Why not?

You say you want a revolution, well, you know – we all want to change the world.
You tell me that it’s evolution, well, you know – we all want to change the world.
But when you talk about destruction,
don’t you know that you can count me out?
And don’t you know it’s going to be
all right, all right, all right.

Why not?

I’m a biased old fart. I love my age, my (our age… if you’re a dinosaur like me) age/era.

Rosa (Parks).. You kicked it off December 1st, 1955. You refused to give up your seat so a white man could sit down on the bus in Montgomery, AL. Rosa, I love you. Please close you’re ears… “Fuckin’ A Ray… WHY NOT?!”…

Read today, Pittsburgh Steeler’s Troy Polamalu’s hair insured by Head and Shoulders for One Million Dollars. Now wait a minute… hold the phone Jesse… Many ‘fought’ back in the day.. But our Senior Year in HS, two (Bob and Dean) got TOSSED because they said “Why not?” when growing out their hair. Is that like crazy or what? Two gents denied graduating with us simply because they refused to get a haircut. (Thankfully, our class.. of 1970.. Appealed, via the Student Council, to the Administration, and got this ‘rule’ changed.) Too late for Bob/Dean.. But, good for “Why not”” others closely behind us.

You say you got a real solution, well, you know,
we would all love to see the plan.
You ask me for a contribution, well, you know,
we all do with what we can.
But if you want money for people
with minds that hate, all I can tell you is,
“Brother, you will have to wait.”


Title IX happened. WHY NOT? Men were afforded so many dollars to participate in sports, whythehell not women? (I benefited greatly from this one… as I was afforded the opportunity to be the Assistant Women’s Basketball Coach at a local small college… and later was the Head Coach for, I dunno, 6-7 years… oh… and gotta wife outta the deal.. Why not?) This was balanced out, thankfully.

When we were in High School.. The want ads in the newspaper ‘espoused’ “Help Wanted Women”.. and “Help Wanted Men”… Something a bit amiss there. Our generation righted that.

Don’t you know it’s going to be
all right, all right, all right.
You say you’ll change the Constitution,
well, you know,
we all want to change your head.
You tell me it’s the institution, well, you know,
you better free your mind instead.
But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao,
you ain’t gonna make it with anyone anyhow.
Don’t you know it’s going to be
all right, all right, all right



The older one gets, the more biased one gets…. That said… WHY NOT try to name me a greater musical era than “our time”? The Beatles… Elvis…. The Temps.. The Rolling Stones.. Dylan… Joan Baez.. The whole Motown thing.. Simon and Garfunkel.. The Doors… The Moody Blues… The Supremes.. Jimi… Sly and the Family Stone.. Janis Joplin.. Woodstock..

Tie-dye. The Mini.. Paisley print. Why not?

Daring… Woody Allen… Anthony Perkins.. Stanley Kubrick.. Alfred Hitchcock.. Orson Welles.. Joe Willie Namath.. Muhammad Ali……. Why ask why? Why not?

I’m saddened by our era’s response to our guys that came home from Viet Nam.. Easily a confused War… I wouldn’t have blamed each, every one of you if you’da asked “Why Not” support us. Again, close ears, we fucked up here. Apologies can never make those memories go away.. But we do apologize.

I love my/our age. Asking “Why not?” be it in life, cultural, societal, family, the workplace, is a friggin’ wonderful thing. It’s about ‘joint heads’ congregating, coming up with “you know, maybe he/she is right?”… or… “there’s no way.. We’ve done it right for so long, let’s stay the course.”

Whichever……… The 60’s… Why Not?… rocks……….. Love, Victurd.

Stick around…….

Scene repeats itself damn near every Saturday/Sunday morning. “Sausage biscuit, sausage McMuffin, a Senior coffee and a water please.”…. After reading the paper, downing a few cups of the fitty-nine cent coffee.. Mother Nature calls.

There’s something wretched about the odor of the squatter in Mickey D’s in the town where I live. It’s not an unkept/unclean smell.. I can’t explain it.. mebbe the chemicals they use to keep it clean.. It’s just a smell so putrid, it makes one stop and think “why do I have to do this (be here) day after day, week after week, month after month?”

Then, the mirror greets me.. And I think “you dumbass… you come here/’preach’, but you’re just as bad as those 'evils' that you preach ‘agin”.. and the mirrors right..

Remember my buddy Zeke? The old mechanic where I worked eons ago at United Airlines. He fixed our ground equipment - but, we let that crap (the ground equipment) literally become fatal before we’d take it to him to fix because he was so cantankerous. Wasn’t worth the ear bending, glaring looks he passed out..

Same Zeke, at the enda the day.. Walked up to this huge monthly calendar he had on the wall.. Took his magic marker and swiped a HUGE “X” across the day.. As if to say.. (Close your ears) "THERE, you mother-fucker (life), I made it thru another one.”

I was “making an ‘X’” this morning when I whined to myself about the putrid restroom. Victor, please remind yourself ‘what’s coming.’… coming soon (to a theater near you).. Affliction.. Could be heart… could be memory loss… stroke... Parkinsons.. Deafness… blindness.. Falls… dizziness…depression… infection.. Anemia… you name, it potentially lies ahead…..

Soooooooooooooooo.. (Remember, I preach to Victor, hitchhikers welcome) “take that muther-dubber (the day, this day, any day we’re on the planet without the aforementioned afflictions) and run... enjoy.. be glad.. don't worry/be happy.”

You young turds… you think we (the fitty-sixty-something aged folks) are the only ones that should stop and “kiss the day?”… take a peek at the obits some day. You just never know. Parenting is ahead too.. A lifelong responsibility. Sometimes can be very frustrating (always rewarding though)…

One day, quiet will happen. No pitter patter of footsteps… Fleeting, time is. Enjoy.

Ladder climbing for you thirty/forty-somethings takes center stage. Sure, go for it, but don’t let it blind you from the goings on, wonder of the things, people, places around you. (Ladder climbing is followed very closely to tending for ailing parents.. So, if they’re “not there yet” be very thankful, and give them the most valuable gift you can - your time.

I apologize oh Mickey D’s mirror in the putrid smelling bathroom, I’m truly glad to be here. I hope I getta come and do it again next Saturday/Sunday. And I promise to smile (mebbe holding my nose) as I do.

Nifty nifty article about’a 90 year old guy in today’s Kansas City Star.. Walt Bodine.. For 60 years he’s been a local radio talk show host (and still is).. Nice, nice man. Today, he’s confined to a wheelchair and no longer is able to see… yet he knows the beauty out there.. In a celebratory birthday party for him, he’d lovingly grab the arm of every one that came up to him.. carningly ask “now tell me who you are?”… and then he’d remember them… say super nice things about them.. He “gets it”… life… fleeting.. He doesn’t pity himself due to no sight, or being wheelchair bound. He’s gladly here.

Walt’s parting advice? “Stick around… something marvelous might happen.”

Mirror mirror on the wall.. Again apologies.. And I henceforth promise to suckup the wonder of it all…………….. Daily……….. Hourly…….. Minute by minute…..

Love, Victurd

Ance in my pance…..

Advance notice.. Notice?… This is all about ance. I had trouble spelling ance, ence, ent, ant on the enda words, so.. .hope you demonstrate allowance/acceptance, not resistance, at my abundance of utterance on ance.

In accordance with most blogs here, some defiance, little substance, sometimes a stance, ne’er about finance, show my ignorance, can be a nuisance (not with intendance), resemblance of not others (brilliance for them).. Little flamboyance, no guidance, topic variance. Definate aberrance. Thanks for your endurance, joyance, glad to make your acquaintance.

Annie Nancy Charlie Eddie were out for a night of joyance. No hindrance this night to the abundance of their alliance. Nancy, with no asstance, demonstrated a little dominance. Despite her perseverance, this was met with annoyance by Charlie, who showed a little defiance.

“There is disturbance, in your dominance Nance',” (Charlie’s utterance).. His continuance “I’m taking a stance… remember, you did that to Lance… I give you my assurance.. I don’t have the endurance.. I will not demonstrate avoidance, nor will there be forbearance. Keep it up, FAT CHANCE.”

There was the appearance of resonance of all this for Annie and Eddie.. Even askance… The night felt sunk, it’d lost is buoyance. Quite a disturbance… The deviance, performance of Nance'/Charlie, had Annie/Eddie asking for their penance. This was met with resistance, viodance..

Using clairvoyance, they wanted clearance. With no vigilance, they sought conveyance to another vehicle….mebbe a Renault Alliance, a Dodge Lancer, even perhaps an old Plymouth Sundance. Escape was of importance to them. Temperance. Through their perseverance, they took a chance and jumped.

There was no assurance this was safe. They landed on the ance of their pance… Hadta calla ambulance. Admitted ignorance, this act of severance…

Just an observance.. I’m running out of variance. Skadoodling now. A little nap mebbe (self maintenance).. Relax… this story of Annie Nancy Charlie Eddie has no resemblance to reality. (They actually went to a dance… quite a performance.. Lotta joyance.)

Tune in tomorrow when the topic might be: Victurd’s quest to get laid.. Followed closely by an apology, and the asking of acceptance from all his relatives that are on Facebook. I can’t stop typing, sorry… ance in my pance……. Love, Victance…

Let it all hang out......

A preachment, dear friend
You are about to receive on John Barleycorn
Nicotine and the temptations of Eve

Victor, you promised. You’d never go “have one”, come back, blog. Too bad, so sad, let it all hang out.

No parkin' by the sewer sign
Hot dog, my razors broke
Water drippin' up the spout
But I dont care, let it all hang out

Had’a buddy’s mine.. We‘d be on patio.. … I’d say “wow… it’s nice out”.. he’d retort “yeah, think I’ll leave it out”.

Hangin' from a pine tree by my knees
Sun is shinin' through the shade
Nobody knows what its all about
It's too much, man, let it all hang out

House is Atrocious, CAPITOL “A”… I’ll clean it this weekend……. Or mebbe next…

Saw a man walkin' upside down
My T.V.s on the blink
Made Galileo look like a Boy Scout
Sorry 'bout that, let it all hang out

My TV IS on the blink. Agin’, no cable, no dish, I’ve got 4, 5 & 9 (for you non-KC folks, that’s NBC, CBS, ABC)… and, GD (gosh darn) Uncle Sam.. The switch from analog to digital (or was it the other way round?)… Thanks to purchasing (forced) $40 antenna, I now get Ch 4 eighty percenta the time, 5 ‘bout fitteen percenta the time, and 9, thankfully, alla the time.

Sleep all day, drive all night
Brain my numb, can't stop now
For sure ain't no doubt
Keep an open mind, let it all hang out

Lots could be better. Having a dog. Having a significant other (no specific order, each have very positive connotations).. Read bulletin from college where I graduated “our normal grad first year out makes (enter $9K more a year than what I make here)”… I picked the wrong major. Or path. Or sumpin.

It's rainin' inside a big brown moon
How does that mess you baby up, leg
Eatin' a Reuben sandwich with sauerkraut
Don't stop now, baby, let it all hang out

I abhor Reuben/sauerkraut, sorry, just me. Gimme PB&J any day. If only, for one day, Facebook would have a “ok damnit, come out with it” and everyone would post their problems, their woes, the truth about how life really is, let it all hang out………….. We’d prolly all be depressed a little more. Eh, tis ok. Mosta the time, life’s a B-, C+. That ain’t bad since I was rarely on the Honor Roll or Dean’s List. (Screw you all.. I MADE it.. "BS" mebbe significant?.. The best six years’a my life, truly.)

I don’t care………..
Let it all hang out
Let it all hang out
Let it all hang out

A preachment, dear friend, love Victurd

“Good at self deprecation.” Huh?

Friend recently sent me an email… contained buncha “Oxy-Morons”… being a ‘bowler of linguistics’ this was kinda right up my alley……..

You know… like “Why do "tug" boats push their barges?”.. “Why do we sing "Take me out to the ball game" when we are already there?”…”If love is blind, why is lingerie so popular?”.. and finally “Why is bra singular and panties plural?”

Someone once emailed me “Victor, you’re good at self deprecation.” Don’t that fit (or actually not fit? Ain’t it an oxy-moron?)… Trust me though, like the beggar with the tin can infronta them, I’m very appreciative of “cha-ching”, any positive verbiage….

Let’s see Victor, where else are you a demonstrated screw up. Well.. The Fred Broski Bowling Tournament. Oh yeah. I remember that one. You bragged about “PROFESSIONAL BOWLER”.. then, we dug a bit closer.. Ends up, over 2000 entrants…. You bowled shitty.. 30 days after the fact you get a $5 check in the mail for finishing in the “Bottom Fifty”.. Good memory, screw you, I still consider myself a professional bowler as I was formally paid.

Then, you professed to be a perty damn good little leaguer long ago. We analyzed that as well. Turns out, you musta been a hellion.. Your folks pointed (pushed?) you to kindergarten at age 4, so….. Every other year in little league, you were like aheada your competition.. Ie… 5th grade, you played against 3rd and 4th graders… 7th grade, you wiped up on 5th, 6th graders. KMA, I was a bonified All-Star!

Your marriages. I see you married “cats”…. Huh? Yeah.. Nine lives.. First one you married has 8 lives left after spouting “til death do us part” and then parting. Second one has 7 lives left as she’s presently on her 3rd “til death do us part”……. Meow. .no argument there… so I married cats… what’s the big whoopee?

Victor, your cars. Whatabout’em…. They’re hideous.. Ok, admit that, but, consider me a thrifty guy who simply looks for the least expensive mode of transport. That work? (I’m trying to expound on this “good at self deprecation” crap)… No Victor, won’t work. Do you need me to surf back thru all your checkenginelight blogs to remind you your cars suck?… Ahm, HEY, the Royals are playing, can u turn it to channel 672?

Ok, so enuff already about self deprecation.. A guy can get a complex u know?

Sunday night… 8/22/2010... Approximately 5:42pm:


Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Victurd, mighty Victurd, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Victurd's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Victurd's bearing and a smile on Victurd's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Victurd at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Victurd’s eye, a sneer curled Victurd's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Victurd stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Victurd. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And it's likely they'd a-killed him had not Victurd raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Victurd's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Victurd still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Victurd and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Victurd wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Victurd’s lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Victurd's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Victurd has struck out.

Pardon my French (Again, said in English) I fucking struck out in Slow Pitch. No, wasn’t called 3rd strike, no, wasn’t 3rd foul strikeout.. I fucking struck out - SWINGING!. I have been playing slow pitch for 38 friggin years. I've never friggin' struck out. I’m good at this self deprecation.

Awhile back, I’d had a conversation with the mirror: “Ok, Victor. You’re fitty-seven, you have no business being out here, but… you have great health insurance. That said, please promise me, if any one of the three things happen, you’ll retire.” Yeah? What?

You get hurt, numero uno. K, can live with that. And understand. Dos?

Dos = you are a detriment to the team. HEY, I’m the first guy off the bench to high five someone that’s made a good play - no worries here.. Tres?

Thirdly, you’ll hang it up if you ever strike out……… I’ve just decided, I’m a cat. Si, I did say that.. But, I’ve still got lives numero 2 thru 9 left to ‘promise’ the “I promise I’ll quit” thingy. If it works for the ex’es, sure as hell should work for me, eh?

Love, the mighty Caseyturd…

You can't always get what you want......

I saw her today at the reception
A glass of wine in her hand
I knew she was gonna meet her connection
At her feet was footloose man

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you might find
You get what you need

Life is fun, funny. Or so I’ve found. The scene above has happened to me a time or twelve. Ya find one that fits perfectly in that picture frame of wonder you’ve envisioned, but it just ain’t gonna happen. Various reasons. You can’t always get what you want.

I went down to the demonstration
To get my fair share of abuse
Singing, "We're gonna vent our frustration
If we don't we're gonna blow a 50-amp fuse"

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes well you just might find
You get what you need

Went to Mickey D’s this morning. Happily, quietly indulged in the humongous Sunday paper. In walks a dad, a five year old boy, and a baby in a basket thingy. Oh hell, the baby’s gonna wail, this won’t be fun. "Vent frustration, blown 50-amp fuse breaks out." Turns out, huh uh - not the baby. The five year old wailed. First, he didn’t get the toy he wanted. I don’t mean justa baby wail.. an ON AND ON wail at an excruciating pitch. After ten continuous minutes, I gave him my best “I’m a grumpy old man, COOL IT you little brat” look, but didn’t help matters. He didn’t get enough syrup for his pancakes… another (long) tirade. Then, he caught glance of the playroom, and the trash can that was blocking it’s entry as the workers cleaned it. Oh shit. Uh uh, you guessed it. I’ve not been a big fan in life of smacking a little one’s little butt, but the repeated tirades, high (pathetic) pitched squeals - coupled with the calmness, serenity of the quiet infant, made me root for dad to smack the five year old’s little butt. Kid, you can’t always get what you want… but sometimes you get what you need.

I went down to the Chelsea drugstore
To get your prescription filled
I was standing in line with Mr. Jimmy
And man, did he look pretty ill
We decided that we would have a soda
My favorite flavor, cherry red
I sung my song to Mr. Jimmy
Yeah, and he said one word to me, and that was "dead"
I said to him

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You get what you need

You get what you need--yeah, oh baby

As I sat in the booth, feeling sorry for myself in that I don’t presently have everything I want: nifty 401K, that beautamous chick to ride with me in the brand new SUV thingy, the ranch style home (new) on the lake.. I saw in the paper 40 or so “Mr. Jimmy”s that, as of today, are no longer with us. Perhaps life, even though you can’t always get what you want… ain’t so bad.

I saw her today at the reception
In her glass was a bleeding man
She was practiced at the art of deception
Well I could tell by her blood-stained hands

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You just might find
You get what you need

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You just might find
You get what you need

Want/need. Interesting Mick. Ok, so no nifty 401K… but, employed, ends meet (kinda-sorta). Beautamous chick nowhere to be found. Well, see ‘em, just ain’t at my side. Tis cool. Two very good marriages, a host of wonderful friends (even some of the chick variety.).. And the 1997 Buick LaSabre with over 200K miles. (Blower fan out, oh shit, winter’s coming.. .but hey, it gets me to work and back. Oh OK, to the Dish and back too). I have a roof over my head, many don’t.

Life is lived with greedy hands outstretched, often coming up empty - but somehow, our needs seem comfortably taken care of.

God I love that song. Please tell me I’m not too old to crank that mother up when it comes on the radio. Love, Victurd.

Sudoku…..

My name is Victor, and I’m an addict. Sorry (kinda) to admit… I do (attempt) the daily (EXCEPT ON SUNDAYS WHEN IT AIN’T IN THE PAPER - THE BASTARDS!) Sudoku daily.

I’m so-so Sudoku. I try to unnerstand why it’s pronounced Soo-Doh-Koh, but as long as it has KU at the ‘end’, I guess it’s a good thing.

Monday’s paper. “Difficulty Level 1 star”.. Tuesday - 2, Wednesday -3... All the way through Saturday - 6. On Sunday, Sudoku rests. Little creative bastards probably can’t sleep any other nighta the week after all the damn numbers going thru their head.

Well… On Sundays I froth. I want. I can’t. Oh, there’s online Sudoku, and I do do that. Sometimes I’m good, sometimes I’m do do. I always do the hard… puff my chest out when I finish it in 12 minutes, 33 seconds… hit the little button “how do you compare to the rest of the world” and then I see “79% of the people are faster.” Damnit. I Suck-do-ko.

People can be akin to Sudoku. Uh huh, they can. Some, very easy to read. The 1’s, 2’s, 3’s. The lapse of no Sudoku on Sunday, makes one sooooooo excited to see Sudoku on Monday, then, baby letdown.

Them hard to figure out ones… the 4’s, the 5’s, the 6’s.. When I luck out and do solve them, there’s this letdown - like the letdown when you’ve tried figuring someone out for awhile, then you finally do.. .and the ‘game’ ain’t so fun.

Or, you excitedly delve thru the anticipation, the work, the toil, the fun.. .get mosta the way thru, and lo and behold there are two “8”s on the same GD (gosh darn) line. Oil/water, can’t be on the same line. The same wavelength. Suck-do-ku.

Sudoku is in the Entertainment section. People are in the Entertainment section. Being part rebel, kinda hard to believe I enjoy a game where you must stay within the lines. Well, actually, I don’t. I write 1, 6, 9 outsidea the box when those are the numbers I need to complete the row. (If you’re a non-Sudoku person, this is where you say “The hell is he talking about?”.. Which, again, likens real life. How many folks you ‘know’ where you stop and think “The hell is he/she talking about?”)

Sudoku kills time, probably brain cells, and us older folks vision. Sometimes (don’t tell) I take the 2 and ½ half inch Sudoku puzzle to the copy machine, hold my finger on the enlarge button ‘til it hits 200%, then go work that sucker. Got skeered one day. Buddy’o mine writes music reviews for the local paper - also in the Entertainment section. Did the 200% thing one day, took it back to my desk before work, and there… staring me eyeball to eyeball, 200% enlarged, was the pic of my buddy. Kinda scary.

Sudoku, I spose, is for simpletons like me. Don’t care. Likes it. Passes time. Like life, the results can be mixed ‘tween “YES!”… “DAMNIT”… “I GIVE UP”.. “I CAN’T WAIT FOR TOMORROW”.. and……. “two 8’s just ain’t gonna work on the same line, why’d I do this in ink?”

Victor, this has been so exciting, I’m thinking you need to change your name of the blog to ShadyAcresRestHome.blogspot.com. Sudoku-FU. I likes Sudoku.

Tune in tomorrow when the topic might be…… “I love living with Alz.. .I get to meet new people every day”… or…… “To the outhouse” by Willie Makeit.

Love, Sudokuturd.

The power of the SEG………

Huh? The hell’s he talking about?

I’ll tellya what… I’m talking about the power of (pardon my French whilst I spell out this “huh-uh, don’t write/type that” English word) the shit eatin’ grin.

Viva la SEG. I’ve (sheepishly)… no, that ain’t the right word…. Begrudgingly…. Nuh huh..
Happily, YES that’s IT.. Happily (and fortunately) lived the vast majority of my life with a “SEG”…

I get up, I go pee at work. I get up, I walk to scanner at work. I get up, I go make copies at work. I’m reminded of an email, a statement, a situation, a whatever, and I’M SORRY, but I walk with a SEG affixed.

Today. He’ll shoot me. Don’t care, I’ll wear the SEG, won’t feel so bad. Last night, our troups (the whole damn company) attended a Minor League Baseball Game. Company rented bus.. Nice… Fed us hella freebie dinner at ballpark (SEG)… gave us coupon for two free beers (SEG, SEG)…

Watched ballgame. Laughed. Watched the ‘tween innings goodies. SEG, all. Fun, the best… climbed on bus for trip back to office on bus. Sorry to say, I’m directionally challenged. I drive 35 miles South.. The ballgame was 30 miles NW… my house sits 25 miles NE.. I didn’t ride bus.

But bus was the talk of the day… FS, I would never name names… rode the bus back to work. 10:30pm-ish. FS, had a couple. Not a foul, not toooo damn many, but, enough to give him the SEG.

Bus they took (sorry I wasn’t a rider) had a pole (aka kinda like a stripper’s pole) center of the bus. FS, with SEG, hopped up enroute home.. .danced… changing music channels to find one that fit… he did.. And he danced… SEG he.. All rolled in laughter (SEG's).. … Even the 70-something CEO of our company.

FS not only had SEG on face (and all around him), his antics drew the George Washington’s outta the SEG girls that were watching’s pockets. Basta prolly made enough in that 35 mile ride home to fill his gas tank. Fun, twas. “My dad (the 70-something CEO:”) was laughing (SEG) [said one'a the owners]...

Flash forward (no, there was no actual flashing) to this morning. FS was office topic. SEG’s allover. The Minor League team we’d witnessed, won 5-1. The mascot of the Minor League team we witness was donned “Sizzle” (it’s the T-Bones, you know)…

Enroute home, 35 or 36 twists into the SEG pole dance, FS was nicknamed “Sizzle”.. Back to this morning. FS wasn’t inebriated, he was SEG lettin’ loose.

I got to work exactly 24 minutes before the bewitching 8am. Ring, Ring. Co-worker. “Vic, I just woke up, I’ll be there as quick as I can”… Kinda caused a SEG, cause I been there, done that. (In fact, Saturday, awakened to 7:57am on alarm clock.. (Oh ‘pardon my French [English] “SHIT”.. hey, alarm clock ain’t set… it’s the WEEKEND”.. followed by SEG.)

So where were we… oh yeah…….

Gal called in, running late. So I sent an email to everyone in FS’s SEG department regarding the late-comer. Rumor had it, during pole dances (fully clothed, no SEG’s here.. He was).. women within our employ, approached SEG FS and handed over [stuck in pockets] George Washingtons……..

Oh yeah… the email… so I emailed FS’s SEG department with……. “___ is running a little late… she’s looking for her daughter to borrow a few bucks for gas… seems she spent many single dollar bills last night enroute from the Ballpark back to work”… no idea what that’s all about.” As I hit send, an admitted SEG.

Ok, I’ll lay off FS. He was good sport. SEG himself mosta the day.

I love the power of the SEG. Whether it’s when you pickup the phone and hear the familiar voice on the other end you’ve shared some goofy stuff with… or, you’re simply walking down the hallway, and you’re approached opposite-wise by someone with whom you’ve shared a recent joke/tale/story with.

SEG rocks. Worked, long ago, with a very nice, albeit straight-laced lady who never understood (and thought sad) the fact that some have SEG’s pretty much all the time and quite frankly thought it was repugnent. Nomme.

I poo poo that. Life is, should be, about fun. I perhaps way too frequently walk around with an SEG on my face. Frankly Charlotte…………or is it Scarlotte.. Hell, don’t remember, either way, I don't give a damn.

If I were to die… it would absolutely ok to enscript on my tombstone “He pretty much had an SEG 24/7”… oops, forgot.. I’m doing the heat/urn thing. I do remember addressing my love of the City Park in Liberty, MO, and the many wonderful hours I spent there. It would be my evalastin’ hope, if they dumped abuncha my dust on the ballfield there… it was done with an SEG.

I can’t thinka any better entombment. Yes, the SEG’s I’ve demonstrated over the years have caused very definite “creeks”: (or wrinkles) just above the corner of my mouth (each side).. Don’t care. SEG’s rock. Thanks for being here, big SEG to you. Quoting that Sinatra dude, "I did it my way" (SEG)... love, Victurd

ABC

Recently, buddy’o mine opened his phone… started sending text message to friend… you know, the numeric/lettered keypad method, punch the “6mno” key three times to type the letter ‘o’.

Seven year old grandson walks up.. Grabs phone.. Says “Grandpa, just hit this” and jualahh, a typewriter keyboard appears. Humbling.

So, with granddaughter on way around Christmas, I figured I’d better get myself up to snuff on this texting stuff. (Yes, caved in last November… was enroute to work… 0 degrees out.. Checkenginelight came on.. Ain’t kiddin’… no phone, never had a cell. [don‘t count the old bag phone]. Stopped, that evening, got one.)

Many (abbreviations) don’t need ’xplainin. You know….. TY, BRB, LOL, ILY, YW, ZZZZ, etc..

But…. Edjumacated me on some new, so I’ll be “with it” when Aubrey Rose Rene Schultze turns 7 in 2017 and I’ll know how to do all this stuff BMS.. By myself.. Besides, who knows, I might text my way into a relationship, Lord knows every other tried method ain’t worked.

SBT.. Sorry bout that.. DWM… hey! That’s me, divorced white male.. E2EG.. Ear to ear grin.. YYSSW.. Yeah yeah, sure, whatever.. PTIYPASI… put that in your pipe and smoke it… PITA.. No! Not what you think.. It’s pain in the butt!.. NIFOC… naked in front of computer, now that’s a scary thought..

AYSOS… are you stupid or something? Even one for ole’ Chubby Checkers: LTLWDLS
Lets twist like we did last summer.. .. And IANAC… I am not a crook.. (Bless the youth for remembering us aged).. SYY.. Shut your yapper..

IWALU… sing it Whitney.. XYZ… examine your zipper.. YABA… yet another bloddy acronym..

So… I hear you.. I too am bored.. So…… Figured I’d create my own crap. Not sure I can keep up with the youth of today….

IISYHABBWYHIAM……. If I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me..

CWJSAPWLEO? Could we just smooch and pretend we love each other?

IDNN$CWSSTN?… I’m divorced, no, not rich, could we still spend the night?

IHTUHWMEIHA….. I have to undress her with my eyes, I have arthritis..

YISLYITM…….. Yes, I’ll still love you in the morning…..

ANIPFTEOT…….. And now I’m prayin’ for the end of time…….

TRSBIHBIASD,WBBNTAP…… This really sucks but I hadn’t blogged in awhile, so did. Will be better next time, a promise

GWHTLC…. Glad we had this little chat.. L8RG8R… LVPooPoo (Love, Victurd)

One thing I’ve noticed……..

Just when you think you have life figured out, the mother dubber throws you a curveball. So, I’m concluding from that, there’s simply no figuring life out.

Seventy miles an hour.. (Speed limit 65... Sorry, always been a pinch rebel)…. ROAD CLOSED AHEAD….. You muther dubber you. DETOUR.

Life’s about detours. Roads generally have a planned area of prohibited or reduced access, thus, ya gotta take the detour, takes a bit more time.. But ultimately you’re back up to seventy MPH…..

"Real Life"s highways ain’t gots no planned area of prohibited or reduced access, thus, it’s left up to you to figure out whereinthehell the detour is, and will I ever get back up to anything that likens 70 MPH ever again……

Which, all goes back to mama.. And her words of wisdom. “The secret to success in life is how you deal with Plan B.”

Class Reunion this weekend. Wonderful, former coach, teacher, principle there. Always always always admired the fella ‘cause he so very carefully and eloquently knew exactly what to say/when. Much as I yearn for that same characteristic, I struggle with detours. So rather than blurt, I needs to step back, consider what roads to take, at what speed.. And hope/pray I’ve taken the correct detour.

At the Reunion, a great many ‘feel goods’. Some have ridden the highway since HS without having to take too many detours. Some, relationship detours, detours caused by death, physical health detours, job loss - changes.. Abrupt halts.

I my ownself, as I walked thru for the meeting of eyeballs and the ‘beggin’ the question’ howthehell you been the last forty - answered back “I’m happy.. I am but the only one left from my nuclear family.. I’m divorced.. But, I love my job and I’m happy, I love life.” One, formerly intimate classmate deducted “who are you trying to fool?”

Got that urge to blurt out “NO NO, you don’t understand, I really AM happy.. I DO love life. Honest, I whistle whenever I’m on my feet at work. I have very, very good friends after hours.. I probably ain’t the most productive person outsidea work, but hey, fitty-something is all about being a little selfish after so many years of “have to’s” “…. Nonetheless, even made me start to wonder……Oh well. (“Oh well” onea my favorite Fleetwood Mac songs..perty please to see just below.. Like it almost as good as “Oh well, part 2”)

"Can't help about the shape I'm in
I can't sing, I ain't pretty and my legs are thin
Don't ask me what I think of you
I might not give the answer that you want me to
Oh well...

Now when I talk to God I know He understands
He says Stick by me, I'll be your guiding hand
Don't ask me what I think of you
I might not give the answer that you want me to
Oh well..."


Mebbe God is relating he can guide thru detour. Anyways…………….

So, so very good to be amongst folks the same age.. Grew up thru the same trials, tribulations, fun, events, social/economic changes.. A fine, fine age. Still close enough to childhood to see life through a child’s eyes - yet, cognizant of the fact “one day I too will pee my pants and forget my name” thus, ha ha life, I’m gonna have fun ‘til that point. A fine age.

Tummy churning a bit.. Thinking’ bout swinging thru Mickey D’s… GD (gosh darn) I hope 291 is open all the way to there. Here’s a hopin’ life befits you with taking on/figuring out, Plan B. Going 70 now, keep your eyes peeled. Love, Victurd