We had dinner last night with a very dear friend. At one point the discussion turned political, and the question was asked, “Is every Trump supporter a terrible person?” Let’s give that question a moment to breathe.
Those of us who did not vote for Trump know someone who did. A friend. A family member. People who we may have had differences with before but always seemed to find some common ground. People we got along with and loved. And still do. For who we think they are. For the history we have shared.
I am sure there were a lot of people who voted for Trump for reasons they believe to be important. Most Republicans vote financially, and many voters were able to overlook Trump’s seedy side for their own monetary gain.
The question now becomes, “Is anyone who intends to vote for Trump again a terrible person”. I think the answer there is, without hesitation or doubt…yes.
Knowing everything you know now, 21 months into this fiasco, (since election night) if, as a human being, you opt to pull a lever for this person again, then, sorry, but you are a terrible human being. You might be a terrible human being with some decent qualities. But if you have the ability to think and act rationally, and still vote for this person, then there is no discussion.
Ask anyone you know who voted for Trump to give you three reasons why they voted for him in November of 2016, and then, three reasons why they would vote to re-elect him. They’ll probably spout things like the economy, immigration and something about America being a super power and the rest of the world can go F itself.
They probably won’t mention sexism. They definitely won’t mention racism. They’re only concern is their own little portion of the world, as seen through their ivory colored glasses.
At this point, Trump-bashing is simply too easy. Most five year-olds are already experienced at it. There’s not a day goes by when he doesn’t utter something disgraceful, embarrassing, and well, stupid. And the people who support him blindly lap it up. And then they avoid mirrors for a good 24 hours.
We make things easy for Trump supporters. We gather at functions and someone cowardly announces,”We don’t discuss Religion or Politics here”. Most of the people who are steadfast in their beliefs have no issue discussing either of those two topics. It’s those who have not a leg to stand on, who, if pressed, would have to mount an embarrassing defense, that would rather not speak. Get them to speak.
Ask them how they can support a person who does not denounce racism at its purest level. Ask them how they can vote for someone who would support a measure that separated families in this “war” on immigration. I could list another 30 things. What’s the point?
The sad truth is, if Trump runs again, whoever votes for him is indeed, a terrible person. These people will continue to be in our lives, for better or worse. But we know, as we have discovered in the past 21 months, that things will never be the same. It’s like a marriage that has survived infidelity. You pick up the pieces, you want to move on, but you truly never look at things the same way again. The pedestal is gone. Or it’s now made of composite wood.
It has become a daily struggle, not to just to live in this world where Donald Trump is the president, but to live directly among the people who helped place him there. For as horrible pf a human being that he is, he didn’t get there on his own. A lot of really terrible people helped put him there. People, who have a chance to redeem themselves, this November, and again, in two years.
Yes, it’s been quite of summer. Full of a great many things. Unfortunately, writing has not been one of them.
Today, I have a subject that will not bring anything buy joy to one’s heart. A smile to one’s face. It’s Charlie.
Charlie Frankl is the dog of Jessica and Matt Frankl, our daughter and son-in-law. Actually, it’s time to get rid of the, “in-law” moniker, right, Matt? Can we just go with daughter and son? I don’t think that will freak out Eric and Nancy, do you?
Jess and Matt rescued Charlie a few years back. We’re not suite sure how old Charlie is, maybe 6, perhaps 8, closer to 10? He is little package of energy, an emotional dog who has no problem hiding his emotions…and boy, does he have emotions.
The Frankls have been through quite a lot with Charlie. The peeing, the chewing, the scratching. But ever since moving to Havertown, Charlie has seemed to settle down a bit, even though he has not yet warmed to strange dog walkers. That’s okay, Pop enjoys our daily strolls and chats. Forget the fact that the residents of Havertown thinks Pop is some kind of lunatic for chatting with the small brown dog who rarely answers.
Two weeks ago today Charlie went into the vet, and quite quickly it was clear something was wrong. It turned out Charlie was suffering from kidney disease, however, the cause was unknown. He ended up at HOPE, an animal hospital in Malvern which is the Johns Hopkins of animal hospitals.
Seeing Charlie there for the first few days was heartbreaking. He was a shell of himself, barely awake and drained of life. Within three days it appeared his time with all of us was running out. On that third night I did something I hadn’t done in over 20 years. I prayed. To Saint Francis…to a God, any God…to not take this beautiful, wonderful and innocent animal from our lives. I wasn’t praying for me, but for Charlie, and for Jess and Matt. He has been like their child. I called in every favor for every animal I have ever helped, domestic or wild.
The night before Charlie was set to come home to enjoy the remaining time he had left, something happened. He got just a little bit better. The next day he got better still. And soon, despite a setback or two, there was talk of him coming home. And home he did come, last Saturday. Not nearly himself at first, but as of recently, showing the moxie that makes him Charlie. Destroyer of walls. Killer of crates. Mr. Anti-medication (although we’ve figured a way past that).
We’re still not sure what the future holds. But Charlie is back with his parents. And showing attitude. More days to hide under the back deck. More days to steal food off of the table. More days to harass Murphy in Pop’s backyard.
We’ll take as many days as we’re given. Welcome home Charles Dean, aka Charlie S. Charles.
The world is definitely a better place, a happier place, with you in it.
It’ been quite a while since I’ve blogged. Partly enjoying the summer, but mainly, in this the 58th year of my life, my well of humor has somehow dried up. Not surprising in the climate we live in.
I have found life to be less interesting, less humorous in general. That is something I have rarely experienced.
I can’t blame just one person, even though I would love to do that. It’s more the millions of people who follow said person, blind to reality, or even reason.
I told myself I would sit down and try and write, even if the end result did not merit posting. So don’t say you weren’t warned…
I instantly am wary and avoid any business that starts with the word, “American”. Any company that uses that word just to promote their business that has nothing to do with this country. So when you’re on the highway travelling this summer and you seen an, “American Gas” station ahead, keep driving. Chances are there’s nothing, “American” about it.
At the same time, try, at all costs, to avoid any business that promotes, “Join our Team!”
Two weeks ago we lost Madeline’s brother, Gary Nichols, at the very young age of 68. Beyond sad. In the 20 years Madeline and I have been together I probably met Gary 15 times. He was a quiet man, who, unfortunately, I never got to know very well. He had his demons but he was a good man and he will be missed. RIP Gary…go Rangers and go Giants!
Earlier this week I was walking Murphy in the morning, and unknowingly walked into a swarm of what I can only assume were wasps. Wait, would anyone knowingly walk into a swarm? Of anything? Anyway, end result, six stings, some swelling and two days worth of Benadryl. I can see the headlines now…”220 pound man taken down by one ounce of insects”.
So I’m in Wawa and a nice looking gentleman ahead of me in scrubs is getting coffee and I’m thinking, this guy must have some difficult tasks in his job, maybe rendering bad news to a family about a patient. Only two days later to see him emptying cans outside the hospital. Okay, it’s time to exercise some change about the scrubs worn by doctors, those by nurses and those of custodians. Although those cans did look very heavy.
Just how difficult is Rocket Science? More difficult than performing Brain Surgery? Or curing Cancer? These seem to be the three most difficult tasks in the world when we’re projecting to someone how unimportant our jobs are.
In golf, which I SUCK at, by the way, that tells you where my game is, why is less of a spotlight put on an eagle from the fairway, as opposed to a hole in one? One is just as difficult as the other, right? I suppose it’s that magical number…one. I had an “One” today. I went, “Number One” today. Well, at least I still have that going for me.
If my dad were still alive it’s a sure bet he’d never pay more than a dollar for a cup of coffee. “Styrofoam cup, some grounds and water…$2.75? What, are you kidding me!”. On days when I am buying coffee in the morning for my beloved, I seem to miss my dad the most.
What does it say about me, that 5 days before my 58th birthday, the majority of my wardrobe now comes courtesy of T. J. Maxx? Or that I no longer own a suit, or any ties, just one pair of black pants and one black sport coat (both of which I have had to use far too much this past year). Life is way too short for neckties. Or black suits.
I was behind a car the other day that had a license plate that read, “Combat Wounded Veteran”. So, now, we’ve move past the, “Veterans”, past the “Combat Veterans”, to the “Wounded” veterans? We appreciate your service, we really do, but, really?
Which reminds me, how can ANY veterans have voted for someone who purposely avoid having to serve at a time when others were being drafted? Every one of those people who served who voted that way should have a license plate that says, “Ashamed of myself American Veteran”.
See, any effort at irony or humor seems to filter back to the same dark pool. The same dark hole we all currently reside in. I look forward to the day when the sun shines a bit brighter.
And our best wishes to Charles Dean, our beloved grand pup, who is having some internal issues that we hope clear up right away. That is one little boy who brings out a lot of smiles in me. We love you Charlie!
Yes, yes, summer is rolling along and it makes it difficult to settle in and write anything with substance. So let me shake off the cobwebs and see if anything productive is left under that tanned hide of mine.
I love the, “State by State” section of the USA Today. Here’s a few recent tidbits.
Burlington, Vermont: A nude man walked the streets Thursday. His reason for being naked: “It’s very hot”. I think the Democrats just found their candidate to run in 2020.
Rapid City, South Dakota: Ashley Ellis has pleaded not guilty to pepper spraying her 11 year old son for misbehaving. Geez, I wonder what Mama Trump would do if she was still alive.
Warrensburg, Missouri: Russell Shuey told authorities that his gun “fell out of the holster” during a sexual encounter, went off and killed his female partner. He faces a second degree murder charge. See what you miss by not living in a Red State.
Not a day goes by when I don’t see someone walking down our street with a dog I don’t recognize. Hell, I don’t recognize the dog walker either. I’m not sure when this started but for some reason it concerns me. Sort of like the parents at Halloween who drive their kids to other neighborhoods for trick or treating because these neighborhoods have more houses and better candy. Seems a little carpet-baggerish if you ask me. I suppose we have more enticing lawns to go on here in downtown Rosemont. New Rule, if I don’t know your dog by at least his first name, my lawn is off limits.
You want to feel really old? Try watching the movie, “Inception”, and understanding it. We tried it a few years back after our daughter recommended it. I think we made it 10 minutes in. A few weeks later we gave it another try. We found it easier to unwrap a new pair of scissors from that hard plastic stuff. And then to shove the scissors into our ear canal.
So I trimmed the hedges last weekend. No, that’s not a metaphor for anything. I trimmed all 12 hedges, with a hedge trimmer. Not cordless, although upon reflection, that is a better way to go. You see, with the cord you never run out of power. Ever. So you can’t take, ‘recharging breaks”. The good news is, at least once during the process, by, “accident”, I clip the power cord I’m using. Then it’s off to the hardware store for a new one. Not the local store close by, they have crappy electrical cords. I go to the big store…you know, located right next to the Dairy Queen. Oh, hell, I’ll have a Blizzard while I’m there. Thank goodness for poor eyesight.
Never ever revisit beloved television shows from your youth. Prime example, “Lost in Space”. This show debuted when I was 5 years old and for three years was my entire world. I recently viewed an old episode where they were on an alien planet that had a perimeter of some sort of land mines. Upon closer examination, they were inflated beach balls. Beach balls. I realize they had to stay on budget but…
Men are stupid. Well, duh. It’s a miracle I’m still married to my wonderful wife. Especially when I think back to our early days together. My wife is anti-violence, especially when it comes to TV or film. So what movie did I choose to “insist” she watch on our first date together? Goodfellas. No, not a joke. I argued, “You have to see it, it is a classic, well acted, great story and the violence, well, it’s in direct line with the story and the characters”. This is how clueless men can be. And yet, women somehow remain with us. Lucky us.
I had some milksnow the other morning with my cereal. You know, you haven’t opened the milk for a few days, you pour out your cereal into the bowl, then, as you uncap the milk, a small shower of dried white stuff comes cascading down onto your Captain Crunch. Makes me long for winter. Uh, no.
I’ve calculated that Comcast owes me $795.60. At least 10 times a day I tune in to a channel I am paying for only to be told, “This channel is not currently available”. I’m taking the plunge, I am. Comcast is currently on hospice in my home. Stay tuned.
Okay, it’s 5:55 am. I’m running late already. Stay cool. And come over for a swim later if you’re free.
So, I thought I should check in as it’s been a while since I’ve written. See, it’s summer. My time of year. Wait, wasn’t that a song lyric from the 60’s?
The warm weather is finally here. Between work and working out back and the pool, I haven’t really felt motivated. I’m having, “The summer of Duffy”. And with all due deference to George Costanza, mine is a step above his.
Okay, we just returned from a 2 day trip to Hampton, Virginia where we attended the birthday celebration of Gwen Fuller, who is the 85 year old mom of our good friend, Cheryl. What a wonderful, wise, graceful and impressive woman. We met for the first time and she insisted on a hug and by the time we left her 5 hours later I wanted to hug her…and I did.
It makes me feel alive when I am surrounded by gracious people, and makes me feel bad that it took so long in life before being in their presence. What a wonderful group of people. Happy Birthday Gwen!
Daughter Jessica this week was officially appointed co-chairperson of Delco United for sensible gun policies. We are in awe of Jessica and we know this will be the first of many huge steps she will take to fight for the things we need to create a better world. Kudos Sweetheart! Check out their group. They do not want to take away people’s guns. They are for banning assault weapons, which we do not need, and for reasonable gun laws that support safety.
So July 4th came and went. We hosted our annual gathering which was memorable and enjoyable. C’mon, Mike, this is starting to sound like a damn Christmas newsletter! Anyway, let’s add to the list of people whom need to, “go away”, those people who own anything other than an actual American Flag, that depicts the flag. Specifically, clothing. Wait, isn’t it illegal anyway? The flag Speedo has got to go. The flag bikini too. Throw in the bandanna, the tee shirt, full sized or tank top, and the demin jacket. Fly your flag proudly. Your freak flag too. Leave the clothing at home.
Have you ever met anyone who has uttered the phrase, “I’m not a racist” that actually isn’t a racist? Not likely. If you feel the need to explain what you are not, the problem starts and end right there. Tell me what you ARE, not what you ARE NOT. And clean off your mirror. And take a good hard look.
I love the people who explain to me that they are still in the process of, “Figuring their life out”. I’ve heard that from a few people recently in their 50’s and 60’s. It may be time to hire Sherlock. I was fortunate enough to figure things out by the age of 40. If you’re in your 60’s and still working things out, maybe it is time to accept the fact that life may be figuring things out for you, not the other way around. Sort of like a driver less car.
Recommendation for the week. The month. The year. Well, for your bucket list. The PBS Masterpiece British series, “Endeavor”. Quite simply one of the best police dramas…best shows..ever made.
Start by renting and watching at least a dozen episodes of the old BBC drama, “Inspector Morse”. It was big in the 1980’s and 90’s. John Thaw was wonderful as the police sleuth in Oxford. Several years ago they decided to make, “Endeavor”, a Morse prequel, set in the 1960’s starring Shaun Evans as a younger version of Morse. Roger Allum as Inspector Fred Thursday is as good as they come. Words cannot describe the “brilliance”, as the Brits say, of this show, now in it’s 5th season. They only make 4 per season. Cherish every one. If you’re a fan of television police dramas, or just dramas that are well written and acted, this is the show for you. Just make sure you watch a few of the older Morse shows first, those good in their own right, to get a grip on the character.
I’ll leave you with a new bumper sticker I’ve conceived and am ordering…”Barack to the Future”.
Yes, it has been quite a while. Summer is my favorite time of year and I often get lost in the warm weather, being out back of our home and I am not as compelled to write as much as I am when I am stuck indoors.
It’s true, I’m finding less and less enjoyable things to write about lately. With all of the crap in the headlines, it is becoming more difficult to express happiness at the little things in life.
Like I bought a new bicycle yesterday. This is the first bike I have purchased in 25 years that didn’t cost me more than $50. And I took longer to purchase this bike than I did my last car. The owner of the shop actually uttered the words, “This bike was made for you”. Um, sorry, no bike was made for me. In fact, if the assembly line workers had an image of me in their minds while making the bike they would have walked out on strike.
You know what I discovered? You can spend several hundred dollars on a new bike…and that doesn’t include a kickstand. Really? If you want that, throw in another ten bucks. Yes, you want a new Tesla, that will be $85,000. Oh, by the way, it doesn’t include an emergency brake. That’ll be another $400. It has been a long time for me.
The first thing I did when I got home was remove the fancy seat and replace it with the over-sized seat from my old bike. My rear end does not like surprises and that’s not an area where I want to create any calamity.
I was also asked if I needed a helmet. I said, no thank you, I have a good helmet. I was told if my helmet was more than four years old, it was, “useless”. But a new helmet, at $65, could save my life. My response was, given the cost of my new bike, I was disappointed that is was not self-riding and there should be no way the bike would ever go down while I was on it. Doesn’t it come with self-levitating sides? I’ll take my chances with the old helmet. Maybe throw some extra bubble wrap inside.
My bike has 21 speeds. My last bike had three, slow, slower and stop. I don’t imagine I’ll ever require anything more than 3 or 4 speeds, but in case I need to ride up the face of the Comcast Tower, I’m covered. Wait, do you need a bike lock, bottle holder and bottle, air pump, mirror, extra reflectors? No, no, no, no and no. I have no intention of taking my bike on any journeys. I certainly do not intend to ride far enough that I need to replenish my system before stopping. As far as I am concerned, a bicycle is for enjoyment, not a mandatory workout.
There’s no seat in the back for my miniature Peekapoo. And what is it with these women who bring these little dogs into any kind of store with them while my 40 pound Border Collie, Murphy, has to remain in the car? Just because your dog weighs a pound and a half, do not the rules of, “No dogs allowed” still apply? And don’t feed me that, “emotional support dog” crap either. Your dog still barks, whines, sheds, pees and craps so please, that’s what glove compartments are for.
So easy to get off point. I’m done with the bike talk anyway. I mean, how much can you talk about bicycles? Unless you mention the shorts. Ah, the shorts. I was asked, before I left, if I required any, “bike wear”. There is a term I would have been happy to go my entire life without hearing. Bike wear. No sir, I think I will spare the rest of the world the image of my ass and thighs in material which enhances every little red bump on my backside. That if you look close enough, actually highlights the words, “Tasty Cake” on my left butt cheek. No, I’ll wear cargo shorts, or denim shorts, or just regular gym shorts. “But sir, you’ll want to be as streamlined as possible”. Yes, you should have been there for that one.
Streamlined? It was at that moment I almost cancelled the transaction. Just while they were installing my new $10 kickstand. Now I realize my dilemma. I have a new bike and somehow, I am going to be expected to be a bike…person. Oh, goodness, what have I done?
I was able to leave the store with just the bike and the kickstand. Loaded it into the back of my old pickup, where it proceeded to get rained on. Left it in the open back while I went to 3 stores on the way home, unlocked for anyone to pilfer. I was told, by the way, to take a photo of the receipt and as well, of the serial number under the bike so that I will have a record if the bike is stolen. Stolen, meaning I would have to go back to…driving my truck. And not moving my legs as much.
Never a camera around when you need one.
Let me add there was a guy in the store I suppose was looking to buy a bike and he had just applied sunblock to his face. It was overcast and I saw no hint of sun, but whatever. Look, guys, and ladies, the idea of sunblock is to rub it into your skin. Into your skin. Not onto your skin. See the subtle difference there. Into. Onto. White blotches on the red skin of a 62 year old Irishman does not a pretty picture make. It makes us think your in the first stage of zombie conversion.
Oh, Mike Pence was in town earlier this week. I’ll let you insert your own joke here ___________________________________________________________.
This man is supposed to be one step away from a pretty big position (well before Doofus occupied it). And he truly believes this planet we live on, is about…6,000 years old. And he gets up every day, dresses himself in a suit and tie, practices not smiling, and reminds himself, “Today could be the day he’s impeached”. This is where we are. 2018.
George Carlin once said of Nixon, “he looks like he hasn’t taken a shit in a month”. Mike Pence could certainly give him a run for his money.
Remember those old movies when the future contained only superior intellect beings? Well, someone lost that script.
As we draw to a close, guys, it’s summer. We’re all warm. But remember, no one over 30 looks good in a tee shirt with the sleeves cut off. None of us needs to see your barb wire tattoo. If you want to impress us, get some real barb wire and strap that around your upper arm. You can use the cut off sleeves from your tee shirt to dry up the blood.
And if you’re attending any summer concerts, be sure to leave the moment the artist leaves the stage…for the first time. Let’s adopt a policy of not supporting the encore. Let’s see, I was going to play 27 songs. I’ll play 24, walk off, then wait two minutes, take a drink of water, then walk back on and play three more. Let’s make the audience wonder, “Are they coming back?” Wouldn’t it be great if they came back after two minutes…and everyone was gone from their seats…filing out of the venue? “Wait, everyone, I’m back!”. Now there’s a Kodak moment.
Do you ever wake up, lie in bed a moment and really have to focus to remember what day of the week it is? Good, glad I’m not alone.
I try and avoid businesses that have a human skull in their sign or window. Is that being anti-skeletol?
People who wear camouflage clothing when they are not in the woods. I don’t claim to know any inside secrets, needless to say, just be on alert when you’re in their company. There are a few eggs missing from the carton there.
When you see your medical professional in a social setting, don’t we lose some sort of respect for them? When they’re not in the white coats, with all the equipment, they just look, kind of, normal. And we want our doctors to be better than normal, right? I’d rather not see my proctologist at the driving range, that’s all I’m saying. Especially if he’s chopping it up.
I’ve recently gone back to doing math without the use of my phone or a calculator. I feel better about myself. Sure, long division is killing me, but I’m a better man for it.
Why is it whenever I pull into a gas station that says, “U S Gas”, or another, “U S A Gas”, none of the attendants appear to be American born? Why is it that we Americans have given up on Gas Stations and Coffee Shops as viable, money-making businesses? Is it beneath us? Or are we simply holding out for management positions?
These commercials for people playing poker or blackjack online, you hope they are real people and that really get wiped out. Look, I have reason enough to believe things are rigged against you in a live casino. These people playing from a screen in their living room are that sure it is on the up and up? I do not understand people. Although they are still one level ahead of these nitwits who are getting their psychic reading over the telephone…”Best reading I ever got!”. I’m sure it is. Here’s a hint..I can tell your future…it involves a shopping cart and an styrofoam cup with coins in in.
True story…I used to commute daily to New Jersey. When I did I usually saw the same female tool taker as I don’t have E Z Pass. A few years ago we moved our office to PA and now I have a 300 yard daily commute. I had to travel to New Jersey today and coming over the bridge I saw the female toll taker. She seemed to remember me also. I had to comment…”Good to know there are some constants in life”. She replied, “My name is Constance”. Constants. Constance. Life is really freaky sometimes.
This week we attended the Wayne Music Festival. Enjoyable. Joan Osborne was the headliner and was a smash. I noticed throughout the evening some young people dancing in front of the various stages. Does anyone out there under the age of 30 know HOW to dance? Before you next venture out in public, Google, “Woodstock”, and view some videos of people DANCING. It helps if your movements in some way connect with the rhythm of the music. I suppose today’s drugs aren’t as, “freeing” as those of 1968.
You know these sleazy politicians, the ones who wear the small American flag pin on their lapels? They have, for years, been prostituting the flag to demonstrate they are, “Americans”. The truth is, they don’t give a rats ass about that. In fact, if polling data showed they would garner more votes if they wore those pins upside down they would do it in a heartbeat. Forget the wardrobe accessories…give us some decent governing!
Take a moment today to hug your dog or cat. No reason whatsoever. It just never hurts.
I’ve had several past blogs that dealt with the subject of, “People we need to eliminate” from the planet. Of course, as it goes, that list is growing larger and larger. And much like the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, as time goes no, almost anyone can make the list. Here are the current candidates…
Annoying children on television or radio who speak and act as if they’re grown ups. Let’s face it, most kids are annoying enough in their own manner. But when they speak and act older than they are it is outright disturbing and irritating. Kids, one of the things you have going for you is that, well, you’re kids. Don’t ruin it by acting like the mass population of idiots. And by association anyone in marketing who comes up with these ads or shows featuring “grown up” kids.
Supermarket cashiers who need to read my newspaper as I’m trying to check out. I get that you’re excited that Donald Trump tweeted he was having another mole removed from his ass, but let’s scan the paper, bag it and get on with our day, shall we?
People who say, “Where’d you get that at?” Even in this civilization can we please use the proper grammar. There is no, “at”. It is, “Where’d you get that?”. Drop the at. Drop the at. Drop the at. Sounds like a great tee shirt promotional idea.
Republicans. I don’t really need to go further, do I?
Hunters who say they do it because of the, “sport”. No, you don’t. There’s nothing sporting about lying in wait for a defenseless animal and then shooting them, or worse, firing an arrow into them. You do it because you LIKE IT. You enjoy it. Just admit it. You enjoy wearing that idiotic clothing, sitting around in desolate cabins with other men, and then later talking about how you stalked and killed. Here’s a bonus, any hunter that accidentally shoots another hunter, we’ll take you off of the list.
People who own vehicles with vanity plates, who can’t seem to spell out the name they want, because it’s already taken, so they substitute numbers for letters. So, “B1LL5 FAN” is supposed to be BILLS FAN. If the plate you want is taken, please move on. You have everything else, do you really need this?
The person who invented the concept of gas prices having to be $3.11.9 per gallon. Did they really think that we would think, “Great, gas is only $3.11 a gallon, not $3.12…let’s fill up! Probably the stupidest thing I have ever seen. Well, outside of the 2016 election.
People who think we should send men and women back to the moon. While we’re at it, let’s rediscover America. And reinvent fire.
Concert goers, who walking back to their vehicle, mutter, “Wow, they’re 70, but they sang like they’re 30!” No, they didn’t. Didn’t you noticed the group of concealed backup singers? Okay, they sound good for their age. But go back and listen to the old CD’s. They’re never going to sound like that again. It’s probably because you have the hearing of a 70 year old, not a 30 year old. Get some Q-Tips.
Anyone with more than 17 tattoos. I’ve decided that’s my personal viewing limit. And anyone who has even one above the neckline.
The person who first came up with the word, “blog”.
People walking dogs who weigh more than they do. So, the 95 pound woman walking the 120 pound Retriever mix, you look weird. I can’t explain it, but everyone knows what I’m talking about. We just don’t have the nerve to say it. Well, I do. So stop it.
Motorcycle tricycles. Really? Okay, you’re an aging rebel, but you have a few physical issues that, perhaps, restrict you from riding a regular motorcycle. Time to move to those other things…cars. In the natural reverse progression, you’re going to move to Big Wheels, then the Motorized Barbie Jeep. Save yourself the embarrassment.
If you find you’re someone that based on these descriptions, appears on this list, don’t panic. Good mental health providers are out there. Assuming you have decent health insurance. On second thought, you’re screwed.
Of course, most of us remember that famous line from the end of the, “The Fugitive”, spoken by Tommy Lee Jones.
But quite often, we have to ask ourselves, “Is it time to stop running? I’m 57, pushing 58, and most mornings, as early as 5:30, I can be found at Haverford College, doing the 2-1/2 mile loop, or on days when I’m feeling extra peppy, the 5 mile loop. I fast walk, sometimes mixing in some light jogging and even some sprints (yes, yes, on the downhill sections). The next morning, as I’m crawling out of bed, my body is asking me, “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I’m always amazed by the number of other people up and exercising at that time of day and there is no shortage of personality there. I see the younger versions of myself, trim and running at a fast pace. Okay, I can’t recall ever actually being trim but I could run pretty fast in my twenties and thirties. I see the older versions of what I might become and that is a bit scary. People walking at a pace undetectable to radar. I think I’ll even accept that one day as long as I can avoid having to buy the really big, bright white sneakers that I think have built in stability monitors. You know the ones that don’t even have any logos. Just wide, wide whiteness. With the velcro straps.
The trail loop is also filled with peril. You have the ruts, great for twisting ankles. The mud, after a good rain. Last time I thought I was still agile enough to jump over an 18 inch wide mud puddle I found myself lying on the ground, staring eye to eye with a squirrel and I could swear he was grinning.
Then there are the times I find myself half way around, in the middle of nowhere, immediately aware that I am in need of the facilities (and I’m not talking number one here). That’s a time when you have to make some very difficult life choices. Needless to say, stay away from the holly leaves.
You are also forced to encounter the most vile of all exercisers…the people who talk when they run. Look, unless you’re auditioning for a role in the revival of ER, this is a bad idea. First, I have news for you. Talking while you’re running, out of breath, is about the most unattractive you can look. It is one step above multiple stab wound speaking. Imagine you’re enjoying a nice walk and coming the other way you hear, “So…(whew)…he says…(whew)…that he…um…(whew)…didn’t want…(whew)…to see…(pant, pant)…me…(whew)…anymore”. Hmmm, let me guess why.
Look, even when we play pickup basketball we try not to speak while we’re playing. And for most of us in our fifties, it’s pretty much impossible anyway. In fact, we’ve limited our utterances to one syllable mutterings, like “Ope”, which means, “I’m open, pass me the ball”, or, “Ni”, which means, “Nice shot”. But mainly, we just play. Talking, while running or jogging, is not the activity. Running or jogging IS the activity. Save your stories for Starbucks, if they let you hang around that is.
If anyone out there used to have running partners that have mysteriously dropped off for no reason, look at the harsh reality. Shut up and run.
Let’s not forget the dog clicks. These are usually a group of 5 or 6 men and women with at least 8 or 9 dogs between them, all on 20 foot leashes, all entangled, and taking up the entire walking path. You have to run into the bushes, exposing yourself to ticks, stickies and poison ivy because of dog club. Wild dogs roam in packs. Let’s keep the domesticated ones in single file people, okay?
There is rarely a time at my age when more than a month goes by and I don’t have that dream, you know the one, where you’re trying to run and your legs simply won’t move. And it’s not until I’m back on the track, or back on the court that I realize that my legs can still run, if necessary. Then you’re assured that if you see some type of assault, perhaps 50 yards away, you will have the ability to sprint there and intervene. Now, likely once you arrive there won’t be much left to intervene with. I fancy myself speed walking towards the crime…”Excuse me, sir, please drop that weapon or when I arrive there in exactly two minutes I will throttle you”.
The harsh reality is, that most of us who do still walk fast, or jog, or run, we do it because we realize the day might be fast approaching when we are no longer able to do just that. And that’s pretty scary.
So forget Tommy Lee Jones, and keep running. And when you do remember, Silence is Golden.
The news came down earlier today that the Philadelphia Eagles would not be visiting the White House today, as had been originally planned.
It is a small, small, small, small thing, but thank goodness. Of course it is reported that Mein Furher cancelled the trip. Only after learning that less than 10 Eagles’ representatives would be making the trip, thus becoming an embarrassment to HIM. That’s about the same as walking into your bosses office and announcing that you’re resigning with two weeks notice, only to have him or her tell you, “Get out now, you’re fired”.
Let’s remember those words, “You’re Fired”. How they were spoken repeatedly by the human sewage in the Oval Office while part of the dreck reality show he appeared in, and how we hope to soon, as a nation, say those exact words to him, ending an administration of pettiness, lies, and deceit.
What the Eagles did was not as small a thing as most people would believe. They decided, as a group, that to visit a man like this was far worse than visiting an institution that has come to symbolize our nation for several hundred years. In their small way they have said, “Enough”. Are the rest of you out there ready to say, “Enough?”
To say it with your blog. With your letter to the editor. With your bumper stickers. With your tee shirts. But most of all, with your vote? The midterm elections are only five months away. Everyone knows that day is high noon for our country. It will be a day that will show that either Americans have had enough or a day they will roll over and play dead.
This president will have you believe that cancelling the White House trip meant nothing to him. But it did. Every time someone comes out against him it hurts him. Make no mistake about that. Write to him. Make a sign and plant it on your front lawn. Let him know how it feels. That is your duty as an American.
In yet another act of delusion, President Dope is turning what would have been the Eagles visit into something to support our, “National Anthem”. And millions of people who know nothing about the Eagles or our Anthem will applaud it. Either out of ignorance or out of stupidity. Another shameless act to dupe (keep) unsuspecting voters from turning against him and his band of liars come November.
Don’t be duped. Now, or in November. Stay informed. Don’t let them infuse you with fake news like they did in 2016. Do not let it happen again. Fool us once, shame on you. Fool us twice…well, let’s not even go there.
I can happily say today, with pride, “Go Eagles”. Another foe defeated!
Trapped in a Happy Life 