But... isn't that for younger people?

Golf.

Golf, like many things in life, has natural 'progressions' to let one know just how damn old one is.

We, three of Medicare age - struck out on a "regulation" course yesterday. Earlier this year, we'd joined an "Executive" course - and I ain't real sure why they call it that, because it's basically for retirees (All the holes are par 3, you don't have to walk as far - the longest hole is 190 yards, you don't have to hit it as far.. it takes less time/energy, it's perfect for us old farts.)

But, there we were, the three of us, on a huge, regular course, oh yea, a couple of par 3's, but mostly par 4's that are 400+ yards long, and a few par 5's that are the equivalent of walking from Liberty to Kearney. There are Blue Tees, the ones farthest from the hole you're trying to hit it to.. "those are for younger people." Some years ago, due to our (lack of) skill level - we moved up to the White Tees, a tad closer and located somewhere between the young pup Blue Tees and the Women's Tees.

As Baby Boomer became a catch phrase, someone had the bright idea to add Gold Tees... even closer to the hole for us Old Farts. As we old farts sometimes naturally do, we scoffed at the Gold Tee idea - and we played the White Tees (more walking, having to hit farther, higher scores, yada). We're not sure exactly at what age you start playing the Gold Tees, but I recommend them once you hear "how come you ain't playing the Gold Tees?" - kinda like the time I ordered a black coffee at McDonalds and the snotnose shot back "One Senior coffee coming up."

None of us three golfers are/were former NBA, Major League Baseball, NFL, nor PGA folk - but - "reasonably athletic" back in the day. As we butchered our way along the course, I smiled, announced to my buddies "ya know, this is fun, we oughta plan a float trip." Astonished, the reply was:

"Vic, isn't that something for younger people?" For behoogity sakes. This, coming from probably the most athletic among us, a former linebacker, a dude who used to hit you on the playing field, immediately changing the course of your run from North to South. I giggled outwardly, cussed inwardly, then considered his answer.................

What things ARE WE too old for?

I've never had an entrepreneurial bone in my body, but I have this idea in the back of my brain (scary, I know) to open "Boomer's Groomers." It would be setup for old farts, and services would include toenail clipping, ear hair pulling and eyebrow trimming. Strange thing about toenails, we shrink in height as we age, yet, them friggin' toenails get farther and farther away from the clippers every year. Ear hairs. Why, oh why Lord, do we live on this planet 50+ years never having them - but they allofasudden SPROUT at age 60? Needing to wear 'readers' coupled with bad restroom lighting, WE CAN'T SEE 'EM (ear hairs.) So, Boomer's Groomers would pull 'em forya.

The eyebrows? A given. They too start growing at age 60, the snotnoses (said lovingly) at Great Clips are paid hourly, thus, they don't care, "get 'em outta the chair." Enter Boomer's Groomers.

What else Victor? What else do you find that is "for younger people"?

Well, Pickleball. I know it's the rage, in vogue. (For those that ain't familiar with pickleball, it's tennis's answer to the par 3 golf course for old farts. Smaller court, bigger 'paddle', bigger ball to hit.) Oh, we old people can play pickleball ok, it's just the problem of "when the volley ends" and you gotta bend over and pickup the damn ball that is the hard part. Thus, entrepreneurial plan 2, "Pickleball Picker Uppers." We'd get with engineers, figure a way to have some magnetic thingy in the paddle and in the ball.. that wouldn't affect the actual hitting of it, but, when the volley is over, you hover the paddle over the ball and the magnetic field makes the ball magically rise up to stick to your paddle. Screw a bunch of "isn't that for younger people", hell to the yes we can play Pickleball (outfitted with Pickleball Picker Uppers.)

To be frank, I'd have to legally change my name. Sorry. That was a bad one. To be frank, the "isn't that for younger people" regarding the suggested canoe trip kinda peeved me off. Oh, there are some things I could give a rats about that are for younger people (rap music, video games, college loan debt, running, hoverboards, piercings anywhere that really hurts, mom/dad's basement, SnapChat, Pokémon, the left lane on Interstate, hold my beer and watch this, champagne at midnight on New Year's Eve, 3am infomercials, Elmo/Big Bird/Cookie Monster, yada.) Nevermind on Elmo/Big Bird/Cookie Monster, I've found it's twice as fun the second time thru!

I never knew the origin of the phrase "biting the bullet" ("It is often stated that it is derived historically from the practice of having a patient clench a bullet in his or her teeth as a way to cope with the extreme pain of a surgical procedure without anesthetic.") Ahm, I will never be too old for anesthetic, but mebbe I will bite the bullet on some things I can no longer do.

It is my hope though, there are folks in my Boomer corner, who, when told "isn't that for younger people" reply likewise with "The hell it is!" (It's not advisable to use the phrase "over my dead body" however.)

Going to clip my toenails now, seeya Monday morning.

Love, Victurd

The Magical Mystery Tour is coming to take you away, coming to take you away....

In deference to that one phrase going around regarding news - I much prefer to dip into the meaning behind these Beatle lyrics as "ain't so sure."

Social media of thought:

"Eh, it's a drug thing, can't you hear it? "Roll up roll up for the Mystery Tour"?

"It sounds like a song about Jews being taken away to Nazi death camps, only to be told they were going to "work camps" or something similar ("they've got everything you need [...] satisfaction guaranteed"). They're coming to take you away, take you today. They're not asking you to come on this Mystery Tour, they're forcing you."

"Viet Nam. Tanks 'roll up' and take soldiers away.. the Magical Mystery Tour is dying to take you away."

"Paul's idea for a 3rd movie."

"It speaks to the changing of their music.. teenie bopper to songs with greater meaning, depth."

No matter... to each our own...

I think of life - a Magical Mystery Tour. Who knows what's around the next corner? Magic, it is, if we let it be, pun not intended.

I think of full blown emotion. I love you, I love life, I have no idea to the timing, cast of characters, placement of "the end" - but my eyes are wide wide open to ATTEMPT to suckup the wonder every day, every moment. Sure, I slip, I fail, but I try to remember. Even mundane can be perty nifty - if we allow it.

Alarm clocks awaken us, showers wipe yesterday away to prepare for today, coffee, for many of us, acts as jumper cables. Do we then walk thru life like it's a muddy swamp and frown at the path, or do we attempt to climb the highest mountain, reach the top of that mother and scream out, to no one in particular, I LOVE THIS RIDE!

Victor, you ain't hearing Ringo's beat, your take is too gosh darn Pollyanna. Mebbe, "two sides to every board" my granny usedta say. I'll take it, the song, and MUCH, MUCH more as reminders to smile, laugh, enjoy, not get so damned bent outta shape - know, there are going to be 'swamp moments' - all, while that mountaintop is within view. Within heart. Within behavior.

There is, frankly, much within life that ain't quite so joyful... thus, I dig into my bag of tricks and I watch an Ellen Show.. play golf with buddies of 50+ years.. or I dial up 781-1998 and orders me a 300 burger with ketchup and pickles... or I youtube Ray Charles.. and after a few songs, I search for "Shout, Parts 1 and 2" by the Isley Brothers:

We-eee-eel... you know you (life) make me wanna shout, kick my heels up and shout, throw my hands up and shout, throw my head back and shout, come on now... don't forget to say you will.. don't forget to say, yeah, yeah, yeah... yeah, yeah.. Say you will, say it right now baby, say you will, come on, come on, say you will.. say that you will..

The thicket ain't the ticket - it's walking, living the belief this is a magical mystery tour.

Death happens too often.. too early... too unpredicted. We drive the roads, worry about traffic, tailgaters, money for commute, upward mobility, what other's think, this/that... patooey. It's a magical mystery tour, if we allow it.

I don't need much. When the day comes I'm at the front of the room in that urn, all I'd like to hear is "damn, he 'got it'.. he enjoyed life.. sure, he had faults, but he was basically nice to people.."

The Magical Mystery Tour is coming to take you away.. coming to take you away..

Set your alarm, shower off yesterday, drink that java... go/do/live... joyously,

Love, Victurd

January 106th........

Damnit darnit it's cold.

I guess this is where Ed McMahon on cue supplies "How cold is it?"........ To which Johnny replies
"Well, on my way in this afternoon, I couldn't help but notice an exhibitionist on the corner, and it's so cold, he was flashing a drawing of himself."

We all, well.. most of you.. remember the extremes. Gotta buddy who ridiculously (but said lovingly) can recite the date, the year, and hell, even the time of day he tied his left shoe first insteada normally tying his right one. I can't remember the dates of when power lines were down, the ice was so bad it completely halted our town for days upon days, but, bet he can.

I can't remember what year/month it was we were snowed in for four days, but I do remember I was outta smokes, and I frantically tore up the house looking for cigars buddies had given me when their baby was born. I'd find one, puff a bit, put it out, go back later and repeat.

Heat spells, nope, don't remember.

Point is, I may, may not come across this blog years from now and ask "whatinthehell are you talking about? I don't remember that?"

It's been nothing earth-shattering. No record snows. No ice. For the record, Piggly Wiggly ain't never even ran outta bread, milk - but GEEZ will this cold ever letup? Out damn spot, out I say!

Ever been in the backyard relaxing on onea those fold up lawn chairs strong enough to support 170 lbs? (I say that because I've broken 5 or 6 of them cheap suckers, so I finally got one that's good for "up to 350 lbs").. and.. whilst relaxing in that chair a damn mosquito starts buzzing and IT WILL NOT STOP... IT WILL NOT BE SWATTED... how, with them tiny little damn eyes can it keep evading my right palm? I'll try slapping with BOTH hands.. nope, nada.. ANNOYING. BUZZZZ.. BUZZZZZ.. BUZZZZZ... (More buzz below:)

That's been this damn winter. January, they say, was the coldest on record. I won't remember that, but I do remember hearing that. People made fun of me (I shoulda never opened my trap) when I said my thermostat was set at 59. Their wrath, combined with it being too damn cold to run around, cavort clad only in my preferred undies, caused me to rethink and "up that" to 63 degrees.

I've got plastic with Gorilla tape on every dadgum window in this apartment.

I want Cancun. I'll plan.

Oh shit, December heat bill. "Maybe drive to Destin, FL instead?"

January heat bill. "Hey, remember how much fun Silver Dollar City usedta be? Let's go there!"

February heat bill. "Does the Holiday Inn over by World's of Fun still have that occasional 'buy one night, get two?' "

March heat bill. "Whereinthehell did I put that tent? We're vacationing at Smithville Lake this year."

I've had all I can takes and I can't takes no more. I cannot see out my dadgum windows due to the plastic.. I peruse the forecast.. "Oh yeah, it looks like maybe after this weekend Spring will finally be here.".. Weekend comes, new 10 day forecast. Damnit darnit, more cold on the way - gotta wait another week before I rip that plastic off.

GO AWAY DAMN MOSQUITO!... buzzzzzzz, buzzzzzz...

I gotta one bedroom apartment in an old, 2 story, leaky house (coupled with thermostat at 63) - thus the plastic. I don't go the gym any more. This is where Ed asks "Why not Victor?"... Well, my apartment takes up one side of the house lengthwise. My bedroom, with a very small closet, is on one end of the house. The only other closet is on the very other end. I thought I'd Don Adams "Get Smart" and put my long sleeve goodies in the bedroom closet back in October.. and the short sleeve goodies clear on the other enda the house. I swapped 'em (short sleeve to BR, long sleeve to back of house) in February cause I just knew Spring was around the corner. In looking at my cheapass 'app' that tells me how many steps a day I take - I've been taking MANY to begrudgingly go to the other end of the house to retrieve yet another long sleeved shirt. THAT, has been my exercise.

Dear Spring: One way, or another, I'm gonna findya.. I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha.

Again, it ain't been earth-shattering - just annoying.. you know, like a 30 minute office meeting that takes two hours. Like yet another Vinson Mortgage or 1-800-GOT-JUNK commercial.. or a hangnail that WILL NOT mend.. it harkens me back to the parenting days of repeatedly hearing "I'M HUNGRY".. when, CRIMINY, I just fed you YESTERDAY?!!!

You remember the gal you went out with back in the day and you shared that heart palpitating, lengthy, wonderful kiss.. so you went out again (and again).. and turned to repeat (again and again) another yummy smacker and she turned her head away (again and again)? Uh huh.. that's the way this damn winter has been. Go play golf, nope, put the clubs away, more cold coming. Go play golf, huh uh, wait awhile. TEASING. THAT DAMNED BUZZING MOSQUITO.

I gotta go. (I gotta go because THAT'S WHAT THE DAMN COLD DOES TO OLD FART MEN, it makes one haveta pee!).. BRRRR...

I do hereby solemnly swear to never, NEVER, sing that "Sunshine go away today" song again. I needta cheer up. Maybe I'll get the paper and read the Comey recap. Oops.

With warm regards,
Love, Victurd.

Take me home, country road.........

I wanna go back.

No, not Marty McFly and Doc back... nor even Phil/Bill Murray Ground Hog Day back......

I just wanna have stuff to return to where fake meant:

She's wearin' falsies, them ain't real.

Take a dime and scrape the gold on that ring, it ain't real, it's fake.

To when the National Enquirer was the only fake rag.

To where 66.6% of the panel on To Tell The Truth were fake.

Them ain't her real eyelashes, they're fake.

We all hopped in Jimmy's car, cause he had a fake ID.

I couldn't take it any longer, Lord I was crazed, And when the feeling came upon me like a tidal wave I started swearing to my God on my mother's grave that I would love ya till the end of time, that I would love ya till the end of time, I swore that I would love ya till the end of time.

Dewey Defeats Truman...

Having the fortune to once be married to a Baptist Preacher's daughter.. I was in attendance one Sunday when her father recounted a story about a revival.. the preacher was a preachin'.. the crowd was a rantin'... ESPECIALLY one feller in row twelve. Preach would speak, row 12 dude would holler "Fill me Lord, oh Fill me Lord"... and agin, "Fill me Lord, Oh Fill me Lord,".. this went on into seemingly infinity.. Finally, lady in row 17, who had witnessed the shallow ways of feller in row 12 (coming out of the bar, different women different nights, loud, heavy metal rock parties at his house, cigs, presumed drugs, yada) stood up and shouted "DON'T DO IT LORD.. HE LEAKS!"....

Crop circles... "Rolex's".. Fiji Mermaids.. Jackalopes... Paul is dead... Rosie Ruiz... Flying saucers.. Sasquatch.. The War of the Worlds..

I'd like to again tune to a network (notta notwork) and see/believe.

The hell happened to principles?

Love, Victurd

(And to all you perverts who were expecting me to include "Faking it"... faking it.)

A constant...

Writing, for me, is fun - messed up, but blessed. Thinking to one's self is fun, messed up, but blessed.

I was gonna title this "Let it be", didn't - but more on that later.

Life is so very different. It's different a continent away... Across the Continental borders... Across these United States.. Different a County away.. Different down the street.. even different next door. Even the apartment above you.

Folks live on the street.. in tents.. shacks put together with pallets.. studio apartments.. rental houses.. small, family homes.. large estates...

On our feet, some wear nothing.. some, made from birch bark.. sandals.. loafers.. cowboy boots, huge - furry boots..

We make no bucks, some bucks, a lotta bucks.. dollars, yen, pounds, rands, Euros, Francs, yada.

We are small, large, medium, light skinned, medium skinned, dark skinned, hairy, not hairy, blonde, brunette, ginger, tall, short, abled, disabled, loud, quiet, yada.

Our lives are spent diversely. Some, hunting prey to subsist, most - running to make ends to meet.. some, with silver spoon in hand.

Victor, what on earth could that constant be?

Mom(s).

Moms come in all sizes, varieties. Most, birth the child, many, do not. Some moms are grannies, some are even aunts. My own father - his mom died when he was 6. He turned out ok, because he was raised by many, and certainly by one specific aunt.

I have friends who have adopted children and are wonderful mothers.. I have friends who are raising their grandchildren, and are truly devoted 'moms'. I have friends who are adopted, who adore their 'moms.'

Thank you Lord for this.

"All that I am, or hope to be I owe to my angel mother." Abraham Lincoln.

Impossible for us men to put ourselves in those bare feet, birch bark shoes, sandals, loafers, cowgirl boots, furry big things. However, we know all very well about moms.

What better than observing a mom looking at their child while the child can't see her - the smile, the proudness, the sentinel.

I am aware, not 100% of the people have a superb, perfect, mother-child relationship. That said, I can't help but think a good life lived goes without having been touched by one, some, many females along the way.

Moms spank, and don't spank. Moms are quiet. Unassuming. Lead by example. Demonstrative. Loud. Different, but same. Some put the fear of God in one, some put God in one - most are Godly - some, even all three.

"I was lucky" say many of us. Much sticks with me regarding my mother - but some real huge things standout. She allowed me to think on my own two feet - even knowing that may get me knocked down. She never told me "treat people how you'd like to be treated", she lived it, demonstrated it. Daily, even to a stranger passing the other way at the convenience store, we hear "how ya doing?" My mother always asked "How's my Victor?" And she meant it.

You're stuck, it's my blog - a couple more diddies on my mother then I'll move on. The things one keeps. I will never forget being at a Major League game, a 100 mph foul ball hit our way.. the inclination is to duck, throw your arms up to protect one's own head, get the heck out of the way.. not mom.. she shielded ME. That was my mom, your mom, moms. I remember coughing spells - and how she would not take a breath until I took mine.

"God could not be everywhere, and therefore he made mothers." Rudyard Kimpling.

Let it be. Paul McCartney wrote these lyrics at the twilight of the Beatles. He claims he was alone, had been drinking, probably depressed. His mother (named Mary) passed when he was 14. She came to him in a dream. He heard the words "Let it be," as in words of comfort, reminding him not to think about sad things too much, to accept bad things that happened that can't be changed.. "Although they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see. There will be an answer - let it be."

Even mom's gone, are always there. The moves we make, the thoughts we take. We talk internally, and we bounce ideas off mom, both living and posthumously.

"A mother's arms are made of tenderness and children sleep soundly in them." Victor Hugo.

Going back to McCartney's "Let it be," it's many things. A retort to our beating ourselves up. An answer to "what should I do?".. A simple calmness to a storm.

I'll go now. Turning on the TV, reading the newspaper, hearing the old guys that gather daily around the table at the local diner - reminds us, our world seems to be a pretty gosh darn messed up place at present.

Imagine how much worse off we'd be without moms...

No matter your age, you always need your mom. If you are one, please take a deserved pat on your own back.

Love, Victurd

Go away little girl............

Admiration.

Article this morning "Science Explains.. What happens if you never leave your hometown?"

I'm of the onion there's no right answer, generically anyways (I was proofreading, noticed 'onion' insteada 'opinion', left it, cause it kinda fits. Some likey, some no likey onions, moving, staying.) To each his/her own.

Whilst many can't stand Facebook (and again, no right answer) I kinda like it for the quilt it is. I admire reading about friends (Dave, Maureen, Phyllis, Rex, Ron, Sue, etc) who had the wherewithal to Horace Mann it West for that occasional, or often view of the mighty Pacific. There are the Texans.. been there long enough now to proclaim so.. and frankly, folks scattered allover this great US of A.

Color me skeered, mebbe, to strike out. Yesterday there was a thing on FB asking how far from home are you.... Interesting, the answers were. Answers ranged from "Same House!" to 7,880 miles (Where was that Terry Hahn?).. Jim Greer, a close 2nd at 6,511 miles (I'm guessing it was somewhere you were serving our country, and thanks for that!) Where was that as well?

4,661 miles.. 2.4 miles.. 1,609 miles... 22 miles.. Back yard... 14.6 miles.. 10/250/600 from the three places we lived.. 750... 7.1.. 2.6... 940 miles (This was from Sault Ste. Marie, MI, WAY up there - brrrrr, funny though, know two from Upper P, both miss it.),,, 400 feet.. less than 5... 1,557.8 and 1,613.7 <-- Sue/Phyllis, those sounded kinda homesick!.. 1,226... 6 miles.. "too far".. 1208 miles and 37 feet <-- he's a captain for an airline, God Bless his measurement capabilities.. 65.5... 2 miles.. 15 miles.. yada..

The general idea, mixed. Some strike out, some never leave.

Article states "The immigrants that made their way across the ocean.. the cultures that clashed in the bustle of NY or Boston.. the pioneers and cowboys who settled in the Wild West.. and the prospectors who traversed treacherous country in search of gold - we, as people, idolized them all" and I find that true. That's oldstyle though, howabout today? (And Elaine, Randy, Ron, never forgetting those that were trampled upon.)

"We can all name a half a dozen movie, television, or book characters off the top of our heads who are "townies" or "losers" or just plain lazy for not ever having left the town they grow up in, right?".. Eh, mebbe, mebbe not. Fun, we called all the Jewell kids that disrupted, interrupted our homey town "Squirrels."

"People that grow up in densely populated areas of blue states are less likely to get married young..".. "Growing political divide - convincing people to stay home where they're surrounded by like-minded thinkers." Eh, ain't sure about that one. "Wanna move honey?" "Nah, I'm a Democrat (or Republican), let's stay."

"Highly active personalities are more likely to move, and extroverts will migrate to urban location with tons of social opportunities." I think one can see that in peeking at some friends. Boring I reckon I am. I resemble that.

"70% of Midwesterners still live in the state they were born... Californians being the most likely to move away from mom and dad."

My own personal experience. VICTOR, WHO ASKED YA? Sorry, my blog, nanny nanny boo boo. I've never really ventured. Oh, there was that brief respite 11 miles away for a few years in Kearney, MO - but, a snowstorm where I/we were honkered in for four days made me feel like I was in Saskatchewan - so, moved back, ain't never left 64068 again.

Again, skeered maybe. I likes familiarity. I too like reading the "Remembering Old Liberty" thingy on Facebook to get a bird's eye view of what folks, since moved, remember. It seems to be mostly positive, but, I know too there are probably many who don't/didn't give a rats ass about their hometown.

HS Graduation. Oh hell, now what? I gotta do something? Be somebody different? Go somewhere else? Again, me personally (AYE YAI YAI) - my mother worked for William Jewell College. Her pay tweren't great, but her title afforded her to be formally considered "Administration" so I coulda gone free. Gimme right?

Nope. When one is 17 (yes, I was a young punk) in the back of your mind you have this stupid idea "I can't be on the same campus where my mom works." So... I passed up free schooling to drive to Maryville, MO so I could drive home every weekend to see my then girlfriend. Duh. A 1.6 GPA (I'd leave on Thursdays, "Screw Friday class.", I lasted a semester.) Went to Maple Weeds for a couple three semesters, finally caved into the free school idea.

Man was that dumb (worrying about seeing my mom on campus). Turns out, it was my dog that was my embarrassment. Yep. In the days before leash laws, we lived across the street from Jewell. I would go to class, and whoop, there he was, Gabe (my hound.) Following my footsteps. Not cool (at least when you're 19.) I'd get outta class, uh huh, there he was, sitting/waiting. I'd walk to the next class, accompanied of course by my hound.. I'd sneak out the back door for my next class, somehow he figured it out, and again, there "we" were.

Looking back, I was lucky. I loved that dog. I remember the Chief's training camp, and I was so proud of Gabe when the offensive line was blocking on the 7-man sled, and yep, there was Gabe, barking, growling, taking a chunk of hiney outta Center EJ Holub's butt (EJ hitting sled with right arm, swooshing Gabe away with left.) Or, the times the manager at Safeway would call "ahm, it's 95 degrees, Gabe is sitting between the automatic doors so he can take in the AC, we can't get him out, can you help?" (This was all after he'd walked to Co-op and Snoozy bought him a candy bar outta the machine daily.. funny.. no one knew about chocolate/dog/bad, but, it never hurt him.)

I'm getting windy, sorry. Again, I dunno if I'd call it envious, but I do so admire those that struck out for greener pastures, certain wonderful experiences. They say now, with all the dot.com jobs, one can live anywhere. I IMMENSELY admire those that followed the military, transient life, be it as a child or as a young adult. Lord knows I coulda used a cup of that discipline.

I kinda like where I'm at. There is no place like home, right Dorothy? Back in the day I could 'get away from home' but still be minutes away from mom's Spanish Rice.. or... The $5 loan for 'textbooks' so I'd have enough gas to drive to Sammy's bar in Kansas 6 or 7 times. (Hey, it was a VW and gas was under a quarter at the time.)

Anyways, I'm happy with my decision. You?

Go away little girl.. if you wanna. I'm personally, a lover of levity from Liberty. Not bragging at all, it's simply me, where I ended up.

Love, Victurd.

Perfection Plus.....

Them there be words that maybe cause one to raise an eyebrow. You know. It's kinda like countin' on ten fingers to get to 110%. (When a varmint says "I'm gonna give it 110%" it causes me to vomit varmint.)

Oh, I/we understand commercialism, and good intent. A quick Google of "Perfection Plus" led me to hair salons, Porsche repair shops, boat varnish, decorative concrete, auto detail shops, yada. The Brits awakened to the idea first, tugging on the sleeve of godaddy.com to honker in on THE perfectionplus.com to peddle their dental products.

I just kinda sorta think there ain't no such thing among us humans as perfection plus. Who among us ain't had skidmarks?

Yes, sure, sure sure - we awaken with good intent. We we read self help diddies on how to be a better person, friend, mate, cook, gardner.. we read the Bible.. we set goals.. we monitor our progress.. our intent is perfect, but shut the door Mable, we're gonna stupidly blurt, take a day off from exercising, and burn the damn potatoes. We be human, hear us error.

I've never really been in a fistfight, ain't ashamed of that, it's just never happened. Sure, boxed in gym class, rassled with neighborhood kids about "out/safe", had my veins popping out over things friends have said - but I ain't never struck anyones jaw - and again, perfectly fine with all that. (There's that word again.)

That said, I've beat the crap outta myself all my life. "Bad parent... dumb thing to have said... shoulda studied more for that anatomy/kinesiology test insteada gone to the River with friends.. could/should get a better job.. I don't like you mirror... ashamed, I should be ashamed."

No more. Eh, I say that, thinking I will be perfect (oops) in not belittling myself - but I do think I won't be, haven't been so harsh as the wrinkles add up.

I absolutely think "striving to be the best" is really really nifty... perfection though, it just ain't real. Mebbe "striving to be the best I CAN BE" yeah, but not "striving to be the best (always, in everything)"... "Striving to be the best I CAN BE" hell to the yes, right on, go for that..(as the song says "I can go for that, oh oh oh".. perfect. (Damnit darnit.)

Me thinks we all know people who THINK they are perfect. Victor? You ain't gonna start talking politics areya? Nope. That ain't trump in this blog...

I ain't gonna name names, oh hell, why not.. Patrick Reed.. just won the Masters.. He's exhibited behavior that he's pretty damn proud of himself. Victor, were you rooting against him because he is one of those that kinda sorta thinks they're perfect? Mebbe. Eh, he wins out anyways, marching to the bank to deposit his $1.98 million dollar check.

You know the ones.. the perfect ones. never their fault. Braggadocios without preliminary exhibition of same. NEVER make a mistake. PERFECT. (Pardon me while I throw up the burnt potatoes.) Even ole' Patrick had ELEVEN bogeys en route to his big payday.

The older I get, the less I beat myself up. Probably has more to do with "hell, I can't reach everywhere to beat me up anymore" but I'd like to think it's mebbe I'm more of a realist, and perfection is a bit unrealistic.

You gotta love those with high expectations - but too ya gotta pick 'em up, prop 'em up when failure happens - and failure happens to all us folks.

WHAT are you trying to say here Victor? Is there a perfect message? Ahm, if you were to peek at the name of this blog, 'checkenginelight', it's all about how life just ain't perfect, but that's ok. To me, it really helps to understand that for when the lows happen, and, to put my butt back into place when the chest-puffing-out moments happen.

Victor that's perfect.

GWACK@#%OERWROIUGHTYHA#@$^......oops, sorry, one last sliver of potato snuck out.

Have a perfect day. Your hair looks perfect Donald.

Just kidding, love, Victurd

Hell no, we won't go!

This phrase originated during a 1967 parade at the Armed Forces Induction Center in New York City. Protesters participated in a week long, nationwide "stop the draft week" demonstration.

Number one, please, VietNam vets, know we love you, we bless you and we thank your for your service. We're all ashamed at the treatment, "no thanks" you received for this horrific war. Please bear with me here, as that "hell no" isn't meant to align with this blog - it's more the mindset of the age.

I've been waiting forever (it seems) for the movie "Leisure Seeker" to make it to local theaters.. it finally has. It includes two of my alltime favorites - Donald Sutherland, a retired English professor suffering from dementia, and Helen Mirren, his wife who has recently learned she has Stage 4 cancer. They jump into their old RV in Boston, bound for a trip she's proudly arranged to show him Ernest Hemingway's home in Key West, FL.

The film, admittedly, isn't getting great revues.

I'm an intense lover of emotion - and what better than two people, in their closing moments of life. I figure a tear will happen, and I'm really really ok with that.. in fact, I kinda look forward to it.

I do not have any idea where the phrase "bone to pick" came from - but I have one with Mick Lasalle, a film critic for the San Francisco Chronicle.

I know, in the past, I have spouted about things, then I might reread later and thought to myself "Victor, you need to shut the hell up, for you have no idea what you're talking about.. there is absolutely no way you can put yourself in that person's shoes." Yes, I've been guilty.

Lasalle said the movie has a beginning and an end, but can have no middle. "There is no possibility for development in their relationship - he's pretty much gone. THERE'S REALLY NOWHERE FOR THE MOVIE TO GO, BECAUSE THERE IS NOWHERE FOR THE CHARACTERS TO GO."

This is where I insert "Hell no, we won't go!"

I wonder, if Mr. Lasalle would answer "No" to the question "Do you want to live to be 90?".. Well, if so, how would he answer that if he were asked that at age 89 years, 364 days old?

We've all witnessed, firsthand, the love and emotion of family dealing with dementia, cancer, ends. Those of us with parents/loved ones gone, I believe would mostly answer hell to the yes when asked "would you take your parent (loved one) back even if it meant they had dementia?" I know I would.

72 days in a row to St. Lukes Hospital, my sister lay terminally ill with cancer. NOWHERE FOR THE CHARACTER TO GO. Patooey. Those were some of the most precious days of my life - and I believe they were for many others.

I honestly don't write this in dislike of Mr. Lasalle, know he didn't mean anything personal, and he's certainly entitled to his opinion - I just believe some things can't be learned without aging.

What better than conversations in the bottom of the 9th inning of life?

Throw out the Royals, the Chiefs, Repubs, Dems, crossword puzzles, "did you see Roseanne?", memorized recipes, light bills, mowing the grass.. TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN IMPORTANT IN YOUR LIFE.. WHAT CAN YOU TEACH ME? DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU? WHAT ARE AMONG THE FAVORITE MOMENTS OF YOUR LIFE? YOU WANNA SING?

Hell no, we won't go.. because it's perhaps the most important time in life to listen.. to be.. to share.. to enjoy.

"There's a beauty here - Virzi (the Director) is too humane to make a movie without beautiful moments. But the scattered eight or ten minutes of splendor just aren't worth the almost two-hour investment of time."

Mr. Lasalle do me this favor.. come back to this in the winter of your life and re-visit (Much like my admitted egg on my face from above.) Aging/dying and sweeping under the carpet simply don't go together.

Maybe I'm too emotional. Hell no, I don't care.

Love, Victurd

Dearly beloved... we are gathered here.....

A.R. Smith-Wesson had absolutely zero intention of getting hitched - that is, until he went to protest the protest march early Spring.

From 'a duel's pace' (approx. 35 to 45 feet) he laid his eyeballs on Ova Mi Dedbody and immediately felt a twitch. Inspita' the fact she was toting a "Grab America Back" sign - his heart was a thumpin' faster'n any semi-auto sold down at the Buford County Gun Show.

He barreled his way a lil' closer so he could see if his eyes were gauging correctly. They were, she was hella nice caliber... he was a derriere man, and she had a hiney better'n the butt of any Derringer he owned. She was already in his heart, and in his crossbows.

Long barrel made short - they met, she too ended up being smitten with Smith-Wesson..he put the hammer down, and BOOM, there they were - a love that no John Birch Society member or Change.com person could muzzle. Left right, left right, hup 2, 3, 4.. to the alter they were destined.

"When shall we trigger this union?" AR tossed... "Oh, I dunno, howabout March?" Ova lofted back.. "Why's ever-thing gotta be about'a GD (gosh darn) march"? AR replied... "Oh," Ova replied, "I don't care then, you pick, and I promise no recoil from me."

Over time they colluded on the event - oh sure, baby tiffs here/there... you know.. "I want a huge wedding" Ova would say... "Honey, please downsize that thought, we gotta put some high brass back in our pockets to be ready for when AR Jr comes along."... "Perish that thought AR, I don't want no AR Jr, 'cause then we'd have ARI, ARII, ARIII, and ifn's our family really really growed, that would one day get us up to AR15, and can you imagine how he'd be bullied at school?.. and I STILL want a large wedding.. should we do a GoFund me thing?"

"My dress.. I've dreamed and dreamed about my dress... wanna come with me to Betty's Bridal to check 'em out?"... "Can't you just order one on Amazon so we ain't gotta pay an arm and a leg in taxes?".. they worked thru it...

"Let's have an open bar!" "Shiver me timbers, Theodore is'a rollin' over in his grave - we can't afford to buy whiskey for every snowflake in the village!~"..."OK, OK mid-way, we'll meet mid-way. Howabout, on the wedding invite, we suggest "BYOB"?".... "Yeah, that'll work, but let's phrase it anudder way... howabout "Flasks welcome, please conceal and carry."... "Whatever AR"....

MUSIC... we need MUSIC! I kinda like "We are the world"... Criminy, I was thinking more along the lines of Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.. or, God Bless the USA.. and I've always loved Tammy - whatabout Stand By Your Man?

So...since they couldn't really come to an agreement, they decided to pick some, they'd play onea Ova's, one of AR's, etc...:

Taxman/The Beatles.. 9 to 5/Dolly.. Sweet Home Alabama/Lynyrd.. Imagine/John Lennon.. Won't Get Fooled Again/The Who.. Goodbye Earl/Dixie Chicks.. Government Cheese/The Rainmakers.. Ohio/Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young... Janie's Got a Gun/Aerosmith..

The settled upon the barn at Nelson's Registered Angus Ranch (NRA Ranch for short)... Ova reminded AR "now, remember my cousin Tony is gay and I don't want no one hecklin' him... AR thought, then replied, "Oh hell, Nelson's only got one outhouse anyways."

With one hand on the Bible, the other on the Constitution - their marriage was blessed. "I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Smith-Wesson".. at first there were some groans, but eventually, all stood and cheered.

Off they ran. Friends, both sides, had gussied up their truck. "Hot Springs tonight!".. Twine tied to the gun racks, streaming off behind with PBR cans tied to clink/clank down the road.

This is a stick up! Boom shacka lacka lack boom. One in the oven soon.....

In spite of the lump from the inner tube on the left front tire of their '73 F-150 causin' some bumps, it was a mostly smooth life. The wedding will be recounted in both the Benton County Fox Bugle, and the Weber City Wishlander - and they both pray for a decent account, nothing fake.

The end.
Henry Gibson

Styrofoam and a nicely sealed hull...

Whatever floats one's boat.

I was gonna "save the world" and try doing a blog on "what makes one happy".. I Googled, I wrote. I backspaced over a full page of gobbledy gook that bored the hell outta me.

Then, I thought maybe I'd take a peek thru children's eyes, you know, "what makes kids happy?" and there wasn't much on it. It was all pointed more at how to parent. Whyintheheck do we mandate to parents "how to make your kid happy" when we should be going to the source and finding out from kids, just what makes them happy. So, I backspaced s'more.

I had the idea, "hey, maybe I'll do a 'Recipe to Happiness' and list cooking measures, using the standards teaspoon, tablespoon, cup, quart, yada - and throw in some fun ones like pinch, dash, smidgen... that too bored me and besides, I can't cook..howinthehell am I gonna do/make a recipe for happiness?

So, after 1, 2 & 3 above failed, I'd struck out. I once professed "if I ever strike out in slowpitch, I'm quitting the damn game." Well, I struck out. Uh oh, what now? I kept playing. I guess it's like the old man that says "I don't wanna live to be 90," so, when he's 89 years and 364 days old, ya might ask him again about that. Thus, I write on.

I know, I'll do song titles to relate what makes us happy. Victor, that's your dumbest idea yet. Cool, here goes:

"Why can't we be friends?" This'n plays large.. could be a relationship broken.. kids of different colors, backgrounds, socio-economic means.. Libs, conservatives, introverts, extroverts, young, old.. whythehell can't we be friends? WE CAN.

"What a wonderful world." There ain't no leaving this one out. There ain't no one on earth (is that a double negative?).. there ain't no one on earth that can envision Louie Armstrong's smile and NOT be happy. The lyrics, the beat, the him - the relating "trees of green, skies of blue" - yeah baby, that's what I'm talking about. What Louie said. THAT is happy.

"Don't worry, be happy." This one is damned hard. We all worry. Some of us more than others. We have different worries. To the outhouse by Willie Makeit.. you'll shoot your eye out... more bills than bucks.. one's health.. the hole in my jeans.. my car's so old I won't even qualify to drive for Uber.. you know, different worries..

"Just put on a happy face." Gray skies ARE gonna clear up. Take off the gloomy mask of tragedy, it's not your style, you'll look so good that you'll be glad you decided to smile.... ya know, mebbe it is half the battle here.

"You've made me so very happy." I reckon that works. You know what Mark Twain said about a compliment. You don't? He said "I can live for two months on a good compliment." It's true, it's reawwy twue. Even us old fart males, engrained forever with 'don't show emotion', can have emotion, say something nice (and sincere) about someone. Been there, heard it, and it DOES feel good. Mebbe even said it, a time or two, and THAT really feels good too.

"Oh happy day (oh happy day.)".. I'm an old dog, relatively new to religion. I'm, quite frankly, loving it. Not attempting conversion, just speakin' my mind. Not for all, I realize. All for some.

"Why don't we do it in the road." Victor, really? And did you have to put it right after that one? Eh, a little perversion never hurt anyone, did it? My take anyways. If one can't have fun about, with, within intimacy.. oh, nevermind. I would say to naysayers, lighten up a tad.

"I feel good".. you tell 'em James. We, way too much bitch/moan about this, that, why not state it whenya feel good? I feel good, nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-na... like I knew that I would.. nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-na... so good, so good..

"Tubthumping".. this one's gotta be on the list. Yep, ya get knocked down, ya get up again. Go ahead life, make my day - I can handle it.

"You're my best friend." I don't think this one needs much explanation. BFF's make life LOL and AOK. BFF's pick you up when you're ROFLMAO.

"All star." Hey now, you're an All Star, get your game on, go play. Hey now, you're a rock star, get the shoe on, get paid.

"Feeling groovy."... "Happy days are here again"... "If you're happy and you know it."... "Ain't no mountain high enough." "Here comes the sun.".. "Start me up.".. "Your love keeps liftin' me higher."

Ok, I'm outta here. Maybe I just needed a pick me up. Sorry, kinda. Someone once told me "Life is REALLY GOOD, if you let it be."

"When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be."

Sorry (again).. kinda. Music does make me happy. I hope it does for you as well.

Don't worry, be horny, damned autocorrect, I meant happy,

Love, Victurd

Take me away Calgon....

As stresses built up, the schemers, writers, funny guys that did the ad bit for Calgon in 1988, created commercials showing folks in mid distress - pleading "Take me away Calgon" and in a flash, all was AOK and a lady was shown on her back in the tub, bubbles up to the edge'a the tub, woes satiated.

I miss a bath. I know dudes are supposed to be shower folks, but I ain't. I agree, sans the bubbles, it's one of the most "life, get the hell outta here" things a person can do. I think if I were to once again get on a dating site, I'd list "Must have bathtub" as one'a the haveta's.. ha... as I now have apartment, no bathtub.

But hark, what could have been so bad in 1988 to raise those stress levels to the point of breaking, desperately in need of that sudsy bath? So I gandered...

Hmmmm... The world's first internet virus. Hit the road hack, and don't ya come back no mo' no mo' no mo' no mo', hit the road hack, and don'tya come back no mo.' What'd you say?

The bomb on Pan Am flight 103.. Damn, a familiar ring to it.

Prozac sold for the first time.. HA, I KNEW IT! No wonder!

IBM PC w/30MB Hard Disk, Mono Monitor and 512K Memory = $1249.00... Dot Matrix Printer = $299.00... Logitech Mouse $89.99.. CRIMINY! Gimme that tub!

Crack appears for first time. Geez. Over 1/3 of Yellowstone National Park destroyed by a series of 250 small fires..

Russia was beginning the transformation from a communist dictatorship into a multiparty democracy with regular elections. Did he just say Russia?

So, with the exception of maybe today buying a laptop, complete with mouse, printer for $399, the more things change, the more they stay the same..... ie, Stress.

What do you do when stress happens?

When I think of women, I think of wine. It seems to be the elixir of this millennium, a Calgon so to speak. In fact, a friend has a Bunco group - ceptin' they never played Bunco, so, one day it was decided, "let's call it what it is" = LDC (Ladies Drinking Club).. so, they get away from stress, work, kids, and most importantly, men.

Those of us Facebookers, we whine. So, stress heightens.. "the hell do we do now?"...

We turn off the laptop, the power to the phone.. we dim the lights.. we play a little Ray Charles (or, you, pick your fancy).. we sit, and we blob in the easy chair. I ain't never really had a bon bon, gimme a Frito Scoop and melted cheese any ole day.

Or, we 'pet'. With the hound, or the cat. They have no idea to the outside world, well, other that it's where you get to smell stuff and pee and poop.. you know, they ain't got the same everyday stresses we humans have to deal with.

Some of us even have weekends. Newly retired, I have yet to forget the feeling of driving home on a Friday afternoon, seeing that building disappear in the rear view mirror.. AH, Calgon, 1999 Mercury, take me away.

We eat food, we garden, we mow, we paint, we shop, we stare at our phones, we write, we build, we stare at our phones (NO DAMNIT!) we sometimes even do nuttin', we have sex, take me away Calgon, take me away from this dadgum thing called life!

Oh happy day (oh happy day)... Oh happy day (oh happy day).. When Jesus washed (when Jesus washed), When Jesus washed (when Jesus washed), When Jesus washed (when Jesus washed), He washed my sins away (oh happy day).. Oh happy day (Oh happy day).. and yes, we pray..

We rested.

Not much has changed in 30 years... Well, other than I threw my scale away, took down the full sized door mirror and replaced it with one 6" wide, hehe. Oh, and I've now got a 3" circle on toppa my head that's getting pretty sparse on hair.. Ain't from age though, it's from me scratching my head asking "the hell did he just say?" Happens, in those stress moments.

Take me away Calgon.

I wonder if they've got any products that combat facial wrinkles?

Love, Victurd

Dogleg left....

Just what I wanted to read, a damned ole' blog about golf....

Bear with me her Parnevik-breath... mebbe, just mebbe that ain't what this is about?

I'm talking scratch reflex.

Damnit Victor, it's fitting that one of your fraternity brothers - Pup I think you called him, noted "that's just like deciphering one of Vic's blogs."

Exactly. Scratch reflex is when you scratch a dog on his/her back and in a completely involuntary reaction, they'll shake or kick their legs, spasmodically. As in yum. Stop it, s'more. Don't, stop.

Life is about those spasmodic moments, to me anyways.

One of my alltime favorite 'postings', short video's I've seen - was one of humans, portraying dogs. There was a dog (a man) jumping up and down up and down peeking over the back fence to get a gander of what was going on beyond the fence, just like dogs do.

There was one where the gate was left open, the dog (man) escaped, ran like the wind, 'smelled' other dogs (people), peed on the fence, wagged, and ran ran ran in ever converging concentric circles. Yum. Stop it, s'more. Don't, stop. Scratch my back again. The video ended where the dog (man) ran to the middle of the street and pooped. Coulda done without that one, but oh well.

Scratch reflex moments. Of course when you're attracted to another. Frenetic leg twitches, there ain't no hidin' em - and besides, what better, who would want to hide 'em?

What makes you twitch?

I love a parade, no, not that kind DT, the down home, city-fied kinda parade. You know, the one where you wave at about every 35th person 'cause they're a townie you know? Hey, there's the mayor.. and Fred, my barber.. Susie, the daycare provider. Yum, I know these folks. Ain't it cool we're all lined up on the street to watch?

Smiles. Smiles make my leg shake uncontrollably.

A debate, where one's reply "Put's 'em in their place" whoop der it is, I'm shaking my leg. Yum. Stop it, s'more. Don't, stop.

A relative, loved one, friend, coworker, doorholder, friendly cashier, visitor, guest, people - in general, scratch reflex.

KIDS. OMG, kids. Ever seen that video long ago where the bird doesn't know how to land? Ha. Little ones in the beginning stages of walk. Yum. Stop it, s'more. Don't, stop. Scratch reflex. I LOVE seeing kids learning this world, falling, in effect saying "to heck with those falls life, I'm gettin' back up, learning, exploring more." Twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch - kids, they make me.

Seeing praise placed upon a person you admire.. deserved.. earned after such long, arduous work. Twitch twitch twitch.

Videos that bring me (and I assume others) to tears (twitches).. Flashmob. A kid in a classroom and their mom or dad, in uniform, been gone 'forever', sneaks up behind 'em. Yum. Twitch. Stop it, s'more. The one of the child that actually had an eye transplant. Oh my goodness - how can one not uncontrollably twitch a leg after seeing that?

Sunshine, a jacketless day. The autumn leaves. The river runs through it. A waterfall. The ocean. Twitch twitch twitch, twitch twitch twitch, twitch your booty, it's a real cutie.

The downward part of a rollercoaster. Successfully exiting from a ski lift and the view within. Turning the corner and realizing your canoe will soon be up against the rapids. Twitch twitch twitch, yum, stop it s'more - don't, stop.

I wonder if they ever measured a dog's heartrate "mid-twitch" cause I bet it's elevated, just like ours are when we have those twitch moments.

There's enough in life that resembles dogshit in the middle of the road... Gimme those twitch moments. Here, come scratch my back. Twitch twitch twitch, yum, stop it s'more - don't, stop.

Victor, you're friggin' weird.

If you only knew how good that makes me twitch uncontrollably.

Life got you down? Ask for someone to scratch your back. See someone down? Scratch theirs.

Shake shake shake, twitch twitch twitch, twitch your booty, it's a real cutie.

Happy day, happy scratch reflexes.

Love, Victurd.

Frequently asked questions.......

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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