nearly yearlong saga of downstairs remodeling, inflation/deflation events and raw sewage magma in the underground chamber, and along with assorted plumbing issues. Rotorooter rooted out the line, among recovered item; a hand warmer, a wad of paper the size of Eddie Guardado’s head, and a gerbil femur.

Nothing like a house full of raw sewage. The damage was repaired, new carpets, floors and walls and the can was replaced by a professional. Well, professional painter and me..

By June, Mrs S was complaining that the toilet didn’t flush “right”. Meaning that when I put the can back on the sewer, the lift pipe thingie was higher than the potty resulting in a constant running. This condition was easily fixed by turning the tank lid around so it didn’t fit right and sat above the rim of the can instead of flush on it. Apparently this is not a long term solution. I tore apart the toilet and reinstalled the water pipe thingie, repairing the one I had.. you read about that here. Now the toilet didn’t refill unless you open the tank and jiggle the float after flushing. Mrs S indicates that this not acceptable. I indicate that there is no problem, this is simply a training issue and maybe change management problem.

I’m overruled.

Last Tuesday I replaced for the last time the “innerd’s” for the potty, and as long as I was there the seat. Matter of fact all the seats in the house. Some things simply can’t be cleaned after so much neglect. Disgusting too.

-        August 18, 2010: I use the newly revived potty, it’s work’n better than it has since the eruption. We could flush another Gerry Gerbil now and I’m sure he’d make it all the way to the holding ponds in one wild ride. I flush. There is a disturbing “CLUNK” of something hitting the lid after I pull the handle. The demon is back and he wants out of the tank.

Water is now coming out from under the lid. I turn off the water, and with great trepidation, lift the lid to find the valve unattached from the base. I reattached the pipe and and shoved it down into the tank. This has NEVER happened to me before. Now the lift tube and valve were a new kind of fancy high tech floatless thing. I repaired it, turned the water back on and watched as the tank filled again, with no issues.

Hmmm.

I hit the flush again… and watched in horror as the valve, unencumbered by a lid, shot strait up, out of the tank and just about imbedded itself in the ceiling, leaving behind a geyser shooting straight up out of the tank, soaking me.  Mrs S picked that moment to come into the bathroom, looked at the geyser, looked at me, soaking wet, and asked my favorite question in those circumstances.

“What are you doing”

“I’m getting a drink”.

“Oh..” she said, “so you’ve installed a fountain on the potty, that’s handy.”

It’s not handy, I’m not handy and this toilet has gotten the best of me in the last year. My buddy told me I can buy a voodoo curse online for like $100.00 bucks that’s guaranteed to cause angst on the person you want it cast on. I wanted to know if someone had cast a curse on my or my toilet. My middle kid thinks that Gerry the Gerbils spirit has possessed the toilet and that’s why we’re enjoying all this.

My wife just thinks I should call a plumber. We’re waaay past that dear.. tonight, new innards.

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September 9, 2012 · 9:07 am

How Wet Dog Food Exposes My Weakness

IMG_0807No one on Team Sank-a-ray loves a trip to scenic Blake Lake like Giggs, the crabby corgi. For him the lake is never ending place of sensory delights where his actions are never restricted by fences or leashes. He loves him a boat ride, and will bark incessantly when he gets left on shore. He can enjoy the new smells and tastes, the lake washes up all sorts of interesting dead things, occasionally something so delightful to his canine sense of smell that he can’t help but find himself rolling in it like a fat lady at perfume counter. He also enjoys the freedom of a ½ acre of sprawling grass where finding the perfect spot to drop a lawn sausage is an exercise in doggy joy. Some of his favorites; just in front of the dock where all who want to take boat ride can enjoy his work, on the gravel apron in front of the garage door, 11 inches off the deck, upwind from where the humans sit for meals. Possibilities are endless. Serious stupid dog has ½ acre of lawn to shit on and yet seems to concentrate elimination to high traffic areas. IMG_0012

I have this notion in my head if we’re going keep dog food up at the lake it should probably be in cans. At home he gets a kibble diet, but up there it doesn’t make sense. My reasoning goes something like this, if we keep a bag of kibble at the lake, there’s a pretty good chance that it would attract vermin into the house. We used to keep a bag of kibble in the garage; we no longer do that with good reason. A reason brought home when Mrs S was reaching into the bag with the bowl to get food for the prior dog, the one she liked enough to feed, and felt a bit of unnatural movement in the bag. Well, it was natural all right, if you count class rodentia as natural. Reaching in she disturbed a mouse who I’m sure thought it had discovered the Templars treasure of mouse sustenance. She surprised it and it, surprised her back. The critter literally ran up her arm to her shoulder and jumped into space.

I didn’t know a person could scream and feint at the same time. Apparently you can. That was the last time she ever fed a dog, and nearly the last time she ever went in the garage. We almost lost her that day.

So to avoid the temptation of a bag of mouse feed sitting in a house that is empty 90% of the time I just use canned food.

This plan is now under reconsideration and we may just have to starve the dog when we are there.

Here’s the deal.

1) I cannot open a can of wet dog food with out at some point, dry heaving. It’s like my personal kryptonite.  I know it’s dog food, but whatever the combination of dead shit they put in those cans, when combined with the “gravy” that dogs love.. It’s beyond rank. The combination of olfactory and visual sensory stimuli evoke vomit and diarrhea for me, in the same magic moment. And given what I’ve seen the dog eat, both for example as he is a dog, I’m guessing the canine focus group when asked what they would love in a dog food came up with those two as their favorites.

Disclaimer, I’m an easy heaver.. Mrs S will recount with some frivolity that I have been known to heave occasionally during particularly loose stool diaper changes and any time a kid vomited. I’ve never cleaned up kid vomit because “We’re just going to wind up cleaning up twice as much if you do it.”

Oh and the time the freezer in the garage was unplugged on August 5 2010 so my son could vacuum his car, a situation not discovered until about Sept 15 when I went out there to get some of the 30lbs of frozen meat I’d left in it.. Mrs S had to clean the freezer that day because I was busy doing my impression of a college freshmen at their firs frat party, I was on my knees barfing on the front lawn. I am weak, and at the same time in awe of a woman who can fling open a coffin freezer with 3 inches of liquefied decomposing animal protein at the bottom of it and just clean the thing out. Awe. AWE I tell you, nothing phases women.

2) That canned stuff gives the dog the vapors something fierce. And it’s a lingering issue, typically about 3 days. Literally he can’t be in the house because of the malfunction in his exhaust system. Sucks the oxygen right out of the room. And when it’s in full effect, it’s like having a canine fumigation system running with no off switch. And the dog.. doesn’t even notice. Or maybe he notices and doesn’t care. Either way the humans in the family are the losers. And if he lies in one spot long enough you might just find a pile of dead bugs and birds around him as shit drops out of the sky dead thanks to his emissions.

3) With the vapors comes the occasional intestinal duress. Dog gets an upset tummy and will on occasion, have to crap in the middle of the night. This was never a problem in the past because one of the few good things about sleep apnea is you’re never in a deep enough sleep to miss the cues, namely pawing at the blanket and whining  in the middle of the night to get up and the let the dog out because he’s about to explode. Now that I have the CPAP going I’m in DEEP SLEEP and if last night was any indication, he really tried to get me up I can tell by the placement of the pile. I would have stepped right in it and talk about getting off on the wrong foot. Well, even with the CPAP I awoke to the smell of fresh turd and had the wherewithal to use my iPhone flashlight to look down to see before I stepped. Nothing like cleaning up dog shit at 4:15 am in your PJ’s. Dry heaving the whole damn time.


This whole situation I find curious. This dog can eat an entire leftover BBQ chicken, including the bones and the foil the thing was wrapped in with little more side effect that a few sparkly poops. He has eaten more than one box of crayons, again no issue other than rainbow turds. Last spring he ate a box of Decon Rat poison, and was served two shots of hydrogen peroxide as a chaser as I tried to make him puke, didn’t even phase him. But a can of wet dog food is like a trip to Mexico for him. Weird

I know the easy answer is “stop feeding him wet dog food” and I would, except it’s darned convenient, once you work past the heaving. And the intestinal duress thing doesn’t happen every time. And for some reason I’m wired in a way that when there are two outcomes in a course of action I always assume the good outcome is more likely to happen than the bad. This is why in 11 salmon fishing trips out of the Golden Gate in San Francisco I’m 1-10 when it comes to puking on the boat, the lone “good” trip being my first one. The next 10 I boarded the boat thinking that the last time I hurled was a weird exception and only after 9 bad trips did my Father finally point out to me that just maybe, not puking.. the exception.

This proves that I can learn sometimes, but for now, I’m still buying wet dog food.

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June 10, 2012 · 9:27 am

Killing Animals Promotes Strong Families and other thoughts from the Op Ed desk

Slow Sunday morning at Old and in the Way

The Editorial Desk was unoccupied this morning when I got up so I thought I’d drop in and see what their blotter for the week.

Headlines from the papers

Being to lazy to actually come with my own content, I’m reserved this morning, to commenting on the work of others. All the while nursing my homemade latte, which BTW I’m getting really really good at making thanks to what has to be approaching 10,000 hours of practice making them for my bride every weekend morning. I’tell’ya’what, I’d make someone one helluva domestic partner just for my lattes, BBQ chicken and salted potatoes alone.

BTW- Before we get to far along in our day, ole Sank is rock’n the house today, this old fat ass has caught him a trend wave so early you can’t even see the beach yet. Check this out.

Yeah. Brooklyn BABY.When it comes to the NBA, I do rock. Thank you.

“Middle class trading ‘I do’ for ‘maybe later’”.

The latest installment in a series in the Star Tribune about the ongoing changes in America’s middle class. According to the article there’s a statistically significant population of women, and a few men thrown in for good measure, who are deciding to have kids and start families, only without necessarily waiting for marriage to do it. My initial assumption was that this may be a rise in unmarried couples with kids, something that while uncommon, wasn’t unheard off even in my youth, the post Height-Ashbury generation of former hippies who moved in with the “old lady” and introduced me to the term “common-law wife”. Common law wife was a cool term. Helped me learn about “common law” which up to then I had no exposure too.

Precedent… has something to do with precedent I think.

Anyway, my assumptions were wrong. In this case these women are just having the kids, sans partner. The article cites a disclaimer “we aren’t anti-marriage or anti-men”, it’s just that, and this was mentioned in every example through out the article, these ladies just haven’t found men they want to spend their lives with or whom the feel comfortable having a commitment with.

Fascinating.

So, if I follow your logic and I’m a big fan of logic, you can’t quite come to commitment status on a life partner but you are ok just dropping a few kids. Call me old fashioned but I’m pretty sure someone, somewhere is missing a point on something. Then again, if this trend continues I will be highly amused to lived in a society where the only married people are same sex couples, who seem to be the only folks clamoring at the nuptial door these days.

And sorority girls.. I think they’re still all over marriage.

Which reminds me, here’s how to have fun and get asked to leave a grad party you didn’t want go to anyway. When overhearing a college girl telling her parents friends about her sorority and that they don’t have a house, chime in “well where do you film those pillow fight videos than?”

Read that again?

Another interesting headline from the Star Tribune this morning, on back of the sports page, the weekly Outdoor column which I read religiously because at one time I enjoyed the outdoors, now I enjoy nothing. “Kids and Guns, a winning combination.”

The article talked about trap shooting in high schools. Not on the grounds folks, but trap shooting teams. Apparently, at our local skeet club, the Minneapolis Gun Club in Lakeville, there were recently 350 kids out for a meet, which is big numbers. Next spring 900 kids will be on the line competing in the Minnesota State High School Clay Target League.

Actually, I love the idea of more kids getting out shooting and enjoying the outdoors. Hunting may die in a generation or two if we don’t get youngsters interested in the sport and out in the fields and up the blinds. Too much urban middle class Yuppie influence in you ask me. That and misguided morons like Alicia  Silverstone and Mickey Rourke supporting PETA.

Fishing, and hunting for that matter, builds strong families. Simply does. Generations enjoy hanging out together, people get a better understanding of where food comes from and, we wouldn’t have any of the conservation movements today that protect habitat if it weren’t for strong organized hunting groups. Hunters get the joke that you have to protect the environment to enjoy the outdoors.

Back to the headline, which did effectively get me to read the article, I would suggest another, maybe a blog posting. “Killing wild things makes stronger families.” Hmm I’ll have to think about that.

Useless Information

Seems that the entire country is affected with ADD these days. There’s just no other way to explain why my news on the internetwebsthingie is being constantly served up in lists. Lots of lists. This morning I was hit with “10 Great Jobs for People over 50”. Well, I almost broke a nail trying get to that one. I’m almost as close as to 50 as a person can be and still have a “4” in the tens column.

What sorts of jobs should I be looking at as I enter the Five Oh…

Okay I don’t know who the person was that wrote this list, but clearly, and I use this term for the third time today and it’s not even 9:00am- they are morons. ‘tards as my good friend Dr. Andersen used to say when he was directing a program for mentally disabled adults in California. When he first took his job, he told me that as he was moving into his big director office at the place, he opened his desk and found a folded Post It note on which was written what turned out to be a very prophetic message from an unknown source, probably the previous director. In very elegant script it said to words

“Fear Retards”

He keeps in this wallet to this day and will tell you that it’s a shame that the word “retard” which so perfectly describes a large percentage of the people you and I meet every day has been usurped by folks wanting to demean the mentally disabled.

I admittedly use the word more than I should because like the F-Bombski, for certain situations it’s just perfect. For example to describe the person who listed as the best jobs for people over 50 as:

-       CEO

-       Physician

-       Psychologist

-       Physicist

-       School principal

-       Senior Administrator

Don’t you just wanna ask WTF are you thinking sometimes? I surprised POTUS, Senator and Heiress didn’t make the list.

Pretty sure some 20 something retard pulled the stats from a Labor Department report with jobs and average age indexed and from that decided to make what has to be the most useless news story of the 2012 summer season.

On the other hand, maybe CEO would be interesting for my next career change. I’ll work on those applications this afternoon.

 

 

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