Our World Runs On...

    I trust you woke up this morning safe and sound.  As I said, I was vigilant last night and kept watch. However, if you lived in other parts of the world where you read my posting last night and it was at say noon or such you didn't awake safely and soundly but were probably having lunch over my blog.  I hope that it didn't give you indigestion.  Some of you read my blog the day after I posted it because you live on the other side of the International Dateline so I will say that you were safe last night and nothing monumental happened to disturb the peace, at least in my neck of the woods.
     As I was awake last night I got to thinking about what makes this world run. I though about many things such as politics, art, human achievement and really inconsequential writers who think and write too much. All of these came into the thought process but none seemed to be the definitive answer, so I kept at it. Aren't you glad about that?
     After hours of worrying, careful thought and a long night without sleep I looked around the room and it finally hit me, slightly cut me to be accurate.  This world runs on paper. As I looked around my office as I was writing and being generally sleepless in Merced, I couldn't be struck harder than the realization that all that paper that was supposed to be eliminated in the electronic age is still very much with us. I moved one of those pieces of paper and it bit me--one of those wonderful little paper cuts that hurt like the dickens. I thought the computer was supposed to eliminate this sort of thing. It didn't and the paper cut stings.
     My office is filled with all kinds of paper with stuff written on it. There are register receipts, notepads, flyers announcing events, business cards, a few unused cash payout vouchers from slot machines--by the way, what do you do with a slot machine voucher worth four cents--and of course bills and other stuff. All of this is piling up and my paper shredder can't handle the volume.
     The US Post Office is not going to go out of business any time soon.  The volume of mail, yes it is junk mail and bills, far exceeds the amount of email I get. There should be a law.  Oh yes, there was a law and it was called "The Paperwork Reduction Act". President Reagan signed it into law. That brings up another good point. Since it is a law in the US, would they enforce that law in France? The answer is probably not. Stop sending me all this paper France. By the way, do they make paper in France?

Just look at all that paper coming our way.

PS: I'm going into the kitchen now to make my coffee.

Forever Vigilant--Awake At 1:15 AM

     How many of you are awake at this hour making sure that our world is safe?  I am. The time is 1:17 PDT, or 01:17 military time. Don't ask me what that is in Zulu or Greenwich Time as I am not sure.  I think it is ten hours ahead of us, but I am not sure of this.I think I am awake writing this, but I am not 100% certain. This may be just a cruel joke. However, I am at my post being vigilant making sure the world is safe.  Should something happen like the Martians invade or the endangered hoards of "Boogie Men" attack, I will sound the alarm.
      Who would I sound the alarm to and how would that alarm sound. I kind of like the alarm sounds on a German  U-boat that I have heard in all those German submarine movies. Someone yells out Alam, Alam and you know something bad is happening or about to happen. Its kind of like have you made out your will yet time.  You aren't going  to be walking on this planet long Buddy because that American destroyer above you has you zeroed in and here come the depth charges time. I'm sorry, but you just can't stop the inevitable.
     I have just checked out my window and can assure you all is well.  If something changes and it appears that we are in trouble of "The Calamity" befalling us, I will sound the alarm, or Alam, Alam--whatever the case may be. Go back to sleep, I shall remain vigilant!







Why am I still awake at 1:17 AM PDT or 01:17 PDT military time?












ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

A picture of the destroyer USS Black Rascal Creek during anti-submarine manuvers. So I spelled manuvers wrong.
This isn't the USS Black Rascal Creek?  What am I going to do with my staff?  

A Simple Post

     This will be a very short post. I wish to thank all my readers from the bottom of my heart.  Today I reached the milestone of 13,000 views of my blog. It has been a long road, but one I have enjoyed and I hope you have enjoyed reading. Tomorrow is Sunday, Monday in Japan--I just needed to share that with you--and I will have new posts on Monday--Tuesday in Japan.  Here's to the next 13,000 and beyond. THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT AND READING.

Thanks!  More coming on Monday. 

You Are Going To Wear That?

     I have to admit, I don't have a real good fashion sense.  If it were up to me, I would wear shorts, a polo shirt and sandals all the time.  That's not exactly true.  When it gets cold, below 60 degrees, I will bring myself down to wear jeans and tennis shoes but that's no big deal. I'm sorry but I wore business attire for so long I swore off suits and ties and even shirts and ties a long time ago after I left the business world. Face it, life is too short to be uncomfortable.
     As you probably know, I love my wife.  I am a bit suspicious though.  Many times she will look at what I have on and ask me if I am really going to wear that. After all, what's wrong with wearing brown shorts with a navy blue shirt and birkenstock sandals to a church award dinner. Its going to be hot in the building. Besides, all those Germans who wear Birkenstocks can't be that wrong.
       Is she a member of the fashion police, Merced Division? My concerns got the best of me. I had to find out so I did a little snooping.  Sure enough there it was tucked in an isolated part of the closet.  It was her Fashion Police dress uniform. I wondered where she went when she said that she had a piano lesson. She was checking in to the Fashion  Police Headquarters for her assignments. She doesn't wear that uniform much, in fact I have never seen her wear it and guess the uniform is only for ceremonial purposes only worn on special occasions. I wondered where she was last week that one day when she was gone all day and took what she called a special dress with her. Maybe I'm paranoid but she does tell me "You're NOT going to wear that, are you." an awful lot. Hmmmmmmm......

Occasionally I will wear a sweater and sneakers. 

No Vrooom- Vroooom--More Like Clank Clank

     As I shared a few posts ago, my car is having trouble. Today is the day where we take it to the shop that fixed the transmission and will get a reading on it's ills. This is like going to the dentist. The experience of car repairs is that painful.  The suspense of not knowing what is actually wrong and what the bill is going to be to restore your ride will certainly raise your blood pressure a bit.  Believe me, mine doesn't need any help raising.
     I am a bit concerned. There is an old adage in the car buying business that says that the car will last until you are about to make the last payment. Guess what my valued readers, next month is our last payment. There are certain sayings in life that have a tendency to be true. This is one of them. Wish us luck.

Maybe I should buy an airplane. This one would be fine. Let me look in my piggy bank to see if I have enough money. 

     

My Style Was Cramped

     How many of you have ever been indulging in a wonderful and restful deep night's sleep and have had to turn over. When you turn over something very painful happens.  You get a muscle cramp that makes you feel like your tendon in your foot is about ready to snap.  The pain is intense, and the darn think just doesn't want to go away.
     You try everything to work it out, to no avail.  It just keeps getting worse and your muscle tenses up even further. It hurts, let alone a wonderful deep sleep has been interrupted. The darn thing just isn't going away. If you were a horse your master would have gotten a gun and shot you at this point because of the pain you are suffering just to put you out of your misery.
     What does your wife, who is sleeping soundly next to you no more than a couple of inches do. She turns over and says in a still voice, "Do you have to make so much noise?"
     The pain and noise doesn't subside.  You are trying to be quiet but it hurts too much. The decibel level of the screams of pain seem to increase in relationship to the severity of the pain and the failure to loosen the muscle. You have tried to stretch it out quietly, but to no avail. The cream seem oblivious to any of your efforts to combat it. The hope that I could return to a state of slumber is quickly melting away. Its 2:00 in the morning by the way and I want to go back to sleep. Two O'clock in the morning is too early for me to get up.
     My beloved finally turns to me and says, "What's the matter?  Does it hurt?"
     "No, I'm just trying to gauge my pain tolerance." I said quietly, hiding my real feeling toward her at the moment. (I love you dear.)
     "Why don't you get up and walk it out?" she suggested.
     "I would love to dear."  I said in a loving voice. I think what her real motive was that she wanted to see me crawl or at least fall down out of bed. It has been a long time since she has had a good laugh at my expense.  IT HURT!!!
     After a few minutes which seemed like enough time to create a new world had passed, the cramp finally went away.  I had to gut it out through that incredible pain. I moved my foot back and forth and up and down.  Finally, the pain subsided. It was time to try to finish out the night's sleep.
     Have you ever tried to go back to sleep after a painful incident like this. Morphine would be a great choice, but I am not a drug abuser and I am not in a hospital. My brain decided that the strategy should be to return to sleep by fluffing up my pillow and just going for it. That wasn't working so I decided on another tack.
     I would start counting the dots on the ceiling.  Did you know that there are five billion, three hundred two million, six hundred seventy five thousand, two hundred and seventy eight dots on our bedroom ceiling.  I know this.  I counted them all--twice. That took about two hours and didn't work. I thank my fourth grade teacher for teaching how to count that high.
     Since the counting of dots strategy was not working another strategy had to be implemented. I decided the "Happy Gilmore Happy Place" technique may work. I decided to try to imagine a "Happy Place" and go to it in my mind. I won't describe my "Happy Place" because this post is getting to long, but it was restful and calming, kind of like the dream I was having before all this took place. The is just something about a warm tropical beach and, well you get the idea.
     Can I ask a favor? Will someone look at my leg to see if my foot is still there? My leg has gone numb from the knee on down to my foot.  The cramp has pretty much taken the feeling out of it. I can walk though, I think.

This is a beautiful place, but its nothing like my "Happy Place".

Who Moved My Cheese...Uh, Car

     I slept very well last night, thank you very much.  There was just one problem.  It was great being in a state of nocturnal bliss and tranquility but my sleep was disturbed. My brain decided to play a mean trick on me. You just wouldn't believe the dream I had.
     Most nights I can remember my dreams and they are fairly pleasant. My favorite one was the dream where I wound up on an island inhabited by a tribe of beautiful women and I was the only man. There is a lot I could share with you about on this one, but I care not to as it would adversely effect my status as a married man. The couch in the living room is comfortable, but I would rather sleep in my bed and not the couch.
      Here is my dream in a nutshell. Actually, I'm writing about it in this blog. The whole thing wouldn't fit in a nutshell and how could you read it if it was. Something written has to be orderly and on a surface where the letters are put out so that you could read it. I suppose you could put it on microfilm and put it in a nutshell, but you would need a reader to read the message. By the way, do people still use microfilm?
       It seems as though I was going to a shop to help a friend build something. That in and of itself is kind of scary because with my mechanical skills you don't want me around any sort of tools. I can be dangerous but that is another story and I didn't mean to bring down that storage rack. It was an accident. Let's just leave it at that, shall we.
      The friend's shop was located in the corner of a shopping center parking lot. The anchor tenant of the shopping center was a grocery store and the parking lot was very big. I parked my car out in the south forty of the lot.  For those of you in Poland or France or Boston, do I need to explain south forty? Let's just say I parked my car away from everything in an isolated corner of the lot. I locked my car and went into my friend's shop which was a part of a gas station.
       We had just finished what we were working on and I was about to leave. As I walked to my car a man came up to me and said, "You won't find your car out there."
        "Why?" I asked.
       "Its just been towed away to the gas station. There is a sign that says you can't park there over two hours and You've been parked there for two hours and five minutes. Your car is at the gas station and you have to pay to get it out."
        "What sign?" I asked. I looked around and saw no sign. This was a bit upsetting.
        I went back to the station to retrieve my car and was told by an attendant that he couldn't release the car and that only the manager had the authority.  The manager who was also the owner had gone for the day so my car would have to stay the night. There would of course be a storage charge. I was not going to pay the storage fee when there was on sign.
        The whole rest of the dream was me trying to get my car back. It seems as though the Supreme Court of the United States would not take the case.  At that point, I decided to pay the $1,000,000 storage charge
that had built up and just forget the whole thing. Admitting defeat, I woke up.

Had to change my mode of transportation.

     

Milk It For All Its Worth

     I wasn't going to post today, but I just couldn't avoid it. An opportunity came up and I just will not let it pass. Whenever life gives you an opportunity, you have to jump on it. It is sort of like the hanging curve ball in baseball. If a pitcher throws you a lolipop hanging curve ball over the plate you have to hit it out of the park. By the way, that is where I heading today. I am going to a Giants game, but that has nothing to do with this post.
     So, my wife poured herself a bowl of cereal. She spilled some milk out of the bowl and onto her recliner. She didn't say much, just "Oh darn, I spilled some milk."
     That got the wheels in my head turning. As you probably know, getting the wheels turning in my head doesn't take much. At any rate, she didn't get very emotional. I was very proud of her because...

...Wait for it...

...Wait for it...

...Wait for it...

...Here it comes, so be prepared...

...Are you ready?...

...Here it comes...

She didn't cry over spilled milk. And my mom always told me, "Never Cry Over Spilled Milk".

PS:  For those who do not follow baseball or do not understand the game, I apologize for the baseball metaphor.

Take me out to the ball game. What does that have to do with spilled milk?

Hey Geico, I Could Write A Commercial For You

Dear Geico Insurance
     I would like to offer my services to you as a commercial writer.  If you have read any of my posts on this blog--you probably haven't but you are not alone in that--you would have noticed that I am a very witty guy. I could bring that wit and strange sense of humor to your advertising campaigns.
     The gecko campaign is truly a stroke of genius. Who would have thought that a small green amphibian whose name is a close homophone to your corporate name would fit the bill as your company spokesman--oops, that's spokesperson as we don't want to offend anyone. You really took the ball and ran with it on this one. I do have a question though.  Where is the gecko from with his slight cockney accent?  I would guess Belize or possibly what was formerly known as British Guyana.  Hold on, I'll check Google on that...
     Wikepedia--we all know the foremost authority on everything which is always accurate--states that Geckos are a lizard that can be found in any warm climate. It also states that a species can be found in New Zealand.  This has caused a change in my thinking, based upon the accent of the Geico Gecko. There is an outside chance he is from New Zealand, although I don't detect a "down under" sound in his accent. You tell me.  Where is the famous Gecko from?  I promise I won't tell.
     For now, I have one last question for you.  Where does he hide his wallet?

This is a close as I could come to a picture of a Gecko. The colors are close and birds are related to lizards. 

 

Revenge Of The Machines

     So, I got my computer fixed.  It just doesn't end there though.  My computer is working fine and
doing exactly what I want it to do, but I think it kind of resented the fact that I got it fixed and can no longer cause me a great amount of frustration.  Machines talk to one another, and I think that they hold grudges, especially when we humans want to wrest control back from their dominance.  Such is the case with my car.
     Do you know how many computer components are on a car.  Yes, my car was manufactured--not made by the way because when you make something there is the possibility that you also install a personality or some form of intelligence--in 2004.  I realize that is old and the electronics on it are not as advanced as a car that is built--again built, not made--in 2015. But, like a grandson sitting at the knee of their grandfather they still talk to one another. They share stories and especially share conspiracies, especially on  how to drive humans crazy.
     Someone who is as techno-challenged as I am has no chance. We frustrate easily and machines know this.  Yes, I did have my computer fixed but it talked to my car. As a form of revenge it ordered my car to go on the fritz. You got to love the communication and networking.
     I put a lot of loving kindness in my car.  I give it baths and watch it's fluid levels.  Occasionally I even feed it high octane fuel.  Do you blame me for reacting the way I am. My frustration level is very high at this point. The options I have open to me are very narrow. I have to take it to a car doctor and have a machine tell the doctor what is wrong with it.
     The services that the doctor is going to perform on my car are pretty expensive and I am still at the mercy of another machine that diagnoses what is wrong. Once again and I can't say this strongly enough, it is a wicked conspiracy.  Think about it for a minute, how do I know that the diagnostic machine is telling the truth or just pulling my chain? What other machine is going to cause me a great amount of frustration after I get my car fixed?  All of this kind of makes you think, doesn't it?
     Maybe not.

Not my car anymore. I really miss that car.

OUCH!

     I think every muscle in my body is sore right now. Why you may ask, or your may not ask. You may not care and that's all right too. The fact that my muscles are sore is not something that will not bring the world as we know it to an end. It feels like it right now from my perspective, but from a more worldly perspective it just isn't that important.  I understand that and accept that fact. It still doesn't change that I am sore all over.
     My clothes have been a little bit tight on me of recent so I decided to get on a scale to see just how much I weigh.  That figure is none of your beeswax and I won't reveal that number to the general public.  That is a secret, sort of like Caitlyn Jenner's measurements so I won't give those numbers--my weight that is. What I will tell you is that the number--my weight--has climbed just a bit. Yes, I have gained a little weight.
      I decided it was time to do something about it, and that was return to what I was doing when I lost so much weight the last time I tried a few years ago and lost seventy pounds. I needed to limit my portion sizes, eat more health things, limit my sugar intake to almost nothing and most importantly go back to the gym and work out. One thing I wasn't going to do though was get another divorce. That was totally out of the question and I want to reassure Denise that was not an option. Tonight I may be sleeping in the doghouse for saying that, but oh well and by the way, we don't have a doghouse or a dog.
     Monday, I went back to the gym for the first time in about a month and a half.  It felt wonderful. I do miss the sauna and jacuzzi that was in the gyms that I worked out in before. That's a bit off the subject so that is all I will mention of that. It was a reward that I gave myself to spend some time after a workout to soothe those tired muscles. OK, I will move on and get to the point.  I promise. Yes, I was sore on Tuesday but I returned to the gym on Wednesday and had a very good workout.
     It was a very hot day Thursday.  The mercury soared into the low 100's.  Denise went to a baseball game in San Francisco so naturally I had to play golf.  I would drink a lot of water so as to not dehydrate and all was great with the world.  I was a little sore from the workout the day before but played well and shot a 92, which is good for me since I only play golf once every three months now.
     Last night, I plopped myself into bed extremely exhausted but totally happy. Immediately I fell into a deep and satisfying sleep. About an hour and a half into that deep slumber, I was rudely awakened by severe pain in my right leg. It was a muscle cramp and a bad one at that. I managed to get up and walk it off with the pain going away after a few excruciating moments. This one hurt!
     I managed to go back to bed and fell asleep again.  The rest of the night was fairly uneventful and I woke up earlier this morning to a very sore body. No, I don't always walk like a gorilla.

I didn't get to play here yesterday.

       
   
     

Its A Conspiracy--Part 2

     It is a conspiracy.  I get on my computer many times a day and it is as if it is laughing at me. Yesterday my computer had to be worked on to remove some things that were not that pretty. The fact of the matter is, it was spying on me. This is the truth.
     For the past couple of weeks, my computer has been doing some strange things and has been running very slow. You can see some of the mischief that it caused just by looking at my last post.  It redacted, that's a government term for blacked out, some of the best  points in my last post. Again, I don't know what is going on in it's beady little brain.  That's right, it doesn't have a brain just a jumble of electronic stuff that I don't understand anyway. I long for the days of analog.
     What has been done has been done. The witty bit of writing that was my last blog post has been lost in the world of cyberspace and I can't get it back.  This is tragic, although I think that the world will keep on spinning. However, you will not discover the true joy of my wit that I created in Thursday's post. That is sad.  Don't worry though, the problem seems to be fixed and I have come to an understanding with my computer. I'll hit the keys and share my wit, and you just take care of the 0's and 1's.  I am the brains behind this operation, and you are just a tool in my success. I love you, most of the time, but please keep the relationship in perspective. You serve me, I don't serve you.
     That's it for today as I commit this wonderful bit of literaturial drivel to the highway that is the internet. By the way, what is the internet anyway. Computers talking to other computers.  Now there is a scary idea.

Kind of looks like the inside of my brain.Don't touch the lever on the right!