Whatsup?
Who are you?
How ya doin?
How YOU doin?
Where you going?
What do you want to be when you grow up?
If the #2 pencil is the most popular, why is it still #2?
Do you like good music, that sweet soul music?
Paper or plastic?
Coffee or tea?
Fries or tots?
Does your chewing gum lose it's flavor on the bedpost over night?
Married?
Kids?
What's your name, who's your daddy?
If one synchronized swimmer drowns, do the others drown too?
Trick or treat?
Where's your nametag? (I memorized it and threw it away.)
I love love love caller ID. First, yain't gotta answer if you don't wanna. "Nah, not right now." "I don't know anyone from Are Code 718."
VIctor, your blog is frequently asked questions... Whatinthehell does all that (just above) have to do with that?... Oh... yeah.. thanks for getting me back on track.. One of my favs, back when them dudes liked me and I worked there - was to see a beloved vendor pop-up on caller ID and you'd answer "Thank you for calling Pizza Hut would this be dine in or carry out?"... it was usually crickets for a few moments, but the creative ones would quickly order... I guess you had to be there maybe..
Got milk?
Have you driven a Ford lately?
Can you hear me now?
Does she or doesn't she?
Where's the beef?
How do you spell relief?
Is it live or is it Memorex?
Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?
I know you are but what am I?
Why do we sing "Take me out to the ballgame," when we're already there?
Hello, I love you won't you tell me your name?
How would you describe yourself? (Old, wrinkly, missin' a few teeth, love to laugh, pee a lot at night, MUST HAVE FUN, commonly thought of as simpleton, tis ok, I like me. You? How would you describe your fine self?)
Where have all the flowers gone?
Who'll stop the rain?
Does anybody really know what time it is?
How can you have any pudding when you don't eat your meat?
What's it gonna be boy... yes... or.. no?
How deep is your love? (Sorry, I prolly shouldna put that one right after that one.)
Where is the love?
Who let the dogs out?
What's it all about, Alfie?
Do infants enjoy infancy as much as adults enjoy adultery?
If something "goes without saying," why do people still say it?
What's wrong with you?
Are you ready?
Are you stressed?
Penny for your thoughts?
Did you fart?
Ask your mother...
DO I STUTTER?
Window or aisle?
Smoking or non-smoking? (That one's almost non-existent now)
What happens when you get scared half to death twice?
Are we there yet are we there yet are we there yet?
What's the last four of your social?
Do you believe in magic in a young girl's heart?
Did your parents have any children that lived?
Buehler? Buehler?
Innie our outtie?
Et tu, Brute?
Does your husband play golf too? (to be said after one of your buddies hits a really crappy, short, shot. Nuttin' personal dudettes)
MOVIES:
Mrs. Robinson, you're trying to seduce me, aren't you?
Hey dad, you wanna have a game of catch?
Aren't you a little short for a stormtrooper?
You talkin' to me?
Who's on first?
Would you do it allover again?
If so, would you change anything?
WTF?
If 4 out of 5 people suffer from diarrhea does that mean the fifth one enjoys it?
When cheese gets its picture taken, what does it say?
Sorry, kinda. What are you gonna do today?
Love, Victurd.
Wednesday, February 28, 2018
Sunday, February 25, 2018
You, and you, and you and you and you and you.......
I kinda vaguely remember this 'cheer' from High School...
"We're gonna beat the (don't remember but it was PG) out of you.. and you, and you and you and you..."
Life is all about you's....
(You said it)..
That I did.
In this case, ain't beating the (whatever) out of whomever (you)... Praising instead..... kinda sappy, but figured you wouldn't mind...
Praising includes the word raising, and that you have...... All of us have had........
You, the blood you. Down in defeat together. THE BEST mems of the you's that ain't no longer around. The best mems from childhood, the FOREVER bonded, blood, together - same team, ancestry, love. Lifelong yous.
The you........ Friends. Some very very close, some, heck, I dunno, living in Alaska, or SoCal, or Virginia, of Florida - that, borrowing from Janis Joplin own "a piece of my heart." We've gone to school together. Played in the same yard as kids. Lived by one another when we each were married to the other (or same)..We winged paper clips at one another over the cubicle wall. You, my favorite (waitress, bartender, cashier, plumber, HVAC dude, mechanic, yada).. Friend/familiarity. Friend/varying degrees. However, YOU have helped me, you, us, GET our degree in life. Help I've fallen and I can't get up - sometimes you helped me, sometimes I helped you. Sometimes we misbehaved, sometimes we felt bad, sometimes we laughed our booties off.
Friend, continued. Oh we've had our moments. Remember that one time you wouldn't talk to me for weeks? Howabout the time I didn't text you back? The time you friends went out and forgot about me (or vice versa)? Somehow, you/we are special. Always have been, always will be. You da bomb.
You, 'the one hit wonder'.. Hello, I love you won't you tell me your name.. we only met once, but dang it was fun. Chatting at the gas station in Carthage.. on the snorkeling cruise in St. Thomas.. seated next to one another that time on the airplane.. the you that held the door for our family of 12... the you that anonymously paid my/our tab. You, the one hit wonder, rock - and I/we thank you for adding to our life.
You, the role model. "Always do your best. What you plant now, you will harvest forever." (Og Mandino).. Yum. You never lemme/us down. You were a bookmap for finding the proper way to live. You gave, we reaped the reward. You continued giving, long after we were gone. The teacher, the coach, the boss, the owner, the scoutmaster, the preacher, the Sunday School teacher, the bowling instructor........ yum. You taught me how to (enter much here, spell, talk, walk, add, subtract, be nice, be on time, run faster jump higher, love, search, find, yada).. We carry a tiny bit of your traits - we multiply your lessons like the dandelion flower on a windy day (in a very good way.) We say thanks, to you... and you and you and you.
You... you are the sunshine of my life. Well.. hmmm... oh yes, I've been there. Hope you have too. Only the lucky ones can say "And you (sunshine)" and stop. (Me, I'll be just fine and dandy.).. I am very thankful for the yous that rendered me speechless with rapid heart palpitations even be it that one time we laughed on the playground, the couple three nights at The Plaza Theater, that home we lived in for 8 years, 20 years, the kid(s) we have/share... Now I've, had, the time of my life... with you, and you and you and you and you (and mebbe s'more, but you get the picture.)
We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. Our worlds would be empty without you. You can't believe how many times - er, well, I guess you can.
You is special. I know that don't sound right, probably ain't grammatically correct, but you is.
I Googled "sentences with you" in them... somehow, they fit:
I love you so much
I remember you very well
We can't keep falling forever, you know
Didn't you feel the ground shake
You and ____ wanted to go
Sorry to have troubled you, but it couldn't be helped
First of all dear friend, tell me how you are.................
You are mankind (and back to that misogynist thingy - womankind). Kinda fitting ain'tyou? "Man kind".. "Woman kind." You are kind.
You are the thread to our holey pants. You are the uplifter that lifts somehow just when we need a lift. You are the one that looks me/us in the eyes. You are the one that occasionally makes me pee my pants. Damn you (just kidding, but, you is crazy!).
Thank you (and you, and you and you and you)
Love, Victurd
"We're gonna beat the (don't remember but it was PG) out of you.. and you, and you and you and you..."
Life is all about you's....
(You said it)..
That I did.
In this case, ain't beating the (whatever) out of whomever (you)... Praising instead..... kinda sappy, but figured you wouldn't mind...
Praising includes the word raising, and that you have...... All of us have had........
You, the blood you. Down in defeat together. THE BEST mems of the you's that ain't no longer around. The best mems from childhood, the FOREVER bonded, blood, together - same team, ancestry, love. Lifelong yous.
The you........ Friends. Some very very close, some, heck, I dunno, living in Alaska, or SoCal, or Virginia, of Florida - that, borrowing from Janis Joplin own "a piece of my heart." We've gone to school together. Played in the same yard as kids. Lived by one another when we each were married to the other (or same)..We winged paper clips at one another over the cubicle wall. You, my favorite (waitress, bartender, cashier, plumber, HVAC dude, mechanic, yada).. Friend/familiarity. Friend/varying degrees. However, YOU have helped me, you, us, GET our degree in life. Help I've fallen and I can't get up - sometimes you helped me, sometimes I helped you. Sometimes we misbehaved, sometimes we felt bad, sometimes we laughed our booties off.
Friend, continued. Oh we've had our moments. Remember that one time you wouldn't talk to me for weeks? Howabout the time I didn't text you back? The time you friends went out and forgot about me (or vice versa)? Somehow, you/we are special. Always have been, always will be. You da bomb.
You, 'the one hit wonder'.. Hello, I love you won't you tell me your name.. we only met once, but dang it was fun. Chatting at the gas station in Carthage.. on the snorkeling cruise in St. Thomas.. seated next to one another that time on the airplane.. the you that held the door for our family of 12... the you that anonymously paid my/our tab. You, the one hit wonder, rock - and I/we thank you for adding to our life.
You, the role model. "Always do your best. What you plant now, you will harvest forever." (Og Mandino).. Yum. You never lemme/us down. You were a bookmap for finding the proper way to live. You gave, we reaped the reward. You continued giving, long after we were gone. The teacher, the coach, the boss, the owner, the scoutmaster, the preacher, the Sunday School teacher, the bowling instructor........ yum. You taught me how to (enter much here, spell, talk, walk, add, subtract, be nice, be on time, run faster jump higher, love, search, find, yada).. We carry a tiny bit of your traits - we multiply your lessons like the dandelion flower on a windy day (in a very good way.) We say thanks, to you... and you and you and you.
You... you are the sunshine of my life. Well.. hmmm... oh yes, I've been there. Hope you have too. Only the lucky ones can say "And you (sunshine)" and stop. (Me, I'll be just fine and dandy.).. I am very thankful for the yous that rendered me speechless with rapid heart palpitations even be it that one time we laughed on the playground, the couple three nights at The Plaza Theater, that home we lived in for 8 years, 20 years, the kid(s) we have/share... Now I've, had, the time of my life... with you, and you and you and you and you (and mebbe s'more, but you get the picture.)
We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. Our worlds would be empty without you. You can't believe how many times - er, well, I guess you can.
You is special. I know that don't sound right, probably ain't grammatically correct, but you is.
I Googled "sentences with you" in them... somehow, they fit:
I love you so much
I remember you very well
We can't keep falling forever, you know
Didn't you feel the ground shake
You and ____ wanted to go
Sorry to have troubled you, but it couldn't be helped
First of all dear friend, tell me how you are.................
You are mankind (and back to that misogynist thingy - womankind). Kinda fitting ain'tyou? "Man kind".. "Woman kind." You are kind.
You are the thread to our holey pants. You are the uplifter that lifts somehow just when we need a lift. You are the one that looks me/us in the eyes. You are the one that occasionally makes me pee my pants. Damn you (just kidding, but, you is crazy!).
Thank you (and you, and you and you and you)
Love, Victurd
Saturday, February 24, 2018
My brain ain't ripe but I can learnya.........
A degree in just 18 months!
Online?
Nope, onfloor.
In want to hide from the news, the newspaper, horrific events, the flu, this side/that side - unintentional slobber allover the monitor as we rant, name call, piss, moan, yada....... I needed a break.
It's Winter, so I started my car to warm it up - Mother Nature painted a partial inch of ice on it - and I ran back inside to await it to melt. As I did so, I started to cuss myself for wearing my (now drenched) house slippers, thought better of it and reminded me "At least our town is still small, kinda, you can start your car and the odds are still in the 90 percentile it will still be there when you go back out."
Jumped in the easy chair, covered myself with a 'throw', one last cuppa coffee... A text to across town.. "Is Littlefeet up yet?"
I needed a break. A respite. A feel good. Littlefeet is my 18 month old granddaughter. Yep, she's my granddaughter, but - we could be talking about any kiddo (your G-kid, kid, sibling, yada) that makes for a feel good.
I get edjumacated every time I see her.
Last gulp of coffee, YIPPEE my car is still there in this, our beautiful little town (ironically infamous for the 1st ever daylight bank robbery. Go figure.)
I pushed huge mostly melted sheets of ice off the windows, the hood, even the top. Jumped in, ahhhhh, warmth... Put it in Drive, headed away, tapped the brakes - yep, it's ok. They'd put down a good measure of rock salt, life is good. (In this day and age, sometimes I think they should use crunched up Rolaids insteada rock salt - but agin', we're taking a break from all that.)
I knock. Door opens. I see a huge smile, hear musings of happiness that I have no idea what exactly is said, but I just know - she's as happy as I am to see her as she - me. Hasta la vista baby --> news, newspaper, argument, name calling, heightened blood pressure - my 18 month old granddaughter is an elixir. Again, could be anyone's youngster.
The brain ain't ripe......... or is it? Happiness abounds. The pitter patter comes my way, the arms point upward, and I smile for the very first time since we sunk under 32 degrees. She melts me. My grandkid, could be yours, your kid, your sibling, I dunno.
At 18 months, we're awarded. After our initial meet and greet (hug, smooch) the pitter patter starts again - back in the dining room she's found some small toy from yesterday's Happy Meal, it's toted and presented to me. THANK YOU! (You gotta act like it's the greatest thing since they put granola in Raisin Bran when they are that age.).. pitter patter, mom's coin purse.. THANK YOU!... another trip, a small mirror, THANK YOU!.. A 7 inch twig from the plant on the kitchen table, THANK YOU!
Littlefoot makes happy. Educating me at 18 months, that life's good, it's simple, I'm a small stuff, I ain't gonna sweat it.
I gently place all of my trophies on one side of the easy chair - she climbs in my lap - and I take out my phone to show her pictures of her.. and mom.. and dad.. and brother.. and sister.. she's mesmerized by how they all fit in there, but they do. After 40 or so pics, recounting "There's Bella - that's YOU!" 25 times or so, I notice boredom setting in. So I YouTube "blue Russian cats" cause they got one.
We watch many minutes of those clips.. The only real mostly legible word I hear all morning ("Luuuunaaaa", the Blue Russian).. so we watch.. we touch it.. we hear it.. (Luna does too and it's driving her to be a Luna-tic... Luna's brain also ain't ripe, she's 8 months or so old, can't figure out whereintheheck this other cat is, but it's all good.)
In 20 minutes time, I'd smiled, laughed, loved, lifted, smooched, hugged, and my brain was taken away from slaughter, the 2nd Amendment, the gas bill (remember, it's dang cold), the rising price of petrol, folks in a hurry, debates, all... SHE'D EDJUMACATED ME.
Simple. It's the simple things. Onto the floor for more education. We crawled. We rolled. We giggled. We chased.. We laughed. My beautiful elixir - yum.
Upright now (we can do more).. We ran - to nowhere. As an adult, I think this should be a part of our day, every day. Nope, I ain't talking whilst with lil' ones (of course that's heavenly though) - I'm talking we should take lesson from them, and at some point in the day simply get up, run somewhere, happily, smiling, and not necessarily in a straight line (in fact, bobbing and weaving evokes even more smile.)
18 month olds set example. Life is fun (or should be). Ya don't even haveta know how to talk to have fun. Follow me.
After an hour or so, Grandpa is no big thrill any longer, she's disinterested, climbs two half-flights of stairs. There's a 15 foot open walkway between this bedroom and that bedroom that overlooks the living room below. She's got Barbie in her left hand. (I think she's lefthanded which delights me to no end.) Barbie is now on the 'uh oh' side of the bannister rail, and yep.. soon she is tossed and falls fifteen feet to the ground. The North side of the sofa is the danger area, so no one sits there. Ya never know when she's gonna grab a 2 pound object and fling it - and it has happened.
Victor, what's so fun about that? You mean, you've never tossed a rock from a cliff? Thrown a penny into a fountain? Tossed something from a bridge into the water below? IT'S DELIGHT. It's simple. It's fun. My brain ain't ripe (or is it).."Watch me, I'll teach you fun."
The day before we all attended a funeral. Sad, but a celebration of a very long life - but "he's home, a feeling of unconditional love.".. Anyways, after the visitation, funeral, burial - we gathered for lunch at the church. My 18 month old let me play with her a long time there.
You ever get out on a football field and just simply run around? Yeah, me neither, but I bet it's fun. The room we were in, the large empty space, it HAD TO look like a football field to her. We ran, did the bob and weave.. she fell, time and again (Remember, she's small stuff, she ain't sweatin' little oopsies like that).. .we laughed... I've never seen so much energy in someone that was two hours past naptime. (She taught me too about naps, yum.)
Oh, and tables. She's getting very adept at getting on chairs now. From there, in an instant she's got a foot placed on top of the table, and that's where the grandparent cop steps in. Has nothing to do with fearing she'll one day be a stripper, it's moreso for her own safety in not falling. A baby groan, then a quick remembrance "life is good, let's find something else fun this grandpa cop will lemme do."
I REPEAT: day in day out we park, drive, swerve, think, overthink, and try to figure this damn thing called life out.
It's pretty simple - or so my 18 month old has edjumacated me. When a you see a visitor, friend, loved one, yada, you get excited as can be. It feels good for you, it feels good for them. You give presents - we ALL like presents, it feels good to give, good to receive.
We run, to nowhere. We clap, for no reason other than happiness. We bob, we weave. We throw things off bridges. It's ok if somewhere along the way in doing those things we get bored, we'll just switch to another simple, happy one. Ya climb on toppa tables. (Ever been to a boring, long meeting around a conference table? Uh huh, me too.. how fun would they be though if you could climb on the table and lend one's point of view? Hella fun, that's what.)
OK, I'll stop. Thanks for being here. It's my hope that, even if you ain't got someone near 18 months of age in your life that you either have had, or will have. I've learned a lot from her.
The very best part? When it's time for "life, the drudgery must go on" - there's the returned BLOWN KISS. Yum. Her eyes, our fun, that kid, she melts me.
Happy day.. it's easy.. or so she's edjumacated me that it is.
Love, Victurd
Online?
Nope, onfloor.
In want to hide from the news, the newspaper, horrific events, the flu, this side/that side - unintentional slobber allover the monitor as we rant, name call, piss, moan, yada....... I needed a break.
It's Winter, so I started my car to warm it up - Mother Nature painted a partial inch of ice on it - and I ran back inside to await it to melt. As I did so, I started to cuss myself for wearing my (now drenched) house slippers, thought better of it and reminded me "At least our town is still small, kinda, you can start your car and the odds are still in the 90 percentile it will still be there when you go back out."
Jumped in the easy chair, covered myself with a 'throw', one last cuppa coffee... A text to across town.. "Is Littlefeet up yet?"
I needed a break. A respite. A feel good. Littlefeet is my 18 month old granddaughter. Yep, she's my granddaughter, but - we could be talking about any kiddo (your G-kid, kid, sibling, yada) that makes for a feel good.
I get edjumacated every time I see her.
Last gulp of coffee, YIPPEE my car is still there in this, our beautiful little town (ironically infamous for the 1st ever daylight bank robbery. Go figure.)
I pushed huge mostly melted sheets of ice off the windows, the hood, even the top. Jumped in, ahhhhh, warmth... Put it in Drive, headed away, tapped the brakes - yep, it's ok. They'd put down a good measure of rock salt, life is good. (In this day and age, sometimes I think they should use crunched up Rolaids insteada rock salt - but agin', we're taking a break from all that.)
I knock. Door opens. I see a huge smile, hear musings of happiness that I have no idea what exactly is said, but I just know - she's as happy as I am to see her as she - me. Hasta la vista baby --> news, newspaper, argument, name calling, heightened blood pressure - my 18 month old granddaughter is an elixir. Again, could be anyone's youngster.
The brain ain't ripe......... or is it? Happiness abounds. The pitter patter comes my way, the arms point upward, and I smile for the very first time since we sunk under 32 degrees. She melts me. My grandkid, could be yours, your kid, your sibling, I dunno.
At 18 months, we're awarded. After our initial meet and greet (hug, smooch) the pitter patter starts again - back in the dining room she's found some small toy from yesterday's Happy Meal, it's toted and presented to me. THANK YOU! (You gotta act like it's the greatest thing since they put granola in Raisin Bran when they are that age.).. pitter patter, mom's coin purse.. THANK YOU!... another trip, a small mirror, THANK YOU!.. A 7 inch twig from the plant on the kitchen table, THANK YOU!
Littlefoot makes happy. Educating me at 18 months, that life's good, it's simple, I'm a small stuff, I ain't gonna sweat it.
I gently place all of my trophies on one side of the easy chair - she climbs in my lap - and I take out my phone to show her pictures of her.. and mom.. and dad.. and brother.. and sister.. she's mesmerized by how they all fit in there, but they do. After 40 or so pics, recounting "There's Bella - that's YOU!" 25 times or so, I notice boredom setting in. So I YouTube "blue Russian cats" cause they got one.
We watch many minutes of those clips.. The only real mostly legible word I hear all morning ("Luuuunaaaa", the Blue Russian).. so we watch.. we touch it.. we hear it.. (Luna does too and it's driving her to be a Luna-tic... Luna's brain also ain't ripe, she's 8 months or so old, can't figure out whereintheheck this other cat is, but it's all good.)
In 20 minutes time, I'd smiled, laughed, loved, lifted, smooched, hugged, and my brain was taken away from slaughter, the 2nd Amendment, the gas bill (remember, it's dang cold), the rising price of petrol, folks in a hurry, debates, all... SHE'D EDJUMACATED ME.
Simple. It's the simple things. Onto the floor for more education. We crawled. We rolled. We giggled. We chased.. We laughed. My beautiful elixir - yum.
Upright now (we can do more).. We ran - to nowhere. As an adult, I think this should be a part of our day, every day. Nope, I ain't talking whilst with lil' ones (of course that's heavenly though) - I'm talking we should take lesson from them, and at some point in the day simply get up, run somewhere, happily, smiling, and not necessarily in a straight line (in fact, bobbing and weaving evokes even more smile.)
18 month olds set example. Life is fun (or should be). Ya don't even haveta know how to talk to have fun. Follow me.
After an hour or so, Grandpa is no big thrill any longer, she's disinterested, climbs two half-flights of stairs. There's a 15 foot open walkway between this bedroom and that bedroom that overlooks the living room below. She's got Barbie in her left hand. (I think she's lefthanded which delights me to no end.) Barbie is now on the 'uh oh' side of the bannister rail, and yep.. soon she is tossed and falls fifteen feet to the ground. The North side of the sofa is the danger area, so no one sits there. Ya never know when she's gonna grab a 2 pound object and fling it - and it has happened.
Victor, what's so fun about that? You mean, you've never tossed a rock from a cliff? Thrown a penny into a fountain? Tossed something from a bridge into the water below? IT'S DELIGHT. It's simple. It's fun. My brain ain't ripe (or is it).."Watch me, I'll teach you fun."
The day before we all attended a funeral. Sad, but a celebration of a very long life - but "he's home, a feeling of unconditional love.".. Anyways, after the visitation, funeral, burial - we gathered for lunch at the church. My 18 month old let me play with her a long time there.
You ever get out on a football field and just simply run around? Yeah, me neither, but I bet it's fun. The room we were in, the large empty space, it HAD TO look like a football field to her. We ran, did the bob and weave.. she fell, time and again (Remember, she's small stuff, she ain't sweatin' little oopsies like that).. .we laughed... I've never seen so much energy in someone that was two hours past naptime. (She taught me too about naps, yum.)
Oh, and tables. She's getting very adept at getting on chairs now. From there, in an instant she's got a foot placed on top of the table, and that's where the grandparent cop steps in. Has nothing to do with fearing she'll one day be a stripper, it's moreso for her own safety in not falling. A baby groan, then a quick remembrance "life is good, let's find something else fun this grandpa cop will lemme do."
I REPEAT: day in day out we park, drive, swerve, think, overthink, and try to figure this damn thing called life out.
It's pretty simple - or so my 18 month old has edjumacated me. When a you see a visitor, friend, loved one, yada, you get excited as can be. It feels good for you, it feels good for them. You give presents - we ALL like presents, it feels good to give, good to receive.
We run, to nowhere. We clap, for no reason other than happiness. We bob, we weave. We throw things off bridges. It's ok if somewhere along the way in doing those things we get bored, we'll just switch to another simple, happy one. Ya climb on toppa tables. (Ever been to a boring, long meeting around a conference table? Uh huh, me too.. how fun would they be though if you could climb on the table and lend one's point of view? Hella fun, that's what.)
OK, I'll stop. Thanks for being here. It's my hope that, even if you ain't got someone near 18 months of age in your life that you either have had, or will have. I've learned a lot from her.
The very best part? When it's time for "life, the drudgery must go on" - there's the returned BLOWN KISS. Yum. Her eyes, our fun, that kid, she melts me.
Happy day.. it's easy.. or so she's edjumacated me that it is.
Love, Victurd
Thursday, February 22, 2018
Misogyny... Dang me, dang me, they oughta take a rope and hang me...
Thanks. Thanks in large part to Facebook, a couple of guys (David M. and James G.) and a perfect than perfecter 18 month old granddaughter, I've learned more new words of late than at any point in my life.
I also have an affinity for logic. Deduction. Ya read something, ya think something. Kinda like judging I guess, but accompanied by Closed Caption. (As an aside, have you ever watched a thirty minute program and you spend half of it trying to find the damn button to turn off the closed caption? Uh huh, me too.)
Victor, where are you going with this? I guess I'm going to to misogyny: "Dislike of, contempt for, ingrained prejudice against women."
Whoop, 'der it is....... I HATE WOMEN. Got it? Get it? Yep.
I must anyways, according to one soul on FB. Forgive me Father for I have sinned, but I posted something on FB yesterday stating "Sarah Huckabee Sanders needs to get laid." "VERY MISOGYNISTIC" was how I was labeled. Yep, I did, I said, I guess I am that. I said it because I dislike, have contempt for, am ingrained with prejudice against women. It has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with her waking up to 137 Tweets from whatshisname, then, dressing up to face 68 microphones to explain them. That would be logic, and remember, I hate women.
1958. I was six. I didn't have a baseball glove yet. My dad was a traveling salesman. The best father, but we didn't see him much other than weekends. My mother took a plastic bowl about the size of a ballglove, gave me that and a tennis ball.. walked me out back to the 4 foot high cement wall next to our garage - and demonstrated how to hold the bowl (as a glove) and then throw, bounce the ball off the wall - and catch it with my bowl (glove). But, she was a woman, and remember I dislike, have contempt, am ingrained in prejudice against women.
On top of all that, once I learned to catch, she had the gall to take me out in the front yard and play catch. Once we got to the point where I was catching more than I was dropping.. we moved on to batting. She'd bought me a ball and a bat (oh, and by this time a glove too). She threw hundreds, thousands, kajillions of balls to me so I could learn to hit. I even pounded a couple off her shins, but that's ok, remember she's a woman and I dislike, have contempt and am ingrained in prejudice against women.
(As an aside, she cooked, cleaned, ironed patches on the holes in my jeans that I'd made from playing way too much baseball in the front yard, the game she taught me. Oh, and I remember being even younger - I would cough, and for some reason, she wouldn't take a breath until I was able to. But yeah, scroll to dislike, contempt, ingrained, prejudice. Paint me. Ask Sherwin Williams, I am a misogynist, must be, that one guy said I am.)
Went to my Grannys a lot. She'd get us cousins balls, bats, footballs, helmets, yada, to play in the front yard. She'd bring us Koolaid, take us to town for ice cream, feed us a good dinner, then make a 'pallet' on the floor for us to sleep, tucked us in. She musta taught my mom how to do all that disgusting stuff. I hate women ya know.
Oh, and my sister. Yuck. She MADE ME have fun growing up. She taught me how to smile. Dang woman, she ALWAYS smiled. Women, patooey. Along the way, thru the years, I'd allow myself to call her so she could give me advice on this, that - you know, logic stuff in life. Then, I remember when my son was born and she rented a U-Haul, filled it with toys and pulled up in our driveway. Women, disgusting. Dislike, contempt, I'm prejudiced.
WE CHASED GIRLS on the playground at Franklin. Had ZILCH to do with flirting, we disliked them, had contempt for them, we couldn't spell it back then but we knew we were ingrained in prejudice agin' them. We even allowed Janet Flanigan to play whiffle ball with us in the front yard, but it had everything to do with "she could hit better than us", because remember, I/we, dislike, have contempt, yada, for women.
High school, long ago. As Al says, I played high school football. My freshman, soph, jr years, my Doc wouldn't let me play. Close your ears, I had one testicle bigger than the other, he wouldn't pass me on the physical. One of the dads, each and every year, called me "CHICKEN", but that's ok, I never told him, and remember it's women I dislike, so I was cool. FINALLY, I went to a different Doc my Senior year, he lemme play and lo and behold, the 5th game I broke my arm. Ended up having to watch the remaining games in the middle of the Pep Club with some 100 plus women, all wearing short short skirts - when I coulda been out there on the field breaking my other arm. Yuck, women. Dislike, contempt, ingrained, prejudice.
College. I was a gym rat. LOVED LOVED LOVED basketball, sucked at it. Sophomore year "Vic, Title IV happened, we're starting a women's basketball team and we'd like you to be the assistant coach, wouldya?" I thought "WHY, WHY give women equal rights? Dislike, disgust, comtempt, prejudice".... "OK, I will." The next year, the dude who was head coach had graduated. "Vic, will you be the head coach?" I thought "WHAT? You know my feelings on women, can't you see I'm a... ah... ah... whathesaid, misogynist."... "OK, I will." The creeps, they made me do that for 6 or 7 more years, I forget.
Facebook. In keeping with my...my.. miso.. misog...eh, you know, in keeping with my dislike, disgust, contempt prejudicial way, I MUST 'friend' some women to make it look good. I'm writing this at 4:52 am, I was very bored a bit ago, so I counted. 50.17% of my 586 friends here are women. ONLY BECAUSE I wanna make it look good. Logical?
And as time passes, there's this one chick, younger than me and we worked together awhile back. I've allowed her to email me over the years as she's needed parenting advice (ha, from me?) oh, and exchanged pics of kids, grandkids, vacations, stories, jokes, yada, but it ain't got NUTTIN' to the effect of 'liking women', having one as a friend..... remember, dislike, contempt, yada.
I've had so many damn years where I've had to put up with bikini's, cleavage, yoga pants... make-up.. long eyelashes..doting, beautiful eyes (SOMEONE ELSE HAD TO HAVE TYPED "DOTING, and BEAUTIFUL", WADN'T ME!).. I've been able to put on a pretty good front over the years.
I'm a misogynist.
Dang me, dang me
They oughta take a rope and hang me...
High from the highest tree...
Woman don't you weep for me... bipp bipp bipp ba dooby dah dah dah...
Paternally yours, love, Victurd
I also have an affinity for logic. Deduction. Ya read something, ya think something. Kinda like judging I guess, but accompanied by Closed Caption. (As an aside, have you ever watched a thirty minute program and you spend half of it trying to find the damn button to turn off the closed caption? Uh huh, me too.)
Victor, where are you going with this? I guess I'm going to to misogyny: "Dislike of, contempt for, ingrained prejudice against women."
Whoop, 'der it is....... I HATE WOMEN. Got it? Get it? Yep.
I must anyways, according to one soul on FB. Forgive me Father for I have sinned, but I posted something on FB yesterday stating "Sarah Huckabee Sanders needs to get laid." "VERY MISOGYNISTIC" was how I was labeled. Yep, I did, I said, I guess I am that. I said it because I dislike, have contempt for, am ingrained with prejudice against women. It has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with her waking up to 137 Tweets from whatshisname, then, dressing up to face 68 microphones to explain them. That would be logic, and remember, I hate women.
1958. I was six. I didn't have a baseball glove yet. My dad was a traveling salesman. The best father, but we didn't see him much other than weekends. My mother took a plastic bowl about the size of a ballglove, gave me that and a tennis ball.. walked me out back to the 4 foot high cement wall next to our garage - and demonstrated how to hold the bowl (as a glove) and then throw, bounce the ball off the wall - and catch it with my bowl (glove). But, she was a woman, and remember I dislike, have contempt, am ingrained in prejudice against women.
On top of all that, once I learned to catch, she had the gall to take me out in the front yard and play catch. Once we got to the point where I was catching more than I was dropping.. we moved on to batting. She'd bought me a ball and a bat (oh, and by this time a glove too). She threw hundreds, thousands, kajillions of balls to me so I could learn to hit. I even pounded a couple off her shins, but that's ok, remember she's a woman and I dislike, have contempt and am ingrained in prejudice against women.
(As an aside, she cooked, cleaned, ironed patches on the holes in my jeans that I'd made from playing way too much baseball in the front yard, the game she taught me. Oh, and I remember being even younger - I would cough, and for some reason, she wouldn't take a breath until I was able to. But yeah, scroll to dislike, contempt, ingrained, prejudice. Paint me. Ask Sherwin Williams, I am a misogynist, must be, that one guy said I am.)
Went to my Grannys a lot. She'd get us cousins balls, bats, footballs, helmets, yada, to play in the front yard. She'd bring us Koolaid, take us to town for ice cream, feed us a good dinner, then make a 'pallet' on the floor for us to sleep, tucked us in. She musta taught my mom how to do all that disgusting stuff. I hate women ya know.
Oh, and my sister. Yuck. She MADE ME have fun growing up. She taught me how to smile. Dang woman, she ALWAYS smiled. Women, patooey. Along the way, thru the years, I'd allow myself to call her so she could give me advice on this, that - you know, logic stuff in life. Then, I remember when my son was born and she rented a U-Haul, filled it with toys and pulled up in our driveway. Women, disgusting. Dislike, contempt, I'm prejudiced.
WE CHASED GIRLS on the playground at Franklin. Had ZILCH to do with flirting, we disliked them, had contempt for them, we couldn't spell it back then but we knew we were ingrained in prejudice agin' them. We even allowed Janet Flanigan to play whiffle ball with us in the front yard, but it had everything to do with "she could hit better than us", because remember, I/we, dislike, have contempt, yada, for women.
High school, long ago. As Al says, I played high school football. My freshman, soph, jr years, my Doc wouldn't let me play. Close your ears, I had one testicle bigger than the other, he wouldn't pass me on the physical. One of the dads, each and every year, called me "CHICKEN", but that's ok, I never told him, and remember it's women I dislike, so I was cool. FINALLY, I went to a different Doc my Senior year, he lemme play and lo and behold, the 5th game I broke my arm. Ended up having to watch the remaining games in the middle of the Pep Club with some 100 plus women, all wearing short short skirts - when I coulda been out there on the field breaking my other arm. Yuck, women. Dislike, contempt, ingrained, prejudice.
College. I was a gym rat. LOVED LOVED LOVED basketball, sucked at it. Sophomore year "Vic, Title IV happened, we're starting a women's basketball team and we'd like you to be the assistant coach, wouldya?" I thought "WHY, WHY give women equal rights? Dislike, disgust, comtempt, prejudice".... "OK, I will." The next year, the dude who was head coach had graduated. "Vic, will you be the head coach?" I thought "WHAT? You know my feelings on women, can't you see I'm a... ah... ah... whathesaid, misogynist."... "OK, I will." The creeps, they made me do that for 6 or 7 more years, I forget.
Facebook. In keeping with my...my.. miso.. misog...eh, you know, in keeping with my dislike, disgust, contempt prejudicial way, I MUST 'friend' some women to make it look good. I'm writing this at 4:52 am, I was very bored a bit ago, so I counted. 50.17% of my 586 friends here are women. ONLY BECAUSE I wanna make it look good. Logical?
And as time passes, there's this one chick, younger than me and we worked together awhile back. I've allowed her to email me over the years as she's needed parenting advice (ha, from me?) oh, and exchanged pics of kids, grandkids, vacations, stories, jokes, yada, but it ain't got NUTTIN' to the effect of 'liking women', having one as a friend..... remember, dislike, contempt, yada.
I've had so many damn years where I've had to put up with bikini's, cleavage, yoga pants... make-up.. long eyelashes..doting, beautiful eyes (SOMEONE ELSE HAD TO HAVE TYPED "DOTING, and BEAUTIFUL", WADN'T ME!).. I've been able to put on a pretty good front over the years.
I'm a misogynist.
Dang me, dang me
They oughta take a rope and hang me...
High from the highest tree...
Woman don't you weep for me... bipp bipp bipp ba dooby dah dah dah...
Paternally yours, love, Victurd
Sunday, February 18, 2018
You can’t do that………
My horoscope said something to the effect “Don’t be afraid to speak up, even if it annoys some people.” I know ALL of the below will annoy many. I don’t really care. We’ve got a problem and below is just one (copied suggestion -> The bump stock/# of rounds thing.)
You CAN’T take my guns… Confiscation is not the problem and will not happen.
Get ridda (cease future manufacture/sales) “slide fire,” “Bump stock,” whatever you call it that allows a gun to rapidly fire.. And (from now on) make ammo clips (or whatever they are called) contain a maximum of 10 rounds… (Anyone see a gun being confiscated there?)
Enforce the laws we have, do not sell guns to anyone involuntarily committed to a mental hospital, or one that a court has declared as mentally incompetent. Methods are in place to report to the FBI NCIS.
Get ridda “slide fire,” “Bump stock,” whatever you call it that allows a gun to rapidly fire.. And make ammo clips (or whatever they are called) contain a maximum of 10 rounds… Yard sales, slips thru the cracks (gaps in communication = TX, FL)? Get it right the first time, while desired, is subject to human error.
Reform of any kind won’t get rid of other forms of mass killings, Tim McVeigh/OKC… 9/11/planes.. Fires.. Bombs.. Cars/trucks/busses on sidewalks…acid thrown in faces, knives, axes. Keep the damn politics out of this…..
Get ridda “slide fire,” “Bump stock,” whatever you call it that allows a gun to rapidly fire.. And make ammo clips (or whatever they are called) contain a maximum of 10 rounds…
Guns don’t kill people, people kill people…
Get ridda “slide fire,” “Bump stock,” whatever you call it that allows a gun to rapidly fire.. And make ammo clips (or whatever they are called) contain a maximum of 10 rounds… Status quo ain’t working.
Parents have GOT to parent. We need to return to our old ways, we have a huge societal problem. Electronic shoot ‘em up games, depictions in movies, ..laser tag, Paintball.. Moral degradation..
Get ridda “slide fire,” “Bump stock,” whatever you call it that allows a gun to rapidly fire.. And make ammo clips (or whatever they are called) contain a maximum of 10 rounds… We have 323,100,000 people. We will not attain a perfect score on the above. Attempt to attain, wonderful, but alone can’t work.
The Olympics have the Biathlon, some of them shoot one round per second, are you telling me you want to get rid of that sport too?
Get ridda “slide fire,” “Bump stock,” whatever you call it that allows a gun to rapidly fire.. And make ammo clips (or whatever they are called) contain a maximum of 10 rounds… (Biathlon included, 10 max)
Answers should be formed on fact and not feelings
Get ridda “slide fire,” “Bump stock,” whatever you call it that allows a gun to rapidly fire.. And make ammo clips (or whatever they are called) contain a maximum of 10 rounds…
The answer is to hire 3 armed veterans per school. Will kill two birds with one stone (high unemployment of vets, and mass killings). Arm teachers.
Get ridda “slide fire,” “Bump stock,” whatever you call it that allows a gun to rapidly fire.. And make ammo clips (or whatever they are called) contain a maximum of 10 rounds… Most schools have a minimum of 10 doors and 100 or so windows. Also, I could be wrong but I think it would be tough accomplishing arming 100% of our teachers. (Might not hurt to ALSO try all of the above, vets, arming teachers.)
What scares me the most is the media and legislators that want to make change to the existing law haven’t a clue…
Get ridda “slide fire,” “Bump stock,” whatever you call it that allows a gun to rapidly fire.. And make ammo clips (or whatever they are called) contain a maximum of 10 rounds… Borrow military brain. ATF. FBI. NRA even.
Whether I want to shoot cans in the woods.. Protect myself and my family, Government tyranny lets me fight on somewhat equal terms.. It’s my right, leave the Second Amendment alone!
Get ridda “slide fire,” “Bump stock,” whatever you call it that allows a gun to rapidly fire.. And make ammo clips (or whatever they are called) contain a maximum of 10 rounds… If our Government turns on us, WE ALL are in big trouble, even those with 30+ however many bullets/rounds you can put in onea them suckers.
Ya really want to complain? Which President made us go to the moon?
Get ridda “slide fire,” “Bump stock,” whatever you call it that allows a gun to rapidly fire.. And make ammo clips (or whatever they are called) contain a maximum of 10 rounds…
Prosecutors around the country prosecute less than 10% of the cases where someone illegally has a gun (could be wrong in that number but it is low.)
Get ridda “slide fire,” “Bump stock,” whatever you call it that allows a gun to rapidly fire.. And make ammo clips (or whatever they are called) contain a maximum of 10 rounds… And yes, let’s work on a higher (attempt perfect?, why not?) prosecution rate.
Have you seen the number of mass killers that were found to be on psychotropic drugs?
Get ridda “slide fire,” “Bump stock,” whatever you call it that allows a gun to rapidly fire.. And make ammo clips (or whatever they are called) contain a maximum of 10 rounds…
Yes and agreed that needs much closer scrutiny. Also believe there could be someone who could legally obtain a bump stock, and then become mentally unstable (or over/under medicated?)
Wayne LaPierre, CEO of the pro gun lobbying group, called Connecticut‘s law (banned high-capacity magazines/military assault rifles, ) responded “I think the problem with what CT did, is the criminals, the drug dealers, the people that are going to go do horror and terror, they aren’t going to cooperate.” About the supposed 11 children that escaped as the gunman changed clips “Megyn (Kelly) you know it only takes a second to change a clip.” Yes, known, criminals will find a way, just make it damn harder for them. On clip changing,: Ten clips, changed ten times, would save 20 or 30 more children. Even more clips, even more kids saved.
Status quo ain’t working. Children, people, are dying fast. WILL THIS IDEA BE 100% FOOLPROOF? OF COURSE NOT. We’ve got to step/act though. I don’t think this is taking a step for the purpose of taking a step. I think it might help. If there are better ideas than the one I copied, by all means bring ‘em on… but please don’t repeat any of the above reasons “won’t work” that have already been stated.
Get ridda “slide fire,” “Bump stock,” whatever you call it that allows a gun to rapidly fire.. And make ammo clips (or whatever they are called) contain a maximum of 10 rounds…
Victor
Monday, February 12, 2018
Hello Muddah! Hello Faddah,
Here I am at Facebook-yada
Facebook’s very, entertaining
And they say we’ll have some fun if we stop complaining
I went hiking with Larry Libtard
Stepped in glass, now foot's scarred
You remember, that Deplorable Skinner
He got hand foot and mouth disease last night after dinner
All the other side, calls us haters
They unplug the mike, on our debators
And the head coach doesn’t want a quitter
So he reads to us from something called Twitter
Now I don’t want this should scare ya
But my bunkmate, deported to Bavaria
You remember Jeffrey Hardy
He’s an undercover spy for the other party
Take me home, oh Muddah Fadduh
Take me home, I hate Facebook-yada
Don’t leave me out in the scrolling where
I might get eaten by a meme’ing bear
Take me home, I promise I will not make noise
Mess the House, Senate, I’ll play with toys
Oh please don’t make me stay
I’ve been here one whole day
Dearest Fadduh, darling Muddah
How’s my precious little Bruddah?
Let me come home if you miss me
I would even let Aunt Bertha hug and kiss me
Wait a minute, found unfollow
No one’s bitching, in the hollow
Pics of grandkids, gee that’s better
Muddah Fadduh kindly disregard this letter
Sunday, February 11, 2018
Vitriol... or, Pete and Repeat...
I correctly label myself a simpleton. Growing up, my vocabulary consisted of ball, strike, safe, out, hit, error, run, throw, catch, bunt, single, double, triple, homer- you get the idea.
As I age, and am ever amazed at the extensive vocabulary of folks - in both directions: a) I can't believe he/she used that word in that grammatically incorrect way, and b) Holy crap, lemme run and get Webster.
My longtime friend from HS, when he blogs - I sit at my computer and before ever clicking his blog link, I've got my $29 Cricket cell phone by my side, and Dictionary.com in the ready-set-go mode as I just KNOW I'm gonna learn a word or fourteen.
The new one, to me anyways, I'm seeing more and more on folk's posting is vitriol (or vitrioled, vitrioling, etc). I've witnessed this word on both ends of the teeter totter. "Something highly caustic or severe in effect, as criticism." I think that's how you spell it anyways. TO ME, it's all about hatrid (or hating back) for hate.
Whilst I haven't written them down, I've seen a kajillion very unpleasant 'adjectives' spouted at 'they'. Again, the left and right side of the teeter totter - and that, in and of itself, pisses ME off at ME, because maybe that's what I'm doing, indicating only "two schools of thought" thereby falling culprit to 'we/they', suggesting 'mindless, unable to think for self." Shame on me.
Excuse me, I am perfect <-- I never ever said.
What I can relate - is I've done (goofy) short, ten or twenty question psychological pigeon-hole surveys - and the one word that comes up more times than naught is "compassion." I'M NOT SAYING THAT, THE SURVEY THINGY HAS.
Excuse me, I am perfect <-- I NEVER said that, ever.
I abhor name-calling. I abhor "we-they" unless it relates to MU-KU, then hell to the yeah I am all about that. I can't stand denigration, ESPECIALLY when it refers to encompassment, or, 'they'.
That's bassackwards folks, said I, the "Excuse me, I am perfect" <-- I NEVER EVER said that.
My knowledge of politics is very limited, hence the above growing up vocabulary "ball, strike, safe, out, hit, error... yada."
What I do know, hatrid.. vitriol drives a damn wedge into bipartisan.
When I see stuff like "low life" being tossed out, I genuinely wanna regurgitate. (Fun with words, I know what regurgitate is, but I wondered about when food goes down, is it gurgitate? I only found one instance that said so, so I ain't sure.)
So.... we already did the ole "Vargy pitched a great game" bit - and, forgive me Father, that ain't working. When I see name-calling, is it 'compassion' that makes me wanna "NO, NO, NO" in attempt of sticking up for the folks labeled meanly or, some might call it butt-hurt. I'd prefer to think of it as butt-fire, cause it really burns my butt for EITHER side to say 'all encompassing' mean stuff.)
Is it compassion that makes me shout "NO NO NO" (Excuse me, I am perfect <-- I never ever said that.)
Or is it idiocy, maybe Miller Lite that makes me jump in to simply point out name-calling just ain't pretty.
I much preferred baseball, basketball, football, track over debate way back when - but if one were debating me here they might say "Victor, you, in a roundabout way are name-calling the name-callers" and maybe that's just sadly so - so shame on me.
My whole life, I'd avoided conflict like someone using hand-sanitizer today to stay away from this Flu crap.
As I age, I jump right in to defend, point out, "please no 'we-they' "... I'm aware there are two sides, multiple races, differing genders, etc.. WHY must we use horrific descriptors of people of a similar mind, race, gender?
MLK and Mother Teresa, using terminology of today, might say "Chill out Victor. Leave it alone. Counter hatrid with love."
Excuse me, I am NOT perfect <-- there, I said THAT.
I will probably, into the near future, once again forget "Vargy pitched a great game.... Counter hatrid with love" and jump in to defend.
Today's Kansas City Star had a pretty nice article on our up and coming quarterback to be Patrick Mahomes. The entire article lauded this kid. His throwing (there, that word is familiar to me), his work ethic, his 'smarts'... To me though, the best quote was from long of tooth linebacker Derrick Johnson (a 13 year veteran)... his quote was:
"He did a good job keeping his mouth shut and learning a lot." I could certainly learn from that, and color me a name-caller, but so could many name-calling name-callers.
Vargy pitched a great game. Sorry, kinda, butt-fire. Vitriol, patooey.
Love, Victurd
As I age, and am ever amazed at the extensive vocabulary of folks - in both directions: a) I can't believe he/she used that word in that grammatically incorrect way, and b) Holy crap, lemme run and get Webster.
My longtime friend from HS, when he blogs - I sit at my computer and before ever clicking his blog link, I've got my $29 Cricket cell phone by my side, and Dictionary.com in the ready-set-go mode as I just KNOW I'm gonna learn a word or fourteen.
The new one, to me anyways, I'm seeing more and more on folk's posting is vitriol (or vitrioled, vitrioling, etc). I've witnessed this word on both ends of the teeter totter. "Something highly caustic or severe in effect, as criticism." I think that's how you spell it anyways. TO ME, it's all about hatrid (or hating back) for hate.
Whilst I haven't written them down, I've seen a kajillion very unpleasant 'adjectives' spouted at 'they'. Again, the left and right side of the teeter totter - and that, in and of itself, pisses ME off at ME, because maybe that's what I'm doing, indicating only "two schools of thought" thereby falling culprit to 'we/they', suggesting 'mindless, unable to think for self." Shame on me.
Excuse me, I am perfect <-- I never ever said.
What I can relate - is I've done (goofy) short, ten or twenty question psychological pigeon-hole surveys - and the one word that comes up more times than naught is "compassion." I'M NOT SAYING THAT, THE SURVEY THINGY HAS.
Excuse me, I am perfect <-- I NEVER said that, ever.
I abhor name-calling. I abhor "we-they" unless it relates to MU-KU, then hell to the yeah I am all about that. I can't stand denigration, ESPECIALLY when it refers to encompassment, or, 'they'.
That's bassackwards folks, said I, the "Excuse me, I am perfect" <-- I NEVER EVER said that.
My knowledge of politics is very limited, hence the above growing up vocabulary "ball, strike, safe, out, hit, error... yada."
What I do know, hatrid.. vitriol drives a damn wedge into bipartisan.
When I see stuff like "low life" being tossed out, I genuinely wanna regurgitate. (Fun with words, I know what regurgitate is, but I wondered about when food goes down, is it gurgitate? I only found one instance that said so, so I ain't sure.)
So.... we already did the ole "Vargy pitched a great game" bit - and, forgive me Father, that ain't working. When I see name-calling, is it 'compassion' that makes me wanna "NO, NO, NO" in attempt of sticking up for the folks labeled meanly or, some might call it butt-hurt. I'd prefer to think of it as butt-fire, cause it really burns my butt for EITHER side to say 'all encompassing' mean stuff.)
Is it compassion that makes me shout "NO NO NO" (Excuse me, I am perfect <-- I never ever said that.)
Or is it idiocy, maybe Miller Lite that makes me jump in to simply point out name-calling just ain't pretty.
I much preferred baseball, basketball, football, track over debate way back when - but if one were debating me here they might say "Victor, you, in a roundabout way are name-calling the name-callers" and maybe that's just sadly so - so shame on me.
My whole life, I'd avoided conflict like someone using hand-sanitizer today to stay away from this Flu crap.
As I age, I jump right in to defend, point out, "please no 'we-they' "... I'm aware there are two sides, multiple races, differing genders, etc.. WHY must we use horrific descriptors of people of a similar mind, race, gender?
MLK and Mother Teresa, using terminology of today, might say "Chill out Victor. Leave it alone. Counter hatrid with love."
Excuse me, I am NOT perfect <-- there, I said THAT.
I will probably, into the near future, once again forget "Vargy pitched a great game.... Counter hatrid with love" and jump in to defend.
Today's Kansas City Star had a pretty nice article on our up and coming quarterback to be Patrick Mahomes. The entire article lauded this kid. His throwing (there, that word is familiar to me), his work ethic, his 'smarts'... To me though, the best quote was from long of tooth linebacker Derrick Johnson (a 13 year veteran)... his quote was:
"He did a good job keeping his mouth shut and learning a lot." I could certainly learn from that, and color me a name-caller, but so could many name-calling name-callers.
Vargy pitched a great game. Sorry, kinda, butt-fire. Vitriol, patooey.
Love, Victurd
Saturday, February 10, 2018
Twick or tweak.......
Ding dong......
Nope, not, nada.. No Ding Dongs, Twinkies, no candy, no processed food, Coke/Pepsi/Mtn Dew - NO. White bread? Be for real Victor. Say goodbye to Frito Lay, Dunkin Donuts, 300 burgers.. NO, NOT THE 300 BURGERS! Sorry Victor, you're getting fat, tweak that.
Ahm, yes, fine JC Penny staffer, I needs me a pair of them skinny 36-30 jeans... Well sir, howabout we tweak that and go with a pair of 38-30 relaxed fit? Oh ok..
"Pride is hard to swallow, but it will go down." Conrad Dobler (at least that's who I heard said it first.)
Tweak: twist or pull (something) sharply.. pull, jerk, tug, twist, twitch, pinch, squeeze.
No, not that one.... what's the other one?
Tweak: improve (a mechanism or system) by making fine adjustments to it.
Yeah, that one.
You mean like November 2018? Oops, sorry......... yes, if you mean getting out and exercising your right to vote, yes, like that.
You mean like insteada passing the Hot Damn bottle around, we carry sanitary wipes with us everywhere? We fist bump insteada handshake? We tell the sneezy cubicle dude next to us "Go home dude or we will neuter you." Yeah, sorta, I think you're getting it, or close. We gotta tweak this dadgum world.
What else blogger-breath?
Well, little things.. You mean like rescue a dog or a cat?.. Victor, I notice words coming out both the right side and the left side of your mouth. Tweak that wouldya? Yeah but, apartment dictators won't lemme have a dog. You mean landlord. OK, yes, landlord. OK, then what about a cat? You LOVE cats too. yeah but, yeah but, LANDLORD wants a $300 deposit. VICTOR, you started this tweak crap, are you in or out? OK, I'll get a dadgum piggy bank, start saving.
Back to "the diet" Victor.. howabout becoming a weekday vegetarian.. we gotta keep up with the demand for meat products.. better for your health.. better for the environment... Maybe fast for a couple of meals and give what you would have spent to a charity? Victor?... VICTOR?!!! Oh, sorry... I was in this baby dream, and the lady had just handed me a 300 burger.. VICTOR! OK, damnit, rabbit food it is. Will peanut butter work too? Uh huh, will.
Anonymous blog person talking to Victor, how else? Enough about my big belly, what else can we tweak to make this a better world?
Thought you'd never ask.... a few ideas:
Pay it forward
Be a fountain, not a drain
Listen more, talk less
Hold the door open for someone
Maybe try the words 'sir' and 'ma'am'..
Pack a Care Kit for a homeless person
Keep on tweakin' anon dude, I'm enjoying this...
OK...
Maybe sign up as an organ donor..
Pickup trash out in public..
Do something for an elderly person... You mean, like, I'm old, drive myself the bowling alley for a.. VICTOR!!
Carry on your wayward way Anon:
OK....
Read the newspaper? Save it for someone else to read..
Buy a (DIET) soda from machine, leave some spare change for the next guy...
Go by a buddy's house, office and find they ain't there.. leave a note wishing them a good day..
HEY, maybe we could write a song! You know, like "I'd like to tweak the world to change, in perfect harmony." Victor, please stick to your day job. But I ain't got one? Tweak that, get one.
Mahatma Gandhi... Rosa Parks... Winston Churchill... Neslon Mandela... MLK... Mother Teresa... Princess Diana...
Yeah but, yeah but, all those folks are larger than life... I'm just an old fart on a fixed income who sits at home and watches Channel 9 all day....
Victor, change starts in small ways.... You CAN help. Getting off your duff and exercising would be a nice start.. and:
Think, before you answer.
Wing a compliment when you witness a deserving act...
Be a good neighbor (Yeah but, that guy upstairs kinda speaks in broken English... VICTOR...ok, sorry)..
Volunteer...
Pray...
Be authentic in everything you do.
Nuttin personal Anon dude, this blog has been kinda boring.
Victor, yes, change is heavy. But too: Wonderful. Rewarding. Enlightening.
Even if means giving up 300 burgers and caving in to buy that 38" belt?
Yes, Victor, now you're getting it. Oh, and one more thing - the undies. Victor, no more flipping.
In my best Alvin voice "OHHHHHHHHKKKKAAAYYYYY!"
Thanks, that's the twick... er, tweak.
Love, Victurd
Nope, not, nada.. No Ding Dongs, Twinkies, no candy, no processed food, Coke/Pepsi/Mtn Dew - NO. White bread? Be for real Victor. Say goodbye to Frito Lay, Dunkin Donuts, 300 burgers.. NO, NOT THE 300 BURGERS! Sorry Victor, you're getting fat, tweak that.
Ahm, yes, fine JC Penny staffer, I needs me a pair of them skinny 36-30 jeans... Well sir, howabout we tweak that and go with a pair of 38-30 relaxed fit? Oh ok..
"Pride is hard to swallow, but it will go down." Conrad Dobler (at least that's who I heard said it first.)
Tweak: twist or pull (something) sharply.. pull, jerk, tug, twist, twitch, pinch, squeeze.
No, not that one.... what's the other one?
Tweak: improve (a mechanism or system) by making fine adjustments to it.
Yeah, that one.
You mean like November 2018? Oops, sorry......... yes, if you mean getting out and exercising your right to vote, yes, like that.
You mean like insteada passing the Hot Damn bottle around, we carry sanitary wipes with us everywhere? We fist bump insteada handshake? We tell the sneezy cubicle dude next to us "Go home dude or we will neuter you." Yeah, sorta, I think you're getting it, or close. We gotta tweak this dadgum world.
What else blogger-breath?
Well, little things.. You mean like rescue a dog or a cat?.. Victor, I notice words coming out both the right side and the left side of your mouth. Tweak that wouldya? Yeah but, apartment dictators won't lemme have a dog. You mean landlord. OK, yes, landlord. OK, then what about a cat? You LOVE cats too. yeah but, yeah but, LANDLORD wants a $300 deposit. VICTOR, you started this tweak crap, are you in or out? OK, I'll get a dadgum piggy bank, start saving.
Back to "the diet" Victor.. howabout becoming a weekday vegetarian.. we gotta keep up with the demand for meat products.. better for your health.. better for the environment... Maybe fast for a couple of meals and give what you would have spent to a charity? Victor?... VICTOR?!!! Oh, sorry... I was in this baby dream, and the lady had just handed me a 300 burger.. VICTOR! OK, damnit, rabbit food it is. Will peanut butter work too? Uh huh, will.
Anonymous blog person talking to Victor, how else? Enough about my big belly, what else can we tweak to make this a better world?
Thought you'd never ask.... a few ideas:
Pay it forward
Be a fountain, not a drain
Listen more, talk less
Hold the door open for someone
Maybe try the words 'sir' and 'ma'am'..
Pack a Care Kit for a homeless person
Keep on tweakin' anon dude, I'm enjoying this...
OK...
Maybe sign up as an organ donor..
Pickup trash out in public..
Do something for an elderly person... You mean, like, I'm old, drive myself the bowling alley for a.. VICTOR!!
Carry on your wayward way Anon:
OK....
Read the newspaper? Save it for someone else to read..
Buy a (DIET) soda from machine, leave some spare change for the next guy...
Go by a buddy's house, office and find they ain't there.. leave a note wishing them a good day..
HEY, maybe we could write a song! You know, like "I'd like to tweak the world to change, in perfect harmony." Victor, please stick to your day job. But I ain't got one? Tweak that, get one.
Mahatma Gandhi... Rosa Parks... Winston Churchill... Neslon Mandela... MLK... Mother Teresa... Princess Diana...
Yeah but, yeah but, all those folks are larger than life... I'm just an old fart on a fixed income who sits at home and watches Channel 9 all day....
Victor, change starts in small ways.... You CAN help. Getting off your duff and exercising would be a nice start.. and:
Think, before you answer.
Wing a compliment when you witness a deserving act...
Be a good neighbor (Yeah but, that guy upstairs kinda speaks in broken English... VICTOR...ok, sorry)..
Volunteer...
Pray...
Be authentic in everything you do.
Nuttin personal Anon dude, this blog has been kinda boring.
Victor, yes, change is heavy. But too: Wonderful. Rewarding. Enlightening.
Even if means giving up 300 burgers and caving in to buy that 38" belt?
Yes, Victor, now you're getting it. Oh, and one more thing - the undies. Victor, no more flipping.
In my best Alvin voice "OHHHHHHHHKKKKAAAYYYYY!"
Thanks, that's the twick... er, tweak.
Love, Victurd
Friday, February 09, 2018
Short story......
I'm an addict. Uh huh, am.
I'm addicted to smile. Wherever I'm at, be it in a mall (Victor, you haven't been in a mall in years).. frown, ok dangit, WalMart, Piggly Wiggly, on a walk, at the gym, a ball game, a restaurant - my eyes hone, focus on ones that smile. Not the ones that smile just when someone's eyeballs are placed upon 'em, the ones that carry it, wear it, always.
I always wonder "where did they come from?"... "Was this learned from their folks/family?".. "Don't they too watch the news and somea the horrific stuff that happens within?"
My easy chair. Ben Gay. An aspirin. A peanut butter and banana sandwich. A wagging tail. A prescription. ALL things that make me feel better. Smiles do that, yeah they do. And, they're free. Smile out, farm out.
Admiration. You know, ya just know - those that possess this wonderful trait go thru many of the same tummy churns we all do. They gotta. Friggin' tailgaters. Nasty smells. More bills than bucks. Impatient folks. Whiney folks. Grumpy folks. Doing laundry, on hands and knees getting skid marks off the tiled floor, plunging a stopped up stool, bitter bitter bitter cold. Sweltering heat. Yes these dudes/dudettes smile thru it all. Smile out, farm out.
"Smile, it is the key that fits the lock of everybody's heart." Athony J. D'Angelo.
It's magnetic, for me anyways. Would I choose to sit around the living room with Gladys Kravits or Ellen? (Hell to the yeah, Ellen, ahm, got any extra ShutterFly checks?) Would I rather take a walk on the 3.4 mile path around Watkins Mill Lake with Will Smith or Archie Bunker? Will, let's go.
Color me a simpleton. Smile is like petrol to me. Antidepressant stuff. A massage to my senses. A big ole plate of lasagna on an empty stomach. YUM.
Smile, all the while.
Smiles are like lipstick, fresh ink, maple syrup, glue, yada - THEY RUB OFF. OFF, in in the right way. The scratch to an itch. The comfortor to the cold air. The poncho to the rain.
Duck feathers. Go ahead life, pour, rain, talk crap, be your usual stern self, make me run laps, complain complain is your name... POOF, smiles are strong, they way wipe all that out. Best thing since sliced bread and those Mr. Clean Magic Erasers. Hint, your can buy knockoff Mr. Clean Erasers at the Dollar Store for a dolla. Do the same thing. Savings makes one smile. Yum.
I tried Googling "why some people smile a lot" and found a lot of psychological gobbildy goo. I don't think they know. I say 'blessed.' Blessed is the one that smiles at, on, during life.
"Let us always meet each other with smile, for smile is the beginning of love." Mother Teresa.
It ain't expensive. Our bank account won't show a current balance and an available balance whilst we await the cost of that smile to go thru. It's free. It's fun. It's happy. It's caramelized, as in "how about them apples?"
Life is hard, danged hard. Smiling is hitting the ball on the sweet parta the bat. Pulling down that football in the corner of the end zone with one hand. Seeing a loved one, friend, obtain attention, reward, kudos, atta boys - and one smiles for them, when nobody's lookin. Coming upon a free ice cream sample thingy the Piggly. Getting gas for .17 cents less per gallon at QT thanks to Piggly Yum.
I'd mentioned 'short story', sorry, words got away from me. Mebbe soon we'll discuss 'smirks'. I love them puppies too. You gotta love smirks, 'cause they're usually from a friend planning their next 'evil' (hella fun) move, reply, act.
Life is hard, smiling really helps. My take anyways.
Have a smiley day... even if life lends you a shart.
Love, Victurd
I'm addicted to smile. Wherever I'm at, be it in a mall (Victor, you haven't been in a mall in years).. frown, ok dangit, WalMart, Piggly Wiggly, on a walk, at the gym, a ball game, a restaurant - my eyes hone, focus on ones that smile. Not the ones that smile just when someone's eyeballs are placed upon 'em, the ones that carry it, wear it, always.
I always wonder "where did they come from?"... "Was this learned from their folks/family?".. "Don't they too watch the news and somea the horrific stuff that happens within?"
My easy chair. Ben Gay. An aspirin. A peanut butter and banana sandwich. A wagging tail. A prescription. ALL things that make me feel better. Smiles do that, yeah they do. And, they're free. Smile out, farm out.
Admiration. You know, ya just know - those that possess this wonderful trait go thru many of the same tummy churns we all do. They gotta. Friggin' tailgaters. Nasty smells. More bills than bucks. Impatient folks. Whiney folks. Grumpy folks. Doing laundry, on hands and knees getting skid marks off the tiled floor, plunging a stopped up stool, bitter bitter bitter cold. Sweltering heat. Yes these dudes/dudettes smile thru it all. Smile out, farm out.
"Smile, it is the key that fits the lock of everybody's heart." Athony J. D'Angelo.
It's magnetic, for me anyways. Would I choose to sit around the living room with Gladys Kravits or Ellen? (Hell to the yeah, Ellen, ahm, got any extra ShutterFly checks?) Would I rather take a walk on the 3.4 mile path around Watkins Mill Lake with Will Smith or Archie Bunker? Will, let's go.
Color me a simpleton. Smile is like petrol to me. Antidepressant stuff. A massage to my senses. A big ole plate of lasagna on an empty stomach. YUM.
Smile, all the while.
Smiles are like lipstick, fresh ink, maple syrup, glue, yada - THEY RUB OFF. OFF, in in the right way. The scratch to an itch. The comfortor to the cold air. The poncho to the rain.
Duck feathers. Go ahead life, pour, rain, talk crap, be your usual stern self, make me run laps, complain complain is your name... POOF, smiles are strong, they way wipe all that out. Best thing since sliced bread and those Mr. Clean Magic Erasers. Hint, your can buy knockoff Mr. Clean Erasers at the Dollar Store for a dolla. Do the same thing. Savings makes one smile. Yum.
I tried Googling "why some people smile a lot" and found a lot of psychological gobbildy goo. I don't think they know. I say 'blessed.' Blessed is the one that smiles at, on, during life.
"Let us always meet each other with smile, for smile is the beginning of love." Mother Teresa.
It ain't expensive. Our bank account won't show a current balance and an available balance whilst we await the cost of that smile to go thru. It's free. It's fun. It's happy. It's caramelized, as in "how about them apples?"
Life is hard, danged hard. Smiling is hitting the ball on the sweet parta the bat. Pulling down that football in the corner of the end zone with one hand. Seeing a loved one, friend, obtain attention, reward, kudos, atta boys - and one smiles for them, when nobody's lookin. Coming upon a free ice cream sample thingy the Piggly. Getting gas for .17 cents less per gallon at QT thanks to Piggly Yum.
I'd mentioned 'short story', sorry, words got away from me. Mebbe soon we'll discuss 'smirks'. I love them puppies too. You gotta love smirks, 'cause they're usually from a friend planning their next 'evil' (hella fun) move, reply, act.
Life is hard, smiling really helps. My take anyways.
Have a smiley day... even if life lends you a shart.
Love, Victurd
Thursday, February 08, 2018
It's only words, and words are all I have.......
Yes, a love song by the Bee Gees long ago...
"Only words" today, in this hurry hurry, hubba hubba fast paced world - get us, others in trouble. We text, get a text back, the person very obviously upset, "NO NO! That's not what I meant, I meant no harm." Or, maybe the other way around, we receive a text, think "WHAT?", get all huffity.. they just underlined huffity meaning it ain't a word. Should be.
Too late, them words 'been throwed.' (Lamberts, home of "Throwed Rolls", ever eaten there? I ain't)
We are a complicated sort. We go thru minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years forming ourselves - have a multitude of thoughts, sentences, paragraphs, pages, chapters, novels stored up in our physical/mental repertoire - and it all gets loused up, bassackwards in a split second text we send or, one we read.
Same with an email. Switching momentarily, ever get an abrupt email from a boss that moves you to "Did you really just say that? Do you have any idea what I/we go thru every day simply to just sit in this chair? Sick kids, sick car, bad weather, relationship woes, headaches, backaches, bellyaches, cash advance receipts we worry we'll won't be able to reconcile before payday, etc., and in a two paragraph email I/we are made to feel the urge to vomit after what you wrote?"
Forgive me Father, I slipped, moved, from misinterpreted to mean. I once worked at a place where I had a boss that shouldn't have been a boss - and one email from her (oops) would make me want to RUN to the want ads, update my resume', get the hell outta Dodge. It's only words, and words are all she had, and they were usually along the line of what a 1960's HS football coach would spout. (OK, maybe I don't need Cancun, margarita, that'll work for today.)
Vented, sorry, kinda.
Back to misconstrued. I'm beginning to think I (or maybe we) should never ever type to another. OH, that's fine Victor, so you write a damn blog after you say that? Yeah, sorry, I guess I do, have, am.
Now, the punctuation ones, to me, are fun. You know:
Let's eat, grandpa.
Let's eat grandpa.
I like cooking my family and pets. (Use commas, don't be a psycho.)
If you don't think punctuation is important, try forgetting the comma when you tell someone "I'm sorry, I love you."
Text:
He texted: sleep with me?:)
She replied: I wanna baby :(
Mildly distraught, he texted back: okay.. this is one of those times being grammatically correct is important.
Church billboard:
Best Sausage supper
In St. Louis
Come and eat
Pastor Thomas Ressler
Words are fun, ambiguous, happy, sad, rewarding, condescending, and sometimes scary as hell.
Misplace your cell phone? Call it from your landline, or borrow a friend's cell to call it.
Misplace a comma, mebbe use the wrong word(s)? Prepare for a storm, cursewords, nab a divorce lawyer. Again, goes both ways. <-- SEE? Even that can be misconstrued... aye yai yai...
Mebbe, JUST mebbe, one of the best comps I've received, a buddy was commenting on something that was kinda hard to understand and without saying that he entered "You know, kinda like one of Vic's blogs."
Noun. Verb. Adjective. Pronoun. Preposition. Conjunction. Determiner. Exclamation. Holy Word Class Batman!
Humor: comedy, amusement, mood, temper, nature, indulge, accommodate, pander to, comply with, yada.
The humor of the situation.
He is completely without humor.
The humor of his joke eluded the audience.
The author's humor came across better in the book than in the movie.
To humor a child.
The chef is feeling out of humor again and will have to be treated carefully.
Hell they even spell it another way: humour.
I find no humor in this blog Victor.
Sorry. I'll go now. Call you in a second.
Before I go though, sharing a quick feel good from yesterday. Not a text, an actual conversation. Surprise grandpa show at 1st grade lunch yesterday. Midway thru "has anything special happened today?".. She thought.. shook her head no, then replied "not until just now." Yum.
Tune in tomorrow for "I HATE TALKING ON THE PHONE."
Love, Victurd
"Only words" today, in this hurry hurry, hubba hubba fast paced world - get us, others in trouble. We text, get a text back, the person very obviously upset, "NO NO! That's not what I meant, I meant no harm." Or, maybe the other way around, we receive a text, think "WHAT?", get all huffity.. they just underlined huffity meaning it ain't a word. Should be.
Too late, them words 'been throwed.' (Lamberts, home of "Throwed Rolls", ever eaten there? I ain't)
We are a complicated sort. We go thru minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years forming ourselves - have a multitude of thoughts, sentences, paragraphs, pages, chapters, novels stored up in our physical/mental repertoire - and it all gets loused up, bassackwards in a split second text we send or, one we read.
Same with an email. Switching momentarily, ever get an abrupt email from a boss that moves you to "Did you really just say that? Do you have any idea what I/we go thru every day simply to just sit in this chair? Sick kids, sick car, bad weather, relationship woes, headaches, backaches, bellyaches, cash advance receipts we worry we'll won't be able to reconcile before payday, etc., and in a two paragraph email I/we are made to feel the urge to vomit after what you wrote?"
Forgive me Father, I slipped, moved, from misinterpreted to mean. I once worked at a place where I had a boss that shouldn't have been a boss - and one email from her (oops) would make me want to RUN to the want ads, update my resume', get the hell outta Dodge. It's only words, and words are all she had, and they were usually along the line of what a 1960's HS football coach would spout. (OK, maybe I don't need Cancun, margarita, that'll work for today.)
Vented, sorry, kinda.
Back to misconstrued. I'm beginning to think I (or maybe we) should never ever type to another. OH, that's fine Victor, so you write a damn blog after you say that? Yeah, sorry, I guess I do, have, am.
Now, the punctuation ones, to me, are fun. You know:
Let's eat, grandpa.
Let's eat grandpa.
I like cooking my family and pets. (Use commas, don't be a psycho.)
If you don't think punctuation is important, try forgetting the comma when you tell someone "I'm sorry, I love you."
Text:
He texted: sleep with me?:)
She replied: I wanna baby :(
Mildly distraught, he texted back: okay.. this is one of those times being grammatically correct is important.
Church billboard:
Best Sausage supper
In St. Louis
Come and eat
Pastor Thomas Ressler
Words are fun, ambiguous, happy, sad, rewarding, condescending, and sometimes scary as hell.
Misplace your cell phone? Call it from your landline, or borrow a friend's cell to call it.
Misplace a comma, mebbe use the wrong word(s)? Prepare for a storm, cursewords, nab a divorce lawyer. Again, goes both ways. <-- SEE? Even that can be misconstrued... aye yai yai...
Mebbe, JUST mebbe, one of the best comps I've received, a buddy was commenting on something that was kinda hard to understand and without saying that he entered "You know, kinda like one of Vic's blogs."
Noun. Verb. Adjective. Pronoun. Preposition. Conjunction. Determiner. Exclamation. Holy Word Class Batman!
Humor: comedy, amusement, mood, temper, nature, indulge, accommodate, pander to, comply with, yada.
The humor of the situation.
He is completely without humor.
The humor of his joke eluded the audience.
The author's humor came across better in the book than in the movie.
To humor a child.
The chef is feeling out of humor again and will have to be treated carefully.
Hell they even spell it another way: humour.
I find no humor in this blog Victor.
Sorry. I'll go now. Call you in a second.
Before I go though, sharing a quick feel good from yesterday. Not a text, an actual conversation. Surprise grandpa show at 1st grade lunch yesterday. Midway thru "has anything special happened today?".. She thought.. shook her head no, then replied "not until just now." Yum.
Tune in tomorrow for "I HATE TALKING ON THE PHONE."
Love, Victurd
Wednesday, February 07, 2018
You can go your own way......
Music, to me, teaches... tells.. relates..
Wiki, the all-knowing of the world (even more so than Snopes, Alexa, Echo, Home, Gladys Kravits, Nurse Ratched, yada) relates "This song was written on vacation in Florida in a house the band rented. By this point, the members of Fleetwood Mac were not getting along very well." Lyrics by Lindsey Buckingham, and supposedly written to bid adieu to Stevie Nicks... added to that frey, John and Christine McVie's marriage was said to be coming to an end. Mebbe why all of this was placed on their Rumours album huh?
Forgetting alla the above........
Go your own way, to me, rocks. We, the boomers of the world, are 'drunk of our own era.' "Best. Music. Ever." "You say you want a revolution?" "Make love not war." Freedom from societal restrictions ("WHY?"), CHOOSE OUR OWN WAY, finding new meaning to life. "WHY NOT?"
I'm drunk with all that. To each, his, her, their own. If conformity works for you, so be it.
Frienda mine was having a discussion with her son, a senior in high school about direction, college, major, minor, WAY, setting the table for life. Scary, yes. Also, very exciting.
Two can jointly go their own way, build the Jenga tower together - and perhaps watch holes develop to the ultimate demise - or, they can brick and mortar that sucker until death do they part. Going your own (coupled) way, obviously for this twice divorced person, is darned difficult - but I know too, oh so rewarding. Going your own way with a side order of give and take thrown in.
One can be whatever they wanna be. Or try. Just watched a brief snippet of a Denzel Washington speech.. "If you fall down seven times, get up eight times." Undaunted.
Sure, sometimes swerves, speed limits, obligatory things happen causing one to conform in the name of putting food on the table, water in the tap, gas in the stove.
"Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They are not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones that do." Rob Siltanen
I likes that Rob, I really likes that.
I'm very thankful for all that served - giving us our freedoms. Unless you've lived in a cave (and more power to ya if that's "your own way") some things in the world are pretty ugly nowadays. Thank goodness Boomers have propelled "why", "why not", "make love not war" and "PEACE" into this millennium.
So, far out young dude deciding your own way. At the risk of embarrassing you, your mom, I'm going to relate some of your conversation:
"It's really hard to decide. I know what I don't like. Corporate jobs feel restrictive and I get a sense that it's more about being used than actually progressing so that scares me." (FAR OUT YOUNG DUDE, THAT'S MUSIC TO BOOMER EARS!)... I love history but also like exploring the questions I find myself pondering daily. Questions like 'What makes a person happy', and 'Do we really know ourselves or do we just know how we perceive ourselves."
Continuing "I've been considering philophy. It's something I consider pretty often. Because it seems hard to translate my passions into anything else in the modern United State's society. I think it is odd we don't seem to produce any great thinkers anymore or any great people at all. You know what I mean?"
Yes, we 'drunk with ourselves' boomers know exactly what you mean - BUT, YOU are a great thinker. YOU, because you're crazy enough (said very lovingly) to think you can change the world, will be one of the ones that do.
You can go your own way......
Love, Victurd
Wiki, the all-knowing of the world (even more so than Snopes, Alexa, Echo, Home, Gladys Kravits, Nurse Ratched, yada) relates "This song was written on vacation in Florida in a house the band rented. By this point, the members of Fleetwood Mac were not getting along very well." Lyrics by Lindsey Buckingham, and supposedly written to bid adieu to Stevie Nicks... added to that frey, John and Christine McVie's marriage was said to be coming to an end. Mebbe why all of this was placed on their Rumours album huh?
Forgetting alla the above........
Go your own way, to me, rocks. We, the boomers of the world, are 'drunk of our own era.' "Best. Music. Ever." "You say you want a revolution?" "Make love not war." Freedom from societal restrictions ("WHY?"), CHOOSE OUR OWN WAY, finding new meaning to life. "WHY NOT?"
I'm drunk with all that. To each, his, her, their own. If conformity works for you, so be it.
Frienda mine was having a discussion with her son, a senior in high school about direction, college, major, minor, WAY, setting the table for life. Scary, yes. Also, very exciting.
Two can jointly go their own way, build the Jenga tower together - and perhaps watch holes develop to the ultimate demise - or, they can brick and mortar that sucker until death do they part. Going your own (coupled) way, obviously for this twice divorced person, is darned difficult - but I know too, oh so rewarding. Going your own way with a side order of give and take thrown in.
One can be whatever they wanna be. Or try. Just watched a brief snippet of a Denzel Washington speech.. "If you fall down seven times, get up eight times." Undaunted.
Sure, sometimes swerves, speed limits, obligatory things happen causing one to conform in the name of putting food on the table, water in the tap, gas in the stove.
"Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They are not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones that do." Rob Siltanen
I likes that Rob, I really likes that.
I'm very thankful for all that served - giving us our freedoms. Unless you've lived in a cave (and more power to ya if that's "your own way") some things in the world are pretty ugly nowadays. Thank goodness Boomers have propelled "why", "why not", "make love not war" and "PEACE" into this millennium.
So, far out young dude deciding your own way. At the risk of embarrassing you, your mom, I'm going to relate some of your conversation:
"It's really hard to decide. I know what I don't like. Corporate jobs feel restrictive and I get a sense that it's more about being used than actually progressing so that scares me." (FAR OUT YOUNG DUDE, THAT'S MUSIC TO BOOMER EARS!)... I love history but also like exploring the questions I find myself pondering daily. Questions like 'What makes a person happy', and 'Do we really know ourselves or do we just know how we perceive ourselves."
Continuing "I've been considering philophy. It's something I consider pretty often. Because it seems hard to translate my passions into anything else in the modern United State's society. I think it is odd we don't seem to produce any great thinkers anymore or any great people at all. You know what I mean?"
Yes, we 'drunk with ourselves' boomers know exactly what you mean - BUT, YOU are a great thinker. YOU, because you're crazy enough (said very lovingly) to think you can change the world, will be one of the ones that do.
You can go your own way......
Love, Victurd
Monday, February 05, 2018
Sounds of silence, kinda sorta...
I guess it's no secret, I enjoy writing - and I'm very thankful that upon occasion one happens by here. As a youth, I could listen to a song, even repeat a good portion of the lyrics and still not pay one hill of beans attention to what the artist meant, or was trying to say for years and years...
As an older fart now I kinda listen to 'em. Sometimes songs can even be an impetus (to me anyways) to write.
As I sat in my easy chair this morning, still fairly newly retired - the very first word that came to mind was silence. Pardon my Fre (that's an abbreviated "French") silence is, can be a 'mofo.' It's good in a way as one exits the commute, the office desk, cubicle, constant break chatter, he said/she saids, cussing in traffic (even if the other guy weighs 260), and standing in watch of one's bank balance depleting as you pour gasoline into your tank to fill it up.
Think it's time we stop now, what's that sound.......
No, that ain't it.
But, on the side of "I'm so dadgum happy I'm no longer working, I'm enjoying this newfound silence" comes:
Damn I'm bored. It's my fault, but I am. It's toooo silent.
Then again I think "I kinda likes that... twelve straight games of Sudoku (where I even win a few) makes one's eyes tired, so I retire to nap. I always peek at the clock before I sink into bed so thataway I can tell myself when I awaken "Ok, you slept an hour, you should be good to go" - or -
"Victor, you only napped 20 minutes, maybe you'll have to take another one later." OK, I like your thinking.
So I was gonna do a Sounds of Silence and copy/paste the lyrics, and in reading what all they meant, it was about 'people talking without speaking, people hearing without listening" - and I thought "hell, I can jump into a Facebook political post and get all that in a millisecond.. nah, nevermind."
The below is supposed to be an old nursery rhyme, with added lyrics by Simon, sung by Garfunkel. Maybe about a flame? Maybe about the changing of seasons?
I tend to moreso think of it as how fleeting life is. Recently read a cousin's email on how they'd attended 7 grandson basketball games on Saturday, and 4 more yesterday. Reading the email, thinking about how tired I'da been after that, I almost wanted to take a nap.. THEN, the thought came to mind "how cool is that, you are GREAT grandparents, and we all realize how quickly that comes and goes." Fleeting, it's all so fleeting.
April, come she will
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain
May, she will stay
Resting in my arms again
There is seemingly no silence in April or May - be it the sounds of rain on the roof, or lawnmowers a buzzin'. We're too young to get tired, and too simple to stop and think "It ain't gonna last."
June, she'll change her tune
In restless walks she'll prowl the night
July, she will fly
And give no warning to her flight
We're getting tired, but on we go we must. Time oh time, where have you gone. This maybe will all one day end.
August, die she must
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold
September, I'll remember
A love once new has now grown old
Heck no, at our age, we ain't deathly... We're in reflection. We toss and turn between "I want what once was" and "This really ain't bad. Maybe the sounds of silence is golden."
1979, I remember it like it was yesterday. Emmitt Thomas was a safety for the Kansas City Chiefs. Emmitt held (still holds) the interception record (58) for the Kansas City Chiefs. He was 'aged' in athletic years in 1979 (which, from 8th grade until then it's like 19 years of football.) The Chiefs had this annual 'timed run' at the end of training camp. I don't remember how far, how many laps - but I will never forget Emmitt's last one. He started out like April.. seemed to be 'staying' as he made it to May.. June changed his tune.. July he did not fly.. August, his quest to continue as a professional football player vanished, ended, he stopped before the finish line. He retired after that race. Yes it was sad, but yes, that's what happens and we deal with it, or not. In the span of that race I was reminded how fleeting life is. As the gun to start the race happened, Emmitt was caught in "I want what once was." Life, races, months, seasons, they are fleeting.
Ain't meant to be a depressing blog. Just means life changes, and that's ok. Sometimes silence is a very good thing, sometimes it ain't. Refreshing to remember, the good Lord willing, that's usually our call.
Happy to end, report that #11 (one in the same Emmitt Thomas) just completed his 75th year in life as the secondary backs coach for our Kansas City Chiefs. From his youthful shoes, he's still in April/May.
April, come she will.
Love, Victurd
As an older fart now I kinda listen to 'em. Sometimes songs can even be an impetus (to me anyways) to write.
As I sat in my easy chair this morning, still fairly newly retired - the very first word that came to mind was silence. Pardon my Fre (that's an abbreviated "French") silence is, can be a 'mofo.' It's good in a way as one exits the commute, the office desk, cubicle, constant break chatter, he said/she saids, cussing in traffic (even if the other guy weighs 260), and standing in watch of one's bank balance depleting as you pour gasoline into your tank to fill it up.
Think it's time we stop now, what's that sound.......
No, that ain't it.
But, on the side of "I'm so dadgum happy I'm no longer working, I'm enjoying this newfound silence" comes:
Damn I'm bored. It's my fault, but I am. It's toooo silent.
Then again I think "I kinda likes that... twelve straight games of Sudoku (where I even win a few) makes one's eyes tired, so I retire to nap. I always peek at the clock before I sink into bed so thataway I can tell myself when I awaken "Ok, you slept an hour, you should be good to go" - or -
"Victor, you only napped 20 minutes, maybe you'll have to take another one later." OK, I like your thinking.
So I was gonna do a Sounds of Silence and copy/paste the lyrics, and in reading what all they meant, it was about 'people talking without speaking, people hearing without listening" - and I thought "hell, I can jump into a Facebook political post and get all that in a millisecond.. nah, nevermind."
The below is supposed to be an old nursery rhyme, with added lyrics by Simon, sung by Garfunkel. Maybe about a flame? Maybe about the changing of seasons?
I tend to moreso think of it as how fleeting life is. Recently read a cousin's email on how they'd attended 7 grandson basketball games on Saturday, and 4 more yesterday. Reading the email, thinking about how tired I'da been after that, I almost wanted to take a nap.. THEN, the thought came to mind "how cool is that, you are GREAT grandparents, and we all realize how quickly that comes and goes." Fleeting, it's all so fleeting.
April, come she will
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain
May, she will stay
Resting in my arms again
There is seemingly no silence in April or May - be it the sounds of rain on the roof, or lawnmowers a buzzin'. We're too young to get tired, and too simple to stop and think "It ain't gonna last."
June, she'll change her tune
In restless walks she'll prowl the night
July, she will fly
And give no warning to her flight
We're getting tired, but on we go we must. Time oh time, where have you gone. This maybe will all one day end.
August, die she must
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold
September, I'll remember
A love once new has now grown old
Heck no, at our age, we ain't deathly... We're in reflection. We toss and turn between "I want what once was" and "This really ain't bad. Maybe the sounds of silence is golden."
1979, I remember it like it was yesterday. Emmitt Thomas was a safety for the Kansas City Chiefs. Emmitt held (still holds) the interception record (58) for the Kansas City Chiefs. He was 'aged' in athletic years in 1979 (which, from 8th grade until then it's like 19 years of football.) The Chiefs had this annual 'timed run' at the end of training camp. I don't remember how far, how many laps - but I will never forget Emmitt's last one. He started out like April.. seemed to be 'staying' as he made it to May.. June changed his tune.. July he did not fly.. August, his quest to continue as a professional football player vanished, ended, he stopped before the finish line. He retired after that race. Yes it was sad, but yes, that's what happens and we deal with it, or not. In the span of that race I was reminded how fleeting life is. As the gun to start the race happened, Emmitt was caught in "I want what once was." Life, races, months, seasons, they are fleeting.
Ain't meant to be a depressing blog. Just means life changes, and that's ok. Sometimes silence is a very good thing, sometimes it ain't. Refreshing to remember, the good Lord willing, that's usually our call.
Happy to end, report that #11 (one in the same Emmitt Thomas) just completed his 75th year in life as the secondary backs coach for our Kansas City Chiefs. From his youthful shoes, he's still in April/May.
April, come she will.
Love, Victurd
Saturday, February 03, 2018
Utter nonsense......
We're all different, thank goodness.
I'm unique, just like you.
Many in our walk, rigid. Fun to them/those, may mean dialing up their 401K twenty times a day... Or, simply seeking the shelter of silence at work's end.
Might even throw scorn at 'fun'.
I kinda likes 'light'. Fun.
I, the simpleton, had to Google "define dilly."
I learned:
"An excellent example of a particular type of person or thing."
and/or
"One that is remarkable or outstanding... had a dilly of a storm."
and/or even
"Dilaudid, a strong pharmaceutical, injectable opioid" - yuck, that ain't fun.
Dilly dilly.
It either drives you nuts, or, to Spencers to see if they've got any T-shirts in stock.
Upon Googling "dilly dilly" I learned that Big Ben Roethlisberger even said it at the line of scrimmage during an audible. Uh huh, it's true, you can youtube it. (Mebbe one of several reasons why Todd Haley got fired eh?)
Unless one has lived in a cave, you've certainly witnessed a Dilly Dilly Budweiser Commercial or twelve. Fingernails to the chalk board for some, a now form of greeting (or departing) to many. Celebrate, celebrate, dance to the music kinda thing.
Miguel Patricio, Chief Marketing Officer for Anheuser-Busch InBev, when asked by writer Graham Flanagan "What in the hell does 'Dilly Dilly' mean?" - replied "Dilly Dilly doesn't mean anything. That's the beauty of it." Nonsensical.
Again, those rigid ones, once it's commercial time and the fear of a Bud commercial might pop up, probably mute the TV. "Who would want fun?"
Well, in this day and age - or, for that matter any day and age: many of us do. Enough poopy stuff sneaks into our lives, flat tires, FB debates with 134 comments on a political post, the morning newspaper filled with homicides, bank account reconciliation, gas bills this time of year - WE DO. We want fun, light, NONSENSICAL.
I was, close your ears, never a Boy Scout. I was a Cub Scout. Religion WAS in our home/family, but we didn't attend church. As a Cub Scout, for some kinda badge I hadta go to a church and volunteer to assist with something. Being nine, that scared me, I quit, thus, ne'er a Boy Scout. Eh, it's ok. All of that to precede the Boy Scout motto: BE PREPARED. Super Bowl coming, it's a good bet you will hear Dilly Dilly again (and again, and again.)
Nonsensical. Want. Need. Dilly dilly.
Ideas? Wear a lampshade at a party. See how long you can hold a note. Try not to think about penguins. Rate passers by. Pretend you're a robot. Blink wildly and then close your eyes really tight for an interesting light show. Burn things up with a magnifying glass. (All, except the lampshade, stolen from the site ubran75.org)
Somea the most fun things I/we did as kids were nonsensical. I will never forget Sam (Class of 1969) and Vic (nomme, another Vic, class of 1970) driving around the cuckoo hamburger joint/hangout (or cuu cuu, kuu kuu, however you spell it) 69 times, then parked the car. Sam, class of '69 was driving. Vic, class of '70, got out, promenaded around the joint on foot one more lap, thus, making it 70 times. Nonsensical. Fun. Beats the hell out of a political roundtable. Or, muting the damned TV.
We really need nonsensical in our lives. Now, more than ever. Dilly Dilly.
Make sense?
Love, Victurd
I'm unique, just like you.
Many in our walk, rigid. Fun to them/those, may mean dialing up their 401K twenty times a day... Or, simply seeking the shelter of silence at work's end.
Might even throw scorn at 'fun'.
I kinda likes 'light'. Fun.
I, the simpleton, had to Google "define dilly."
I learned:
"An excellent example of a particular type of person or thing."
and/or
"One that is remarkable or outstanding... had a dilly of a storm."
and/or even
"Dilaudid, a strong pharmaceutical, injectable opioid" - yuck, that ain't fun.
Dilly dilly.
It either drives you nuts, or, to Spencers to see if they've got any T-shirts in stock.
Upon Googling "dilly dilly" I learned that Big Ben Roethlisberger even said it at the line of scrimmage during an audible. Uh huh, it's true, you can youtube it. (Mebbe one of several reasons why Todd Haley got fired eh?)
Unless one has lived in a cave, you've certainly witnessed a Dilly Dilly Budweiser Commercial or twelve. Fingernails to the chalk board for some, a now form of greeting (or departing) to many. Celebrate, celebrate, dance to the music kinda thing.
Miguel Patricio, Chief Marketing Officer for Anheuser-Busch InBev, when asked by writer Graham Flanagan "What in the hell does 'Dilly Dilly' mean?" - replied "Dilly Dilly doesn't mean anything. That's the beauty of it." Nonsensical.
Again, those rigid ones, once it's commercial time and the fear of a Bud commercial might pop up, probably mute the TV. "Who would want fun?"
Well, in this day and age - or, for that matter any day and age: many of us do. Enough poopy stuff sneaks into our lives, flat tires, FB debates with 134 comments on a political post, the morning newspaper filled with homicides, bank account reconciliation, gas bills this time of year - WE DO. We want fun, light, NONSENSICAL.
I was, close your ears, never a Boy Scout. I was a Cub Scout. Religion WAS in our home/family, but we didn't attend church. As a Cub Scout, for some kinda badge I hadta go to a church and volunteer to assist with something. Being nine, that scared me, I quit, thus, ne'er a Boy Scout. Eh, it's ok. All of that to precede the Boy Scout motto: BE PREPARED. Super Bowl coming, it's a good bet you will hear Dilly Dilly again (and again, and again.)
Nonsensical. Want. Need. Dilly dilly.
Ideas? Wear a lampshade at a party. See how long you can hold a note. Try not to think about penguins. Rate passers by. Pretend you're a robot. Blink wildly and then close your eyes really tight for an interesting light show. Burn things up with a magnifying glass. (All, except the lampshade, stolen from the site ubran75.org)
Somea the most fun things I/we did as kids were nonsensical. I will never forget Sam (Class of 1969) and Vic (nomme, another Vic, class of 1970) driving around the cuckoo hamburger joint/hangout (or cuu cuu, kuu kuu, however you spell it) 69 times, then parked the car. Sam, class of '69 was driving. Vic, class of '70, got out, promenaded around the joint on foot one more lap, thus, making it 70 times. Nonsensical. Fun. Beats the hell out of a political roundtable. Or, muting the damned TV.
We really need nonsensical in our lives. Now, more than ever. Dilly Dilly.
Make sense?
Love, Victurd
Friday, February 02, 2018
I know you are but what am I?
Yick, yuck, patooey.
Slams. Insinuations. You suck. Libtard. Deplorables. Discrimination. Me too. This side, that side. Theft. Shootings. Bombings of innocent people. Did your mother have any children that lived? Bitch. Shithead. Fucker. (Sorry, simply for impact purpose, and actually quoting.)
Highly, HIGHLY hyprocritical for me to say we need the below now more than ever.
Don't care.
We need the below now more than ever.
Stolen, verbatim, from a blog I did awhile back. A lotta that info, taken from a KC Star article on same.
"Be a fountain, not a drain."
(If you Google that quote - it will be attributed to Rex Hudler. If you read the below, you'll find out the actual origin of it)
Rex Hudler. He's presently the 'color man' on the Royal's TV broadcasts.. Much like any change, many don't like his antics. They're used to Frank White, Splitorff. Hudler is different. Upbeat. Occasionally zany. I don't get to hear him often, so I can't really address his talent, or lack thereof, but I can tell you I like him, his persona, his life.
Rex Hudler was a journeyman minor leaguer who finally made it to the bigs. A 14 year career saw him travel to 7 different teams, and 3 different countries. He always resurfaced when told "not good enough". Upbeat. Fountain.
He once took a june bug off his ballcap, and on a dare by his Cardinal teammate, ate it for $800.
You can knock Rex Hudler down. Witness the Yankees, the Baltimore Orioles, the Montreal Expos, St. Louis Cards, Yukolt Swallows, California Angels, Philadelphia Phillies.. and again by the Angels, this time fired as a broadcaster. Knocked down, he continues to smile, be upbeat, enjoy life. He's a fountain.
Rex Hudler and his wife have a child with a chromosomal abnormality. He and his wife started "Team Up For Down Syndrome", have raised thousands for public awareness, housing, education, job training, family counseling and health care for those living with Down Syndrome. He gives his time in every city he travels to. A fountain.
Rex grew up poor. His mother raised him. Her lifetime recommendation to him: Be a fountain, not a drain.
In spite of the blows life has placed on Rex, he chooses to be a fountain. He gets knocked down, but he gets up again. (Sorry Tubthumping, but I soooo like your song.) He smiles. He continues to be upbeat. He is a fountain, his mother should be proud.
Victor, be a fountain, not a drain. I'll try. Love, Victurd
(ADDED 2/2/2018: ALL OF US... all of us, before opening our mouths or typing a single letter, would do well to ask ourselves first, "Is this being a drain? If so, maybe I shouldn't say or type it.")
Slams. Insinuations. You suck. Libtard. Deplorables. Discrimination. Me too. This side, that side. Theft. Shootings. Bombings of innocent people. Did your mother have any children that lived? Bitch. Shithead. Fucker. (Sorry, simply for impact purpose, and actually quoting.)
Highly, HIGHLY hyprocritical for me to say we need the below now more than ever.
Don't care.
We need the below now more than ever.
Stolen, verbatim, from a blog I did awhile back. A lotta that info, taken from a KC Star article on same.
"Be a fountain, not a drain."
(If you Google that quote - it will be attributed to Rex Hudler. If you read the below, you'll find out the actual origin of it)
Rex Hudler. He's presently the 'color man' on the Royal's TV broadcasts.. Much like any change, many don't like his antics. They're used to Frank White, Splitorff. Hudler is different. Upbeat. Occasionally zany. I don't get to hear him often, so I can't really address his talent, or lack thereof, but I can tell you I like him, his persona, his life.
Rex Hudler was a journeyman minor leaguer who finally made it to the bigs. A 14 year career saw him travel to 7 different teams, and 3 different countries. He always resurfaced when told "not good enough". Upbeat. Fountain.
He once took a june bug off his ballcap, and on a dare by his Cardinal teammate, ate it for $800.
You can knock Rex Hudler down. Witness the Yankees, the Baltimore Orioles, the Montreal Expos, St. Louis Cards, Yukolt Swallows, California Angels, Philadelphia Phillies.. and again by the Angels, this time fired as a broadcaster. Knocked down, he continues to smile, be upbeat, enjoy life. He's a fountain.
Rex Hudler and his wife have a child with a chromosomal abnormality. He and his wife started "Team Up For Down Syndrome", have raised thousands for public awareness, housing, education, job training, family counseling and health care for those living with Down Syndrome. He gives his time in every city he travels to. A fountain.
Rex grew up poor. His mother raised him. Her lifetime recommendation to him: Be a fountain, not a drain.
In spite of the blows life has placed on Rex, he chooses to be a fountain. He gets knocked down, but he gets up again. (Sorry Tubthumping, but I soooo like your song.) He smiles. He continues to be upbeat. He is a fountain, his mother should be proud.
Victor, be a fountain, not a drain. I'll try. Love, Victurd
(ADDED 2/2/2018: ALL OF US... all of us, before opening our mouths or typing a single letter, would do well to ask ourselves first, "Is this being a drain? If so, maybe I shouldn't say or type it.")
Thursday, February 01, 2018
Vargy pitched a great game........
Open Facebook, insert foot.
Balance.
Checks and balances.
Differences.
Maybe not quite BFF's and certainly not FWB but FWD = Friends with differences.
I get worked up. I shouldn't.
I get worked up. I should.
Damnit darnit, what is the way?
Facebook is wonderful, I hate it.
I'm comforted we all walk into the Post Office going past the same, beautiful red, white and blue flag. On vacation, recently met folks from Australia, Germany, England. I listened with bated breath as we conversed and I was super interested in their take of "us." There, I said it. Us. US.
I've deleted a few that wear blinders - and, from the recent "how many hate me?" thing on FB, well over 200 have said astalavista to me. It's cool. It's balance. It's us, as in US. (Maybe I speaky with forked tongue and wear blinders as well huh?)
What I hate is... folks I love.. a dude I usedta coach... a fraternity brother.. one of my best friends from work... two neighborhood kids, heck, even a girl I'd kissed at the Plaza Theater..- we're of different, opposite beliefs - and I NEVER ever want to get so worked up to the point of losing them as friends... (relax, the ones I deleted, we were never all that close.. still doesn't make it right, oh well.) Point is, these/us, we're FWD, friends with differences. At the end of the day, I'd like to think we smile, shake hands - and go shoot bottle rockets together on the 4th of July.
Moose, Hos and Dyson. Awhile back they rushed from a game to a sport's bar to see a Merriweather pay-per-view fight. This specific sport's bar happens to be owned by the largest sport's talk radio station in our city. The joint was packed, so much so that any more entrants would put them in violation of fire code.
Moose, Hos and Dyson were denied entry.
Next day, Vargy pitched a great game, Moose homered. Moose was all upset by the events the night before (being turned away at the gate). Shame on him, do as I say, not as I do. When asked, after the game a question by a TV reporter, Moose would give a reply to the question. When asked a question by our City's other sport's radio station reporter, he replied to the question. When asked a question by the reporter that worked for the radio station/sport's bar that turned them away the night before, he would repeat "Vargy pitched a great game" - which had absolutely nothing to do with the reporter's question.
This continued, and continued - quite frankly to the point of discomfort. "Are you upset by last night's events?" (being turned away and not allowed entry to the the boxing match) "Vargy pitched a great game."... "Why are you doing this, why don't you answer our questions?".. "Vargy pitched a great game." Same answer, to infinity, to when the cows come home.
I care that I care politically. I care that others care politically. I get all worked up. Others, I think, get all worked up too.
At the time, I really disliked the interview with Moose, actually thought he was kinda being childish.
I've jumped, boiled, taken an extra BP pill (Blood pressure, not batting practice), veins popped, got all huffingly mad at some posts - and typed. Damnit darnit, I wished I hadn't done that. (Reminded me of the little ole lady who tried the old liquid white out to wipe out her words on the computer screen.) Victor, you idiot.
Yeah but.. yeah but.. we need balance.. we have differences.. it's what keeps us ticking whilst we're blessed to be on this side of the grass...
Yeah but.. yeah but...
Today, I kinda like Moose's pat answer.
So, if you see a future political post that upsets me to no end, watch for "Vargy pitched a great game." In a way, it shows I'm PO'ed, but it somehow affords me to no sticky foot in mouth, or cleat, in Moose's case. Maybe Moose was onto something.
I love 'us'. Uh huh, US. We're FWD's. That said,
DACA, dreamers, DT, Kennedy response, shitholes, taxes, education; the differences within - yada:
"WHY YOU MISERABLE....!!!!!... DAMNIT DARNIT!!!... YOU!!!... ahem, I mean, Vargy pitched a great game."
Love, Victurd.
Balance.
Checks and balances.
Differences.
Maybe not quite BFF's and certainly not FWB but FWD = Friends with differences.
I get worked up. I shouldn't.
I get worked up. I should.
Damnit darnit, what is the way?
Facebook is wonderful, I hate it.
I'm comforted we all walk into the Post Office going past the same, beautiful red, white and blue flag. On vacation, recently met folks from Australia, Germany, England. I listened with bated breath as we conversed and I was super interested in their take of "us." There, I said it. Us. US.
I've deleted a few that wear blinders - and, from the recent "how many hate me?" thing on FB, well over 200 have said astalavista to me. It's cool. It's balance. It's us, as in US. (Maybe I speaky with forked tongue and wear blinders as well huh?)
What I hate is... folks I love.. a dude I usedta coach... a fraternity brother.. one of my best friends from work... two neighborhood kids, heck, even a girl I'd kissed at the Plaza Theater..- we're of different, opposite beliefs - and I NEVER ever want to get so worked up to the point of losing them as friends... (relax, the ones I deleted, we were never all that close.. still doesn't make it right, oh well.) Point is, these/us, we're FWD, friends with differences. At the end of the day, I'd like to think we smile, shake hands - and go shoot bottle rockets together on the 4th of July.
Moose, Hos and Dyson. Awhile back they rushed from a game to a sport's bar to see a Merriweather pay-per-view fight. This specific sport's bar happens to be owned by the largest sport's talk radio station in our city. The joint was packed, so much so that any more entrants would put them in violation of fire code.
Moose, Hos and Dyson were denied entry.
Next day, Vargy pitched a great game, Moose homered. Moose was all upset by the events the night before (being turned away at the gate). Shame on him, do as I say, not as I do. When asked, after the game a question by a TV reporter, Moose would give a reply to the question. When asked a question by our City's other sport's radio station reporter, he replied to the question. When asked a question by the reporter that worked for the radio station/sport's bar that turned them away the night before, he would repeat "Vargy pitched a great game" - which had absolutely nothing to do with the reporter's question.
This continued, and continued - quite frankly to the point of discomfort. "Are you upset by last night's events?" (being turned away and not allowed entry to the the boxing match) "Vargy pitched a great game."... "Why are you doing this, why don't you answer our questions?".. "Vargy pitched a great game." Same answer, to infinity, to when the cows come home.
I care that I care politically. I care that others care politically. I get all worked up. Others, I think, get all worked up too.
At the time, I really disliked the interview with Moose, actually thought he was kinda being childish.
I've jumped, boiled, taken an extra BP pill (Blood pressure, not batting practice), veins popped, got all huffingly mad at some posts - and typed. Damnit darnit, I wished I hadn't done that. (Reminded me of the little ole lady who tried the old liquid white out to wipe out her words on the computer screen.) Victor, you idiot.
Yeah but.. yeah but.. we need balance.. we have differences.. it's what keeps us ticking whilst we're blessed to be on this side of the grass...
Yeah but.. yeah but...
Today, I kinda like Moose's pat answer.
So, if you see a future political post that upsets me to no end, watch for "Vargy pitched a great game." In a way, it shows I'm PO'ed, but it somehow affords me to no sticky foot in mouth, or cleat, in Moose's case. Maybe Moose was onto something.
I love 'us'. Uh huh, US. We're FWD's. That said,
DACA, dreamers, DT, Kennedy response, shitholes, taxes, education; the differences within - yada:
"WHY YOU MISERABLE....!!!!!... DAMNIT DARNIT!!!... YOU!!!... ahem, I mean, Vargy pitched a great game."
Love, Victurd.
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