Innie versus Outtie...

The innies hated the outties.  The feeling was mutual.  Whilst they lived on streets, avenues, drives, circles, parkways, lanes, terraces, courts, yada - next to one another, it was for sure the TV's were turned to their corresponding rallying cry station.. Their Facebook pages were like when you tried to put two 'like' poles of a magnet together and they'd automatically social distance.

This is an age old problem.  The innies organized a march, the outties lined the exterior with posters touting their side, and rumor had it one or two even spat on the other.

The outties had their march and in spitea innie leaders spouting "let's be better, be cool", the innies too lined the streets, spat, held up namecalling signs.  Fruitless.

On the East Coast, there was a big hole and the innies attempted to, shovel by shovel, fill the hole up.  Outties brought their own damn shovels, just as soon as a spade of dirt from the innies landed, an outtie shovel scooped it and tossed it back out.  

On the West Coast, just the opposite. I might have 'em backwards, but you get the drift.  We weren't quite going to hell in a basket, but the basket was pretty much rendered useless what with it filling, emptying, repeat, rinse, wash, etc.  Never ending story.

We, the innnies and the outties, sat amongst each other rooting #15, Andy, Travis, Tyreek, yada and it was cool cause no one mentioned the cause, ideas, beliefs of innies or outties.

You'd go to the Piggly Wiggly, and unless one had on onea them midriff exposing tops, ya just didn't know. Cause if you did know, you'd stand next to the 'ten items only' lane and count them bastards and bitch and moan if an innie (or an outtie) had one too many in their cart.  Innies are like that. Outties too.

You'd walk down the directional arrow of the aisle, and if you had no idea of the belly-aching-innie-outtie approaching you from the wrong direction - you'd smile and carry on.  Cause if you did know, it'd lead to fisticufss, or best case, a verbal mudsling.

Funny these innies and these outties.  The each had/have children they adore.  They gather for Holidays.  They even loan out tools, tillers...a cup of sugar.. yeah, all that, to neighbors.  It was like they didn't know, innievisible so to speak, kinda outtielandish eh?

They'd even loan out their comealong, but put on that one hat or t-shirt spouting about the beloved innie or outtie, they would never ever getalong with the other.

Driving down the street, ya just didn't know.  Watching the 4th of July Fireworks, the oooh and the aaahs of innies and outties sounded just alike.  Easter church service. Nope. No mention here, EVER. Why they even ate from the trays of innies and outties during pot luck dinners - and notta one of 'em upchucked.

Trains, planes, ships - twere no backflips, no one getting upset. Innies and outties gathered, aside one another.  Even carried on baby congenial conversations with one another.  Why, I once saw an Innie I know hold the door open for an Outtie they didn't know.

The barber, holding the damn sharpest pair of scissors never knew if he was a clippin' on an innie or an outtie.  The service guy repairing the gas leak, he didn't know either.  The dentist, he hurt one another just alike but it was because that's what dentists do, not because the patient was and innie or an outtie.

Innies and outties got the same great rates from State Farm.  They could each get 5G service from their cell provider.  The baker even gives 13 to innies and outties alike.   It's a Well I'll be damned world.

Each group has their share of Boomers, Gen X'ers, Millenials and even Gen Z'ers.

It wasn't until 2036, the beginning of "The We Generation" there was wind of change.  When the leader of The We Generation became of age, everyone listened.  Everyone gathered.  In fact, this leader called for a National Day of Gathering.  

Outta curiosity, the Innies came, as did the Outties.

From the speaker stand, the leader asked that they take a moment, lift up their shirts, blouses, tops to expose their innie or their outtie.  They did. As they did, they proudly did.  They also gnarled, snarled, and scowled at their opposite.

Then this leader brought out this really, really bigass mirror. I'm talking bigger than any Jerry Jones scoreboard kinda thing.  Folks, innie and outties alike, kinda ooh'ed and aaah'ed with curiosity.

"OK, now".. this leader started to speak.. "I'd like for you each to turn around... take your pants, sweats, shorts, whatever you've got there, and pull them down a tad. Then, I'd like for you to bend over kinda like a center on the football team - and as you do, peer at the mirror, AND, at all the innie, outtie folks gathered here today.

They shook their heads wondering whatinthehell was a goin' on, but they consented, all dropped their drawers, turned aound, got into 'hut 2-3-4' position, peered at all the other innies and outties.... 

The boomers struggled to stay bent over, many of the millenials already had their pants down most of the way before this ordeal even started.  Anywho, they all stared out.

Holding the mike in his hand, the leader said "For years and years, simply due to the fact you're either an innie or an outtie, you've propelled hatred, stalled the progression of our wonderful country - instead preferring to 'get what I want' insteada 'what's overall best for innies and outties alike.'

"I just wanted to point out.." he continued.. "you assholes all look alike to me,"

The boomers took a tad to bend back up, fasten their drawers.. the millenials hiked 'em up mosta the way.. X'ers and Z'ers too.  They were ashamed of themselves. All this time, they've really been alike.  They thought back to all the times they watched the Chiefs, shopped the Piggly aisles, lent a hand when a neighbor needed it.. loaned.. borrowed.. gathered, prayed.

Things started changing.  Those two giant TV stations merged, and the news was preceeded by Lawrence Welk music. The New York Times and The New York Daily News merged as well.

Innies turned to outties.  Outties turned to innies.  "Peace be with you."  Thank goodness for Generation We.

Thank goodness for their leader.

"Ask not, what the Country can do for your front...but what your butt can do for the Country."

Amen Brother Ben, put another nickel in, in the nickelodean.

Love Victurd.

 

Yippee Ki Yay....

 I struggle with struggle. I probably love happiness too much, and conversely, abhor unhappiness to the tune of the stench of that damn fetal pig on our desk 54 years or so ago in Jr. High Biology.  Patooey.

I see Political posts, either way, uplifting 'the perfection' of one party, whilst demeaning that 'stench' of the other.  It makes me wanna barf, pee on it, throw rocks at it, shower them with powdered sugar.. (Huh?  Yeah, we did that in college.  If we were PO'ed at someone, we'd sprinkle powdered sugar allover their nice, bright, white sheets right before bedtime...long about 2am, thanks to natural body heat, they'd wake up a sticky, sticky mess.)  Too bad you can't throw that crap at Facebook.

See?  See?  I digress. I see the happiness of dog videos, watch hounds do amazing things, demonstrate unwordly loyalty - then that vision, or 'better yet' taste bud feeling of walking by the City Park Dog Pound as a child.  Stench. Patooey. So much greatness within, but the aura of stench, make me wanna vomit, surrounds. It's an up down world I rectum.

So, I've decided to post yummy moments.  By posting these moments that bring me joy, happiness, the want to live to be a hunnerd, maybe somehow I'll remind myself life just ain't so bad after all. And- besides, even though (thanks to Medicare) I can go to WallyWorld Pharmacy and get my don't-go-crazy generic meds for four dolla, free is much better.

A firework display.  Have you ever laid on a blanket on the 4th of July and watched a firework display and felt the immediate urge to tell your neighbor, boss, Political Party opposite, a person you've relinquished to a 30 day snooze - to Yippee Ki Ya? (Paul Harvey and Die Hard will tellya the rest.) I ain't.  I love a fireworks display.  It's all right.  I don't mean "just ok", I mean it's "ALL RIGHT." I mean, what better than the Finale'?  Reminds me of... well.. reminds me of...anudder yummy moment... VICTOR!  Relax, I'm talking about that ding from the microwave letting you know 'ready.'  Uh huh, sure.

The vivid memory of exactly what Grandma's Christmas Tree looks like. What better?  The liquid bulbs.. The popcorn strands we'd sewn the night before begging "can we open just one present, huh canwe?"  The pile of presents where their usedta be carpet. Ham, turkey, fat bellies. Cousins, aunts, uncles, granny, grandpa, sibs, folks - all around.  Happy. Whenever I feel alone, I hold my head up high and whistle a happy Silent Night or White Christmas, close my eyes, and I'm standing there in 1960 infronta granny's tree.

The comfiest chair at the comfiest time of night, the hound pooch on your lap emoting that endearing "you are my everything" look of thanks.  Or, the here kitty kitty on one's lap, giving you that "I am your everything" look seeking thanks. Either works, each comes with smile, laughter, happiness.

Friends. That gathering of friends.  Folks roughly same age, you've been thru JFK, MLK, hula hoops, surfer shirts, Beatlemania, "That's one small step for man.." Carson, Leno, Letterman, prepubescence, Hell No We Won't Go, Woodstock, Maynard G. Crebs "WORK!", retirement, this wife, that wife, inlaws, outlaws, kids, grandkids, male stretchmarks (belly dunlapped over).. that.  You've shared.  They've been there, you too.  Maybe golfing, or, for you chickies, a day at Macy's, or maybe a wine venue somewhere.  Little joyous things happen.... such as......

Our 99% of the time composed buddy who is having a really shitty day golfing. Long about getting the 6th ball outta his bag, lofting it 45 degrees into the woods on the left, followed shortly by the javelin throw of his 7 iron 45 degrees in the other direction into the woods - and that walk of shame to retrieve once coming to his senses.  Ya don't dare say anything, maybe a sheet-eatin grin, but that's all.  But then. Victor, you can't start a sentence with but.  Butt out.  But then, the NEXT time you all gather to play, everyone involved (except the club thrower) is wearing a bicycle helmit for their own safety, but moreso to let said club thrower know what a dumbass he was to display that.  Yeah, that, that makes me happy. Friends gathering with friends makes more-bills-than-bank, hemorrhoids, the recent spat with the old lady (I know I know, but when she's with friends she's using the term dumbass, so we're even.)  Anyways, friends.  Friends is good.  Friends is yummy.

Grandkids. When I first got grandkids, it was so awesome (and sure, has continued to be so.) But (there you go again Victor with the but thing)... but, the first few times you have the grandkids on their own, you go to the playground, for Happy Meals, for whatever-in-the-heck they want, BUT, before you go home, you GOTTA buy them chocolate ice cream cones.  Cause they drip.  Allover. Their hands get sticky.  Clothes need laundering, bad. Worth it. Kinda pays you back for all your kid's poopy diapers, all the hours trying to get them outta bed to get their butt to school. All those teenage years that coincide with less hair on one's head. All the times they said "Can you spot me a hunnerd til payday?"... Grandkids.  I never wanna say Yippee Ki Yay when I'm with grandkids.  Cepting maybe under my breath to their folks. Grandkids = happiness.  Maybe even moreso, watching your kids deal with your grandkids when they are doing the same thing to them, that your kids used to do to you.  Ahhhhhh, yes. Again, a moment what ya don't necessarily say nuttin, but you offer that shit-eatin' grin.  It's wonderful.

Finding a penny, either side up. Tails, ya flip it over and leave it for the next lucky person..heads, you make a wish - put it in your pocket.  Only better monetary feeling is putting on a paira jeans and discovering a $20 in your pocket.  Yippe Ki Yay.

Music.  Oh baby, music. I am not sure if there's a better feel than one alone, with the music of their choice, cranked to the level you want it at.  Well, there is that Finale' (mind outta gutter, we're talking fireworks here, and NO, not that kinda fireworks.. BUT.. if my relatives ain't here reading, YES, them kinda fireworks are yummy too!)

So, there's a short list. Fireworks. Christmas.  Family.  A pet on the lap. Friends. Grandkids.  Pennies, making a wish.  Music. Only Heaven could maybe be better.

So, I'd better run.  Well, I'm 68.  I'd better walk away now.  Clean the house, damnit. Fill the gas tank, criminy. Grab my umbrella. Stroll thru Facebook, Joe's dementia, Donald's arrogance and conspiracy theories.

Yippee Ki Ya.........

Love, Victurd

 

Remind me honey......

To me, life is an algebraic equation with no perfect answer.

Trying to figure why some people prefer to hurt is a fruitless attempt that only overflows one's bucket of woe.

Trying to figure out why people care, love, help, encourage, inquire of one's well being, compliment, that, baby, is the honey of the hive of life.

We (I know I do sometimes) spend sooooooo much time swimming in the bucket of woe when IT DOESN'T MATTER - or, we swim in there so often we too emit the stench of woe.

Honey, not money, not status, not attire, yeah baby.  If money should come, status maybe too, ability to dress nicely, have that gorgeous homestead folks dream of , get a formal education, build a successful company - it still all goes back to bucket of woe or hive of honey.  Was that money, status, homestead, education, business achieved by stepping on the backs, toes of others - or, by lifting folks up - and along the way it also lifted you up.

I awaken, I glance at life. I allow myself to be immersed in the dander of hatred about what is said of the color or a man, his religion, where he lives - comes from, what language he speaks, his beliefs, seeing/hearing folks who have for years cast stones, simply continuing target practice.  Practice makes putrid, so to speak.  Bucket of woe, not hive of honey.

Sometimes the seatbelts of restraint slip and I holler (or wanna holler) "NO!", "STOP", "DON'T".. . For a baby respite, I feel better, like I contributed, helped - truth, all I did is friggin' tread water in the bucket of woe.

Often, the wise don't speak. It's hard to learn something when one's mouth is open - and I fall in this trap often.  

Things.  Things bug me.  Arrogance.  Stepping on mankind.  Denouncing those who don't follow the suit of 'my way.' Rising up, rising up, hollering "NO... STOP... DON'T.. and then taking a breath... it's found the man will still be arrogant.  He/she will still step on man, his toes.  Will still denounce.  Jumped back in that bucket did i.  Stop Victor.

I get bitter - then get bitter at myself as it's only allowed me to stir that bucket of woe.

Giving in to NO... STOP... DON'T will only allow one to be labeled as 'butt hurt'.  

Live and learn.  Tell the ones who never ever hollered NO.... DON'T. . STOP.. thank you.  Your inactions are admirable and I am thankful for the example you set.  I can tell, how comfortably you sit and enjoy life, your butt don't hurt.

Forgive me honey, sometimes woe is me.  I'm trying though.

Love, Victurd

Here I sit, brokenhearted.....

Just kidding, really.

Wish in one hand...  well, you know the rest.  What I didn't know is that that (can you use that two times in a row?) came from a Steven King book.  That that I didn't know.

Watched pot never boils.

And, the modicum of getting outta Dodge and this dadgum pandemic "Hurry up and wait."

I want... .I want...  A dog.. A camper van.. A house.. A yard for said dog.  A cat.  Oh yeah, a girlfriend would be nice.  Me, 30 pounds ago.

Whatshispipe:  'Blow me down'. 'I yam what I yam'.. 'That's all I can stands, cause I can't stands no more!'  'I yam what I yam and that's all I yam.'  'If we can't be frens we'll be enemies'.  'Shiver me timbers.'   'Oh my gorshki!'. 'I can't bes nos Doctor 'cause I'm losing my patience!'

Waiting waiting, waiting on the Bluejays.  I remember from YEARS ago, playing basketball, high school.. we'd be down in the locker room before the game, in all likelihood, another losing game.. and the cheerleaders would start that loud chant  'WAITING, WAITING, WAITING ON THE BLUEJAYS!"..  There was something about it.. it seems like it made one jump a full foot higher... run, several seconds faster.. of course, maybe it's because we were 16, I dunno.  ANYWAYS, this pandemic suck - basketball kids, cheerleaders, fans can't even enjoy something like that!

"To lose patience is to lose the battle." Mahatma Gandhi.  NO MAHATMA! I want what I want and I want it now!  Got that that?

I admittedly don't have patience. Awhile back.  Wanted kayak.  Every trip to Dicks, Academy, Bass Pro I eyeballed them suckers like a Red Ryder Carbine Action 200. Should I buy one for two people or a single?  Girlfriend at the time said "Have you ever been on a kayak?" "No." "Well maybe you should rent one before you buy one?"  Scoff.. besides the point.  I want one. I want what I want and I want it now.  Got that that?..So, a year or so later we were in Orlando.. Free kayak rental at hotel. Did. Wasn't all that fun. Please don't tell her.

"The Shot." I've been on everywhich site there is to get this dadgum vaccine. I know from all the past packs of Exeter Light Shorts I would be in trouble if I got Covid.  County website.  State website.  WalGreens, WalMart, eyeballing mass vaccine thingys 120 miles North.. "do I dare go get one, then, when it comes time for the second one there will be 20 inches of snow?"  Continued, figured time for a new paragraph.  Normally I keep going, don't have the patience, but now I will.

So.........like many, FINALLY got scheduled thru County for last Tuesday.  14 below zero happened, Governor called vaccines that day off.  Patience Victor.  Rescheduled for last Friday.  Out of product, rescheduled, we'll let you know when.  Damnit darnit. Meantime, hours spent back and forth Walgreen website, WallyWorld website, no luck. Friend messaged, "try Hy-Vee."  THANKS!  Continued.  Got that that?

FIRST TIME on Hy-Vee website, I GOT AN APPOINTMENT!  Was for this past Tuesday at 3:15pm.  Even got an appointment with them for 2nd shot, St. Patty's Day. Yum. Rolling now.  Except.  Except. "If Hy-Vee doesn't have your insurance card, please download it now." Crap, ok. Got phone, got billfold, took nifty pic of front/back of Medicare card.. saved it to phone.  Went back to Hy-Vee website, except it wasn't there.  Crapola.  I'd accidentally closed it.  By this time, everyone in Liberty, Kearney, Excelsior, Vibbard, Wood Heights, Lawson, Mosby, Gladstone, NKC, you get the idea, everyone and their brother got wind of Hy-Vee openings.  Continued.

I never did get in, BUT, just in case, I got someone to cover for me at work.  Went to Hy-Vee at my appointed time.  Took her ten minutes to peek thru computer to finally say "You ain't in here." I wanted to play crusty, cantankerous old guy "I wana see your supervisor NOW", just didn't have it in me. "Ok, thanks." Crap. Double crap. Continued.

So.......the County one that was cancelled then cancelled, gotta phone call "Rescheduled for Thursday (today.) You will get an "OR Code" in your email, make sure and bring that with you." This worried me, as original email from the first time came into my junk email. Had it been a Clay County email from Luann Ridgeway or Gene Owen, YES, I would have wanted it in my junk email, but this one I wanted. So, I never got my "OR Code."  Called buddy. Did you get your new "OR Code?"  Yes, two days ago.  Crap. Double crap.  Continued.

So..... called the 1-800-something-VAX # they provided.  Lady looked me up. "You're in here."  Yeah but, yeah but, I ain't gots no email with OR Code thing? Realizing I was assuredly a crusty, cantankerous, old guy, she calmed with "You're in the system Sir, they'll find you, you'll be fine even if you don't have it." I wondered aloud if that was like a 'vow', cause I've heard them before...twice.. it no worky. That and that, got that that?

I'll probably never get a kayak. VICTOR!.. I'll probably never get my stimulus check. VICTOR, you did get that that but remember you cried and cried to us until you did?  kinda.

Life, and blogs, take interesting turns. To the outhouse by Willie Makeit. He ain't gots no patience.  Gimme a can o' spinach.  I'm going to Cerner (the shot giving site) today anyways, I'll give it a shot.

Blogs and turns. I blabbed yesterday about two dreams. This blog was intended to relate that I slept like a baby all night, no damn dreams.  Then, got up way too early, looked for OR Code in inbox (and junk email) NADA. Crap. Took a nap.  Surely this time I'll have a dream to write about.  Alarm went off, nope. Wish in one hand, alarm in other.

Here I sit, brokenhearted, came to dream and only farted.

Continued, in all probability.  Got that that?

Have patience, never give up on your hopes and dreams, hehe.

Love, Victurd.

(I do hereby promise, the day I get a dog.. or a cat.. or a girlfriend.. I will stop blogging so you don't have to suffer thru this crap.  Got that that? Thanks, sorry.)

Ripley's... no rhyme, eurythmics... Sweet Dreams... (Volume #1)

I have no idea if this will ever be posted.  #1, why would anyone want to know what I dream about?  #2, from the sounds of my first couple dreams, pretty strange.  The strange part doesn't scare me though.

I'm presently on like 6 different kinds of medicine, so, that may contribute to, accelerate my personal weirdness, or, my dream's weirdness - but then, I've always had weird dreams.  I always wanted to write down what I dream about - always forget, so thought, what the hey, I'll try.  If after reading any of these damn blogs it hasn't already been explained "I'm weird", well fer sure now you'll know.

I've had dreams where I wakeup breathlessly scared, mostly worried about something trivial, but, sometimes "Boom" huge... whatever that transition is between asleep, REM's and "shit I need coffee" and, numerous times I've nearly tinkled in my undies..or.. pinched myself to see if this is real.. or, exhaled big time to realize it's just that, a dream. I've immersed in huge worry dreams about diddies, projects at work I hadn't done, was very behind on, "in trouble", then sleep/REM/shit realize "You dumb ass, you're retired."  Oh yeah.

Go fish, first recorded dream. I was at home.  No idea where home was, but I was there. I was coupled.  No idea who with, but I was. 'She' came home and told me "I was driving home by the old Library, going up the street and there was this humongous fish, an OCEAN fish, lying, flipping, flopping in the road.  Crazy."   Yes, I thought she was.  So, I was outta smokes, or, beer, or, wanted a burger, don't remember - and I drove to get that/those. On my way home, I gotta drive by the Old Library to get home anyways, and I seez me this large damn Ocean fish, still flipping, flopping in the middle of the road.

He/she (how do you tell?) was the length of a baseball bat, fatter, and gorgeous.  Teal, aqua, deep blue, golden/yellow tones... and had these octopus feeler suction things on it's bottom, but not 'arms', just suction cup like things.  (No, I've never done LSD, nor would I.)

So, I pullover, dial 911, explain this really ain't an emergency, but I didn't know the non-emergency number. That's all I remember about the call.  Soon, lady cop shows up. She too was amazed by flipping, flopping Ocean fish, but like the Farmer's Insurance guy on TV commercial, she acted like "Seen it before." How can I help you?  I quarried.  "Grab me that red male body bag there." I moved without thinking, but then I thought "How come red?" Then again, blue is my favorite color, so, all good.

I helped her scoop it up into the bag.  I'd wondered if regular tap water would kill it, or, whereinthehell she'd get saltwater.  Knowing the ocean was only 8 miles North of Liberty, MO, I asked her if I could ride with her. (Remember, it's a dream, ocean 8 miles North of Liberty is believable in a dream.).  "No that's ok, but thanks." Then I thought maybe she didn't want me to ride with her because I'd be getting the objective of getting her outta town while my buddy robbed the bank, so I understood.

Twas just then I transitioned "sleep, REM, shit I need coffee."  Somewhere in the transition semi coherence re minded me Liberty was no where close to the Ocean and I'd hoped that she'd taken the little gal (feller?) to that Salt Water exhibit at Crown Center.  By this time I was at full "shit I need coffee" mode, awake. "Hey, I gotta write that down!  My first recorded dream!"..  so, that's my start.  If you are still here, don't swat me, but you are ONE BORED HUMAN BEING.

Dream #2, stay tuned, ain't had it yet.

A day went by. OK, just did have dream #2. In my dreams, I've been attending these games, kid games.  No idea why, no idea who I know, I just have been. Kinda fun to watch. Twice now, I ended up sitting by this gorgeous young mom, no hubby in sight.  The first time, she flirted.  That's exactly when I realized I was dreaming.  It was quick, so I didn't put pen to computer.

Then, it happened again. Sitting next to her. Twas uncomfortable in that she was really young and I am really old, but that didn't seem to matter to her. Idle chit chat happened.  Then, she leaned completely across me, looked up over her left shoulder and asked me if I'd split some nachos with her. It was truly creepy old man stuff because her perfume smelled really wonderful, her eyes mesmerized, her raven black hair had that wonderful whatever the wonderful going shampoo product is.  Her right boob was staring at me. Honest, I didn't stare first, it just popped out as if to say "hi". I trembled. Said "yes", then thought "Crap, do I have money."  Whoever I came with was seated twenty chairs over, but at that very moment I didn't care about them, ha!..  I walked over, got my billfold, came back... and that's when I transitioned sleep, REM, shit I need coffee.

I gotta admit I then felt perverted, but i also thought about Hugh Hefner... and what with George Clooney just having a child at 60, I hurriedly tried to go back to sleep to see her again.  I knew it would be fruitless.  I knew if I ever did try to kiss her, it'd be like sitting at this damn computer and up would pop "Intimacy will start after ad." Hehe.  Full awake.

I really chastised myself for being creepy, but then, I remembered taking this online test where you enter your medical history, your eating, drinking, exercise, (I was honest on everything) family medical history and it then projected at what age you'd die.  Donald Trump is probably envious, I've got four more years, so, I didn't feel so bad about being creepy.

If you never come back to my blog, I'll certainly understand, but I promised myself no pussyfooting, tell the dreams just as they are.  I did.

Love, Rip Van Victurd.

Tastes great...... Less filling...

It has been said, the only time you can change a man is when he's a baby.  Eh, mebbe so.

From the days of black and white TV, dad reconbuberating tubes behind the TV whilst a mirror placed on a chair in front let him know "good tube", "bad tube."  From when it took two football players to carry the damn TV in when one moved. To the flimsy ass (sorry, kinda) flatscreens of today where the pics are wonderful and when the picture goes bad you simply haul it out to the curb and run to BestBuy, WalMart, Target to by another big'n that's now under $10 an inch.

So.. over time, like my meat and potato diet, I've basically been a sport's addict, so, Nielsen has regularly avoided me in their ratings over the years.

Gimme USC versus UCLA...  Michigan versus Michigan State... of course KU/MU...  Alabama/Auburn... Cardinals/Cubbies... Yankees/Red Sox... Army/Navy... Dallas/Detroit and a turkey leg.. and of course the must see, Chiefs and Royals.

There are a bevy of people (I looked up bevy to see how big it is and results are mixed, from ten to hella lot).. a LOT of people who would be bored to tears on my sofa watching sporting events. Come to think of it, maybe that's where all them damn women went.

TODAY.  Who are you?  Are you the same?  Have your taste buds (at least as far as TV) changed?  Will you go to the urn watching every episode of Days of Our Lives? Do you program your remote to watch the same damn thing, night in night out, daily, weekly?  If so, you must be good with that - and, of course to each his/her own.

I've changed.  Yes, I won't miss a Mahomes/Reid, Salvy/Merrifield, MU Tiger kinda thing,,,, but if I do find myself tuned to something like  Kentucky/Tennessee, I get bored after the first shot taken.  Change.

Change.  I know you older women understand change. DON'T SWAT ME!  

No, I ain't of CSI, The Bachelor, The Voice ilk. (every onceinawhile maybe), etc..  When partnered, which seems to depend on who's in office in DC, I do enjoy a good ole binge on Netflix.

Quick story, our secret, PLEASE.  Last 'partnered', partner had a nifty screened in porch.  Wanting to enjoy storms, summer breeze, friends, yada, AND watch a show, I bought onea them big ole under $10 an inch TVs for the porch. I was a Netflix virgin until then - but once TV/porch happened, hours upon hours of Breaking Bad, The Ranch, Shameless (I know it ain't Netflix).. anyways, message is, thanks to the Amazon Fire Stick, we got Netflix on the porch too.

Then Breaking Up happened. So, paid my young studly great nephews and son, to help me totes all my junk to an apartment.  Got cable, don't remember which, I think it was AT&T, to watch until they raised rates too damn high to switch to Time Warner Spectrum Cougar Mellencamp a year later.

One day (this is our secret), for grins I clicked Netflix.  Lo and behold up popped 'her' name, I clicked it, and for a few years until my usedta be on the screened in porch TV conked I coat tailed her Netflix, forgive me Father for I did.

Where was I?  Oh yeah, change. I don't hate sports, but I've replaced them with a pretty good mix of Discovery Channel, National Geographic and History Channel. Alaska, Homestead Rescue, Building Off the Grid.. but mainly:

Alaska. On Facebook they have those lists with a hunnerd and twelve places and you're supposed to put a heart by where you've been - I've never been to Alaska and there's at least a hunnerd and eleven places I'd rather go first.  I don't like to hunt.  I don't like to fish. I like automatic thermostat, 4 lane highways. seeing people daily, our Old Towne Square, even Wally World.  If the temperature gets below ten, I'm under two down comforters. So. Why Alaska?

I dunno.  It's thrilling (to me) to watch. Yes, there are the two families highlighted on Discovery (maybe too mainstream now), but I too have just 'found' Life Below Zero on National Geographic. The freezer is empty, winter is coming, BETTER GET WITH IT.  Survival depends on it. "Geez, that lady just walked outside her cabin and she doesn't have a rifle and ya just know there's gotta be a Grizzly within shouting distance?"

Snowmobiles on roads where you can't tell whereinthehell the road is.  Dogsled teams where speed, turning and woah are all done verbally, no reigns. (My beloved sister inlaw would be repulsed by dog teams, but, they actually seem happy and enjoy, well fed, very well taken care of.) Crossing frozen rivers where "If by chance the ice gives in, we're done, history, dead."..   "Gotta getta Caribou or else".  I am new into watching this show and I'm not real sure, other than 'hunting, fishing and gathering' how these folks make real money to buy real needs like gasoline, tools, machine replacement parts, etc.

One lady, 55, lives in basically a humongous tent. She's one swipe away from being a Grizzly meal.  I do not know how she does it. Better yet, why she does it. "Wouldn't live anywhere else" - and they all seem to echo that.

50 below zero. 40" of snow. Must have gun to walk outside. Some, no running water.  Most, no real toilet.  It ain't me babe, but it's sure fun, exciting to watch the show.

I would love to hear of your TV habits - to see if they've indeed changed as you have gotten older, maybe changed a bit yourself.  Sorry the above it mainly the view from my shoes and about my shoes, but after 68 years, I find myself still trying to get to know me, and wondering if anyone else was in same boat, or sled, or snowmobile. 

Dominique, nique, nique S'en allait tout simplement, Routier, pauvre et chantant, En touse chemins, en tous lieux, Il ne parle que du Bon Dief. Sorry, kinda.  Felt it.

Have a happy day. Getting my dogs and sled ready, running for a burger at McCaribou.

Love, Victurd

Read between the shit.

Honest, I'm harmless - but I know too that intro will run off a certain percentage of folks, and that's ok, they be the ones missing out on fun!

Through this quarantine, Facebook has basically been my 'mate.' (Don't worry, soon, I promise I'm getting a cat.)  Life every morning, I head for the john.  If I've been very ambitious the night before, all I gotta do is hit the switch on the coffee.  If I ain't been ambitious, then it depends on how bad I gotta pee if I make coffee pre or post tinkling. I love sharing my life with you!

Anyways, this morning as I was reading, I came to "NOOOOOOOOO, I don't wanna read, hear, see that crap!"... Poof, she be on snooze for 30 days!  Then some good stuff..  Then, music, I need music. So, I plays me some music whilst I read. I pick one song, then youtube reads my mind and plays similar songs after my song is done.

Where was I?  Oh yeah, upset.  Ugly.  I hates reading me some ugly on Facebook.  Too bad there ain't a Fabreeze button up there next to the bell and message button.  Point is, I want HAPPY.  What was infronta me wasn't happy. So.............  I went thru my friends list, picked a few stellar folks that are ALWAYS happy, and below I report a synopsis of their happy postings:

Family.  Friends.  Gatherings, smiling.  A sporting team that all, in general, support. Fun jokes that don't take pot shots, or, if they do, probably deserved the she pot-shotee will laugh too.

Music.  Much.  Pets.  Pictures of pets.  Videos of pets. Birthday greetings that are creative.  Sure, Happy Birthday is good, but...but... but.. howabout... howabout..  a  pic with a guy standing on an 'X', six feet away from a urinal and the card is entitled 
"aim to have a good birthday."  Much funner, happier.

A picture of a lady and her hound. She was brushing him and he burped. That's fun. A cartoonish post stating "Make Facebook Fun Again!"  YES!   And it had diddies like "no politics...be nice.. .stop namecalling..  the golden rule works..  post only helpful things..  share pics of your kids and family."  Uh huh, that.  Thanks.  An MLK quote.  All MLK quotes rock.  A post about "you never know" the impact you may have on one... never know how much someone needed that hug.. Basically, don't wait for someone to be kind first.  Yep, that's happy.

A reminder chocolate is vital for our survival.  Dinosaurs didn't have chocolate and look what happened to them.  (Serious stuff).. 

A positive quote.  Pics of family.  Especially pics of 'little family' ones.  Grey hair old ladies in robes dancing.  A fundraiser for a hound rescue effort.  Vivid colors.  A YouTube video of a song when we were young punks. Grandkid pics, working on a project.  A nifty Christmas story about a pretty tough time, winter that turned out well and made the memory, the holiday, all the more remarkable and enjoyable.

Friends, unprompted, complimenting friends.  Happy this-holiday, that-holiday, every-holiday, have-a-happy - posts.

Three youtube videos in a row with songs that associate winter with happy.  S'more bucks donated to a fundraiser for hounds. A Bernie snowman.  Aw come on, both sides can love on that! A hound pic. A picture of a squirrel drenched with snow, on hind legs.. stating "Winter sucks, it's going to take til July to thaw out my nuts!"  A pet video.  Two youtubes that make you want to say "screw sub-zero temps, let's dance!".

A long joke lovingly pigeon holed for a friend that we can all enjoy. Happy happy, smiling picture of an admired relative that's since gone..  A cartoon of a weather forecaster (close your ears) stating "It's been mostly shitty today and tonight will be even shittier. There's a 90% chance tomorrow will be shitty and the long range forecast is shitty, real shitty, and total shit. (This lady is fun.  Her 'shit's are what jelly is to peanut butter.)  Which reminds me.  During a Chief's game, you can always tell when Mahomes has been intercepted as her post is simply "shit, shit, shit, shit, shit."  (I once asked her if like "Shit Shit Shit" will show up on her memories from like 3 years ago, "Yes!"  I love her.

A post wishing everyone a Happy National Drink Wine Day.  A picture of this person's ADORABLE almost two-year old daughter.  Trust me, the eyeballs would meltya.  A saying "Kindness is like snow, it never fails to add beauty to what it covers."  A reminder it's only 130 days until summer.   A picture of said adorable almost two year old a couple minutes after tearing into a jar of Nutella. A picture standing next to a lifesize Mahomes bobblehead.

A one panel pic of toilet paper entitled "My TP has scallops! Does yours?" Pic of four (smiley) friends gathered about table, drink and meal, wishing for a quick return to same. A pic of a young man and his git-fiddle entitled "all growed up and playing the blues, SO proud of you!"  A pic of the wonder of God's handiwork with snow, ice on a window pane.  A video of some horses tromping around (for the very first time) in a foot of snow.  You'd haveta see it.  A Far Side cartoon of a chicken and an egg laying in bed.  The egg has his (her?) arms over his (her?) head, a very happy smile, cig hanging outta the mouth and the chicken saying "Well, I guess that settles that old argument."

Sooooooooooooooooooooooooo, to summerize those disgustingly happy folks.. They post pics of family.  Of friends.  They say good things to people.  They give money to pets.  They show pics of pets.  They tell jokes.  They like music.  They like to dance. They make fun of the weather, and friends, but done so lovingly.  Kid and grandkids loom large, and popular.

Shit is ok. Shit, to us old folks, is funny like fart is to a child.  Oh some will turn their head in disgust, but most of us, it's good.  Good shit so to speak. Holidays are popular.  Old folks are good.  Self deprication comes naturally to these happy people.

If only we could see in their medicine cabinets as to why they really are happy!

So................... thanks.  Thanks to them. I was reading.  I was bummed. I wasn't happy. I wanted to see things from happy people's shoes.  I feel better.  Much better. (Tune in tomorrow where we may learn why the chicken crossed the road!).. I love me some happy folks.

Good shit.

Love, Victurd, pun mebbe intended.

Will Robinson got a honey jar stuck on his nose....

 Time has us borrowing from Robot B9 and his "Danger, Will Robinson!"  It's become a catchphrase that needs to preempt "Hold my beer and watch this."

You don't tug on superman's cape. You don't spit into the wind.  You don't pull the mask off that old lone ranger, and you don't mess around with Jim.

Jim (the singer/songwriter) Croce wrote this song about big Jim Walker,  a pool shootin' son of a gun, big and dumb as a man can come, stronger than a country hoss... well... Slim had lost big to Jim in a pool bet. A bit later camea lookin' for Jim. "My name is Willie McCoy but down home they call me Slim."  They tried warning Slim.. Big Jim come boppin' off the street - Slim cut him up and shot him twice.  Croce then changed the chorus to:

You don't tug on superman's cape. You don't spit into the wind.  You don't pull the mask off that old lone ranger, and you don't mess around with SLIM.

I'm always amazed at how little attention I've played in life.  Reading up on Jim Croce, he'd just graduated from college, the first one in his family..his folks wanted him to get a '9 to 5' job.. instead, Jim sold spots for a radio station because music was his lifelong goal.  His area was a poor, poor nook in Philly, which included the pool hall, where there truly was a Big Jim Walker.

It was Croce's first hit.. later he had Time in a Bottle, and the biggy Bad, Bad Leroy Brown...  life is fleeting.  Croce was killed in a plane crash when he was only 30 years old.  Damnit Jim.

So I guess this is about advice.  

Call your parents.  

Your choices at the moment will be good ones. Trust yourself.

Take into account that great love and great achievements involve great risk. (Dalai Lama.)

There's a little truth behind every just kidding, a little curiosity behind every just wondering, a little knowledge behind I don't know, a little emotion behind every I don't care.

It's easier to ask forgiveness than it is to get permission.

Be decisive.  Right or wrong, make a decision. The road of life is paved with flat squirrels.

If you don't go after what you want, you'll never have it.  If you don't ask, the answer will always be no.  If you don't step forward, you'll always be in the same place.

In honor of Super Bowl 55, and in discussing really good things in life "It's like a Snicker's bar in the freezer, right?  It's treasured."  Andy Reid

Impressive it is that Coach Reid, after all these years - still seeks advice, input (so yes, a boss asking for advice is advice in and of itself): Reid established a players leadership committee consisting of one member from each position group as a way for player to air their concerns. 

"Whenever we started that meeting, the first thing he would say is, 'All right, what gripes do you have?' Johnson said, "He doesn't want guys complaining in the locker room about this and that, like practices being too long or the food in the cafeteria not being good. So, he would say 'Tell me all the stuff like that and I'll fix it.' He doesn't want us to have any excuses for not getting it right on Sunday. He wants to eliminate all the distractions."

"You can't hit a home run if you don't swing for the fence.  You can't do anything special in life sitting on the fence."  Bruce Arians', Tampa Bay Coach.

I loves me some advice.  Well... first time advice. That repeated advice that's preceeded by "Like I said....."  Well... that gives me the heeeeeeeebeeeeeeejeeeeeeeebiiieeeeees.

Don't let it go to your head.  I REALLY love complimenting a lifelong pal on something and then following with that.  They smirk.  Smirks are good.

Don't break your arm patting yourself on the back.

To that end, don't be impressed here.  Every damn thing has been plagiarized.

Be careful acorn hunting.  Don't spit into the wind.  Don't mess around with Jim (or Slim.)

Love, Victurd

*JUST IN*. Long study uncovers root cause of Nation's divisiveness...

 

*JUST IN*. Long study uncovers root cause of Nation's divisiveness...

 

I bet you do.....

My psychology professor in college was fun to listen to.  Insteada lecturing us unripened brain students on psychological algorithms or in heuristics (I know, I had to look it up too).. he spoke 'real life' stuff to us.

One of my favorite stories of his... he was shopping in Wally World..  He happened down the same aisle as a mom that was pushing her cart where inside was a fairly new newborn, and, a termite in the 3 to 4 year old range. The newborn was an angel - of course he was strapped in and wouldn'ta fallen out even in a tsunami. The 3-4 yr old, not so much.

Down the toy aisle, said 3-4 yr old "Olive Oiled" a jigsaw puzzle into their cart, mom replied "NOOOOOO", removed it from the cart to it's proper place back on the shelf, then admonished "SIT.. . do NOT stand up.. i don't want you getting hurt, and you CANNOT put things that don't belong to us in the cart." This all interested our professor... so....

He followed them down the ailse where the toys were really for older kids. Said 3-4 year old (let's call him Jonathan, I don't remember his name though)..  Jonathan was able, from his sitting position, to reach out and grab the streamers that protruded from a nifty pink bicycle handlebars, toppling the bike, almost toppling the cart, almost jettisoning the tsunami-proof newborn.  "DAMNIT JONATHAN!" she screamed, then looked around sheepishly to see how many people heard so she could rank her embarrassment.  Just our professor buddy. "Whew."  More scolding of Jonathan

Jonathan would be mostly good down the length of an aisle, then, he would act his age, grab something, knock off something, or, beg "Mom I WANT one of those!" Repeated admonishments, reminders to "sit", and, "I TOLD YOU, we're here to get a few things for home, your birthday is in two weeks, NO TOYS TODAY." Around the 3rd or 4th time she had to say that, she spoke to herself "God, I sound just like my mother."

Professor getting his exercise in, staying a safe didstance as to not be thought of as a stalker, but still interested in the human psyche between partent-child. "Jonathan, I am NOT gonna tell you again" she bellowed in housewares.

Jonathan didn't seem overly concerned about the admonishments, but then again the vast majority of his life had been spent watching Days of Our Lives and Guiding Light so you can imagine his excitement just getting out. "Jonathan, DO NOT stand up" she sweated out as he did so in Electronics.  "I am NOT going to tell you again."

Cart was getting fuller of needed goodies, kinda squishing Jonathan's reaching ability - nonetheless, several more times the scolding continued "and I AM NOT going to tell you again."

Thus far, professor believed he hadn't been noticed by mom.  As she inched closer to checkout, it took her down the candy aisle. Eyeballing his favorite, Jonathon reached and successfully grabbed a bag of Sour Patch Kids gooey candy. With tremendous peripheral vision, mom instantly snatched it, put it back on the hook it came from, and one more time "And I AM NOT going to tell you again." Prof couldn't resist his urge to shed the Sherlock Holmes disguise, and just as soon as she got the "I AM NOT going to tell you again" outta her mouth, he finally added "I bet you do." 

Screw algorithms and heuristics, I loved the man, the class, his stories.

That's really the end of this blog.  When fat rear end sat down, I was determined to do a blog on all the different bets one can make on the Super Bowl. The last time I bet on the Super Bowl, I was SO SURE Payton Manning and the Denver Broncos were gonna smash Seattle, I put $100 on the Broncos. On the Broncos very first play, the center snapped it over Manning's head, the ball trickled out of the end zone for a safety and it only got worse from there. (Seattle 43, Denver 8). Needless to say, my betting days on the Super Bowl are over.

HOWEVER, if you'd like to make a bet, below there are ****36 pages**** of prop bets you could make.  Ain't a typo, it's really 36 pages.

Have a wonderful day, I'm betting you do. 

Love, Vucturd

Your 36 pages:    https://www.scribd.com/document/492520738/SB-LV-PROPS#from_embed

A Tale of Two Sittys.....

 Yes, it takes three balls to juggle, but I'm gonna try it with two.

The first Sitty.  Band camp, long ago (pre-wrinkles). Twas before I had that bald hole on toppa my head that I can't see, but my son reminds me of every time I see him. Anways, bonified Gate Agent for United Airlines.  Mid-Winter. The Airport/airline ain't like School, the Library, even the Community Center.  When it snows 6 inches, the edict is "Get here, the aiport may close, but we aint."

The second Sitty, my fat butt in this chair, staring at Facebook on the screen, thoughts within.  Scary eh?  The perfect man doesn't exist, but if I were perfect, every story I'd tell would be rosy, Pollyanna with a bow on top.  Sorry, kinda.  It was said proudly "I got my vaccine today!"... Yippee, backflip, did-it-hurt, how? Twelve responses kinda like that, an answer, and then "I'm older than you, I'm high risk, why did you get a shot infronta me?" Holy guacamole.  "Ma'am?  Ma'am? Tellya what.  There are 328.2 million folks in the US.  Do me a favor, grab your Big Chief tablet and list them, in order, of age, need, risk, yada, all that. K?"

"Welcome to United Airline flight 436 with nonstop service to Omaha."  It was a half an hour before departure, but I was sposedta say that a half an hour before departure, so I did. There were two of us at the podium, I was still considered 'rookie', so my job was to assist any folks that needed a little extra assistance, while the other person checked the folks in, made sure folks were happy with where their seat assignment was.  Dude.  Older dude. Wheelchair. Next to the podium.  My responsibility. He'd been there roughly 45 minutes and I'd yet to seen a glimmer of a smile, expression, eyebrow flick...he reeked of "I ain't happy, I'll never be happy, I'm gonna play the game "Ain't it awful" and you can't change that. <- I don't mean all this about his having to be in a wheelchair, I mean it was his take on life, long, long before wheelchair.

Second Sitty. Coffee made, being drank. (Drink, drank drunk, I think that's correct.) Soon, constitution.  WHAT?  Is this the real life, is this just fantasy, no escape from reality.  We poop early in the morning.  It's just nature, sorry.  I watch a video of some folks awaiting the trash truck to pull up to their trash can.  Hubby filming, lady out stopping the trashman.  "Don't take this yet, open this." (A small box atop.) "Is this a trick?" refuse collector asks.  "No!"  He opens the box.  There's a rolled up, long piece of paper, he unfurled like an old English Pronouncement..  then said "I can't take this." "Yes, yes you can," lady countered. Right then and there, he sang America the Beautiful, and he did so beautifully. I welled up and I didn't even know what was on the sign he was holding. I'm a wimp like that.  Turns out it was the words "THANK YOU" and all of the letters were made with very large bills.  I assumed hunnerds, couldn't tell for sure. Second Sitty a good sitty.  Started shitty, sorry, ended goody.

"Folks as you can see, the snow is coming down like crazy.  The plane has to be deiced, so our departure will be delayed at least 45 minutes. Old man sitting next to podium who hadn't smiled since Kennedy was in office, and that I was assigned to, let out air, groan, coupled with an I wanna kill facial expression.

Back to the fat ass Sitty #2 at computer.  A Golden Retriever pic.  Six pictures of the gorgeous one year old daughter of a former co-worker.  Damnit, a political post.  Doesn't matter the side.  Dependent upon which side, it's the same critters lined up to say something smartass as if it were a recording of "We're not gonna take it" by Twisted Sister.  Back to the aiport......please.

"Ladies and Gentleman I'm sorry to announce, with the snow still coming down here, and even moreso in Omaha, Flight 436 has been cancelled.  We will do our best to assist you with the next possible flight out."  My back was turned to Mr. Chirpy, but I could feel his eyes piercing me as if I were a 4 by 8 sheet of plywood at onea those axe throwing places that have popped up allover. "I'm sorry sir.. there is another flight in 2 hours, 40 minutes at gate 59, I'll take you down there now if that's ok with you." He didn't say no, so off we rolled toward gate 59.

Chair, PC.  An amber alert.  An ad for one to buy a race horse. A 50 year old pic of a gal I went to school with. Birthday wishes to a pal.  A string of comments on an MU fan group I belong to where we'd just won a game in overtime, increased our record to 11-3, rated in the Top Twenty for the first time since Sprint Center T-Mobile-Cougarmellancamp was built and 32 of the 74 posts wanted to fire our head coach.  Me no get it. I reckon glass ain't half full.  The bastard leaks.

"Folks, I need to announce flight 446 to Omaha departure has been delayed 65 minutes in effort to deice the plane, plus, for getting the OK that we're good to proceed to Omaha, weather permitting." Sir?  Can I get you a glass of water?  A soft drink?  Would you like a bag of peanuts?  Do you need to use the facilities? His head spun sideways four times, which, I took as a no.  Can I tell you a joke you cantankerous SOB?  Just kidding, but I thought it.

Back to the juggle part where I'm at chair, PC.  Coincidentally, weather, winter in KC, City has announced they are going to setup temporary shelter for the homeless at Bartle Hall.  Yippee.  Positive.  S'more, s'more please.  A picture of a Scottish castle. Someone's cat. A post about the previous administration.  Good god Gerty.  Same folks as usual lined up, potshots.

"Well, we appreciate your patience and I'm sorry to announce United Flight 446 to Omaha has been cancelled due to incliment weather both here and in Omaha.  They presently have 7" on the ground and it's still snowing."  More conversation with the lovebug...rolled him down to gate 55 where United Airlines flight 456 was (hopefully) set to depart in a little over an hour.  It's close to dark-thirty and thankfully my shift ends in 3 hours. "Holler sir if you need anything, be happy to help." Exhale, groan, leer, repeat.

Sitty #whatever it is, can't remember but the one at the PC.  Clown pic. A view from behind of a car with a piece of paper on back stating "Learning stick, sorry for any delay." A good posting. The paper prepared us in case anything happened.  Post then pointed out, when we come upon people there are no notes that might say "Going thru divorce," "Diagnosed with cancer," "Just lost my mom," etc. A good reminder to give everyone an extra dose of patience.

The Airport Sitty. Time drags, snow continues to fall. This, the last jet service flight to Omaha is cancelled, I need to relate that to Chirpy over here. VICTOR!  Remember, an extra dose of patience, you have no idea what's going on in his world!  "Sir?  I'm going to take you down to Gate 63 and our commuter service, United Express - they are to have a flight in a little over an hour.  I really really hope for you the weather clears and we can get you to Omaha yet tonight." Crickets. Mean, staring crickets.

A Mahomes post (YAY!)  A post where hubby relates to wife "I did the dishes" to which she replied "OMG, I'll start the parade." A posting of a furry Kermit stating "It's Sunday, and I just might stay in my pajamas all day."  :

It's 42 minutes past what time I was supposed to get off, but I volnteered (or was volunteered, don't remember) to stay with Chirpy as he had no one else to assist him.  Our 4th and last flight of the day to Omaha. Still snowing just like Bing Crosby dreamed it, both in KC and in Omaha.  "Folks, I'm sorry to announce, they've officially closed the Airport in Omaha for the evening."  I was in my late 20's, maybe early 30's, so I knew if the old feller took a swipe at me I was pretty sure I could move quick enough not to get punched.  In summation of the day, and the very first discernable thing I heard him say all day...."Damn... I KNEW I shoulda flown Delta."

Love, Orville and Wilbur Wright.. Henry Gibson. .and Victurd

Anyway the wind blows....

 If I die never understanding what's going on with GameStop, I'll be fine, who cares...

Blame it on the Bossa Nova....

Hickory Dickory, could care less about TikTok, Tiger King or Carol Baskin Robbins or even who shot JR...

Can anybody.. find me somebody to love?

CNN, Fox, the Blue Governor said..  the Red Governor replied... Mitch, Ted, Nancy, Chuck, he said she said they won't, how can you take away his pudding if he's no longer at the table?

I'm leavin' on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again.. Oh babe...

Death numbers updated on the twelve daily newscasts.. that cashier was really friendly, nice, close to me in age, maybe, but I wonder if she's got a really really big nose?

Welllllllllllllllllllllllll........... you know you make me want to SHOUT, kick my heels up and SHOUT, throw my hands up....

Foul balls in the stands with no kids to chase... slam dunks that amaze the cutouts... Piped in crowd noise... the vendor hadta surrender...

HELP, I need somebody, HELP, not just anybody...

All I wanna do is a zoom-a-zoom-zoom-zoom.....not....look thru the assisted living window but don't touch... Mr. Bar Owner, we realize you just spent 200-thou to update your dining room, you still can only have 10 diners...

Dang me, dang me......

You know I've really been appreciative of you delivering my groceries, but three eggs were broken, the mayo cost $1.37 more than the one I wanted.... and I really wasn't aware Always Save made Frosted Fakes?....

Well come on all you big strong men, Uncle Sam needs your help again....

Funeral plans will be announced after the pandemic..... CH  CH.. What's missing?  UR.  Do pastors take PayPal?  Venmo?  Dearly beloved, our laptops are gathered here.... I'm really sorry Aunt Laura, but you woulda made the 11th one for Thanksgiving....

Hello Muddah... Hello Faddah... Here I am at.....

Sir?  SIR?  Please put your feet on the X.... and when someone exits, you can move to the next X.

Well, let's go to the hop (oh Baby) let's go to the hop...

Damnit, back to the car to get my mask, oh well, at least I'm getting exercise..  Hey Buddy, that ain't the proper social distance, you mind? Well, I live next door to that fraternity house and I can tell ya, fer sure that couple wasn't six feet apart... The only thing I've really done well during all this is eat....

Push up, every morning,  ten times, push ups starting low.. Once more on the rise, nuts to the flabby guys, Go you chicken fat go!

A line in the sand. Guns. Gun control. Pipeline, jobs.  Clean water. They're arming themselves..  Communism..  Fascism..  They're gonna wanna chip us, control our every move... 

Dizzy, I'm so dizzy my head is spinnin, like a a whirlpool it never ends..

Yard signs stolen, long lines votin', Weekend at Bernies voting, but we counted and recounted 24 times... let's photo shop Bernie.. again..

They're coming to take me away ha-haa... remember when you ran away and I got on my knees and begged you not to leave because I'd go beserk?

We needs us some Gorilla glue... pandemic gone, hands held in a circle..  arm around one another.. hatred smatred.. remember what MLK said, let's practice it.. What?  You don't wanna be friends?  We simply can't agree to disagree?

How can people be so heartless?  How can people be so cruel?  Easy to be hard, easy to be cold.

Is this the real life?  Is this just fantasy?  Caught in a landslide no escape from reality.... Open your eyes.. lookup to the skies and see...I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy because I'm easy come, easy go, a little high, a little low...anyway the wind blows doesn't really matter to me...to me...

It's too bad life ain't got GPS.  Right Alexa?  Quoting perhaps the greatest ginger ever:  "What?  Me Worry?"

Scaramouch scaramouch will you do the fandango...

Love, Victurd

The rest of the story....

This will be brief.  Recently did a blog on my apartment upstairs neighbors.  Two youth, with lotsa 20+ kiddos parties on weekends.. and music (loud) 24/7, not too mention trash in yard (they never put it in recepticles, always on ground, trash company wouldn't p/u, don't blame them.

Anyways.. They were finally evicted. One day owner hired some to come in, clean their apartment - when they went to lunch I snuck in and took some pics.  Yummy huh?

Paul Harvey, Good day....

On Golden Lagoon....

Up and at 'em too incredibly early again today - I peeked at the 'lights' on Facebook to see who else was up and I thought about posting "Damn, I see the same people up this time of day every day... what's wrong with you folks?"    Oops.

The cat, dog posts.  Prayer postings.  Recaps from MLK day. Yes, Biden, Trump postings. Ads.  S'more ads.  Then one caught my eye:

"Get rid of 'em, they're old." That wasn't exactly what was said, but, it was exactly what was meant.

Was this spoken to folks at a bowling alley?  "I'm sorry folks, age 74 is the very oldest you may be here, please call a cab and head on back to your assisted living facility."\

"Officer?  Is this a sobriety checkpoint?  I quit drinking when Kennedy was in office.  I wasn't speeding either. Whatsup?"........"I'm sorry sir, we've revised the maximum driving age to 75, please get out of your car. Please call a relative to take you to the back 40 pasture." (As in, it's 'pasture' time.)

When I retired, I thought "maybe I might not wanna." So, I did the LinkedIn thing (patooey), went to a few job boards, entered logistics as a key phrase - then the emails came.  And more emails.  Finally one day - a call.  In a gregarious, too damn chirpy voice "Hey! Hi Vic!  How are you doing today?" In brevity we spoke about the day, maybe the weather, heck I don't remember, but then he asked "Hey, what year did you graduate from High School?"   "Ahm, 1970."   Click.  Crickets! I laughed, took a nap, watched TV for a couple hours, then took another nap.

The age discrimination thing at work... the Federal Government thing.  Do you know at what age you may begin to be discriminated?  40. Kinda shocked me.

Wiki.  I go to Wiki for everything I want to know but was afraid to ask someone.  You do dat?  People use a word, hell I dunno what it means, so I Google it.  Same with Wiki.  About how old people were treated, thought of over the ages, wise Wiki relates:

"Historical periods reveal a mixed picture of the "position and status" of old people, but there has never been a "golden age of aging".^[ Studies have disproved the popular belief that in the past old people were venerated by society and cared for by their families.^[Veneration for and antagonism toward the aged have coexisted in complex relationships throughout history. "Old people were respected or despised, honoured or put to death according to circumstance."

In ancient times, although some strong and healthy people lived until they were over 70 most died before they were 50. The general understanding is that those who lived into their 40s were treated with respect and awe. In contrast, those who were frail were seen as a burden and ignored or in extreme cases killed. People were defined as "old" because of their inability to perform useful tasks rather than their years."

Put to death? Hells bells Gertrude, let's run to Freverts and buy new locks for the front door!

Forgive me Father but I remember times being in line at the 7-11, some old geezer (sorry.. my vision was skewed, I was 30-something, not to discriminate against 30-somethings, ah, what the hell, I just did.) Anyways, an old guy was in line, I had five minutes to spare to get to work. Old feller had turned in 43 combined Lotto, scratcher thingys, and won a total of $7. He happily thought aloud, "hmm, do I buy that $2 #37 Gold Mine, or, #22, the $5 Triple Cash Crossword?"... Point being, I discriminated. I shouldna.  I abhor, hate discrimination.

As it turned out, neither of my folks lived in an assisted care or nursing home facility.  I've spent a bit of time visiting in each - and it was a mixture of extreme happiness, with a smidget of very sad thrown in. (As a kid, I was mid-transition from Cub Scout to Boy Scout, the very first Boy Scout task was to go to a church, do a good deed [pull weeds, pickup trash, yada] and get the pastor's signature.  I was deathly afraid.  Quit.  Our family was religious - we did not attend church.  Victor, why are you telling this?  Because, same thing with old folk's homes. I was afraid to go in one. Stupid stupid stupid I was, because when I finally did go, it was very, very heartwarming. Again, the sad cases of frailty just waiting for that moment - but most were at least mentally spry, very definately happy.

Ok, you've taken us down streets, alleyways, backroads, 2-lane roads, interstates...where you going with all this Victor?

I think age should not matter in occupation.  As long as one, any age, can do the job, the hell does it matter if they're 19 or 79?

We are mid "hurry up, get outta my way" society at present - and I think many trod on older folks. Seems society too has been that way for quite some time. You see it, I see it.  The 60-something year old employee is released due to 'cost cutting', but a 24 yr old is thrown in with the mix to nix the ageism lawsuit possibility.  The grocery clerk, convenience store dude, some, not all, treat old folks with no smile, and the 'hurry up and get outta here' approach.

As my wrinkles deepen, my pace slows, my naps increase - one thing I've found... and in talking to fellow geezers, seems to be true with them too..  I/we think young. God Bless young, no matter how old one is.

We, children of the corn...no, that ain't it...  we, children of the 50's, 60's watched, grew up, lived in a rebellious era.  It's been a fun trip.  I'm not huge on potty mouth, but sometimes I think it's fun for emphasis. I delight in seeing pictures on Facebook of old people flipping the bird.  Sorry (not really) I do.  It says, speaks, a lot.  Kinda like "bite me young'n, one day you'll get here too and you'll see what I mean."

The post this morning was about Term Limits and getting rid of old people in Congress.  Count me in on Term Limits.  As far as age, work "As long as one, any age, can do the job, the hell does it matter if they're 19 or 79?"

I've gotta pee now, then take a nap, then go buy a MegaMillions.  Happy day.

Love, Victurd

Billy....

Billy was your average kid, but then again he wasn't. Born at 10 lbs, 11 ounces - he had his fair share of baby fat to work off.   Wouldn't take long though.  By the time he was four, he could be found virtually EVERY night in the backyard, smashing whiffle ball pitches from dad. Every time, he'd stare out this solemn stare at the 'pitcher', tap the plate with the end of his bat, tug his hat down a touch, and perfectly time his swing.. the ball usually ended up someone near the rosebushes. by the time Pa fetched it, turned around - Billy was sliding his needless slide into home plate for a four-bagger - just like his hero Ken Griffey Jr.

Dad worked the graveyard shift at the charcoal plant and the kids rarely saw him sleep.  Kids being Billy and his older sister Sally, better known as Sal. If he wasn't orchestrating batting practice in the backyard, dad could be found on the losing end of a game of Clue, Monopoly, Candy Lane or Jenga against Sal. Mom was fine with all this, and the biggest cheerleader to each.. habit had it she'd bring a jug of Koolaid to the backyard - or, a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies to the living room.  Yum.

Billy and Sal were perfect kids.  Well, almost.  There was that one time in High School, Billy was driving the hand me down family Chevy Truck, and best buddy Scooter was out and about too in his dad's F-150 truck. They'd just resurfaced Highway 47 North of town - but that didn't stop Billy and Scooter from having a quarter mile race down the new surface, unfortunately on the side of the traffic cones that had just this afternoon been poured.  Ouch. Still tacky.  Very tacky. Still oily. Very oily. Billy's truck was red, Scooter's was blue - but upon completion of the race they were both pitch black in color.

Billy knew his dad would be upset, but he wouldn't smack him, Scooter wasn't so sure about his dad - so, off to Billy's they both went. Dad went to Stewart's Hardware, bought two big cans of tar remover, and he, Billy, Scooter, Mom and Sally spent the next few hours getting smelly, dirty, yucky from all the tar - but mission accomplished, Scooter's dad would never know.

Billy transferred his backyard skills to the High School ball diamond. By the time spring baseball rolled around, he'd already been named all conference in both football (running back, defensive back) and, all conference/all district in basketball - point guard.  Bigger accolades were sure to come from baseball, because even as good as Billy was in football and basketball - he was even a sight better in baseball.

He was approaching small town legend status in Greenfield, and the big game against the much bigger Stone Mountain Cardinals had finally arrived. True to the print of the Greenfield Tribune Sport's writers claim, head Seattle Mariner Scout Conner Jacobs was there in fact to see Billy live and in person.

He didn't disappoint. Double, single, opposite field homer in his first three trips to the plate, not to mention several sparkling plays at shortstop. Bottom of 7th, tied 4 apiece. Scooter, Billy's running mate in football (QB), basketball (small forward), and drag racing (F-150) had singled with two outs.  Up stepped Billy.  Fans in the stands swatting away the skeeters the bright lights invited - all stood to cheer Billy. A triple was all that was needed for him to hit for the cycle.

Brush back pitch. The Stone Mountain pitcher wasn't stupid.  Billy had already lashed three hits off of him.  His coach wanted him to walk Billy - but the pitcher talked his way into letting him pitch to Billy.  Outside curve, Billy not fooled, ball two.

Billy stepped outta the box, peeked at Satch, the 3rd base coach, just as Scooter stood on first base peeking too.  Wow.  Hit and run sign.  Two outs, bottom of 7th, tied. Count 2 and 0. Another bender coming Billy's way.  Peripherally he could see Scooter already heading to second.  He reached out - made good contact and the ball headed to right center field. By the time Billy was ascending on 2nd base it was plain to see Scooter was assuredly going to score the winning run.  Nonetheless, Satch, knowing Billy needed the triple to complete hitting for the cycle, was furiously waving his arm like a wagon wheel for Billy to keep coming to third.

As the ball was racing Billy to the bag, Billy lifted his legs, let his hips fly up to ready for the slide - as his cleats hit the ground, one of them stuck, his leg was severely twisted in a way it shouldn't be twisting...a cloud of dust happened.. ump, right on toppa the play extended his arms, hollered "SAFE", game over, Scooter scored, 5-4, Billy hit for the cycle - but he wasn't getting up. For sure in immense pain, you still couldn't wipe the smile off his face as Satch bent down to see if he was ok.

Well, he was, but he wasn't.  A trip to the doctor revealed torn ligaments - surgery ahead, maybe he wouldn't end up playing shortstop for the Pocatello Mariners after all.

Days,  months, years would pass. Nope, baseball wouldn't be in his future. From his days of sacking groceries at Clem's, he'd always had a special eye when Charlene would come with her mom to shop. That special eye translated to a first date in the Chevy truck, Homecoming.  Prom. To a year and a half later, wedded bliss.

Soon, Charlie (that was Billy's loving nickname for Charlene). and their boys Stuart and Scotty (nicknamed Scooter for some reason!), would be found peeking out the front window as Billy would drive up in his new Chevy truck after completing his shift at his second love, law enforcement.  Ok, well, third love. First there was Charlie, then baseball, then being a cop.

Billy and Charlie's backard never had a chance for a green, lush lawn. With two budding Greenfield Bulldog baseball players to raise, whiffle ball after whiffle ball was bought, cracked, taped, bought.  Homers happened. Stu even learned to switch hit. Hog heaven, they were in. Charlie's homemade chocolate chip cookies were just about as good as mom's, but insteada Candy Land, Clue or Jenga, dad refereed WWF battles between the boys. Oh sure, occasionally one would get bent outta shape - but nothing a trip to the Dairy Joy, or, to the Drive Inn Theater couldn't fix.

One day, THREE DAYS FROM NOW, Stu and Scooter were off a hunting their own Charlie - but mom was still on the couch awaiting Billy to come home from his law enforcement shift.

He never did.  The phone would ring.  The worst would be communicated. He'd been shot and died protecting the Capitol Building.

All Charlie and the boys could do is ask "Why?".. and "For what?"

Grass would eventually fill in the basepaths in the backyard, but there was forever a big hole in their hearts.

Looking over the bookcase....

Or, a little diddy about Jack and Diane. (Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.)

I always admired, maybe was even a tad jealous, of buddies in High School that could create, fix, understand things in Shop Class.  I loved our Shop Teacher ("Jack") even more.  Cool, calm..... let's be real.  Most of the kids that loved, shined in shop class HATED English, Math, Science, the Dictation, Rules, Regulation of teachers of "the three R's." Yes, suggesting they could be called rebel rousers.

Jack had 'em figured out. I never saw the man hurry. I never witnessed him getting his feathers in a bunch. He actually even had all ten fingers. He made class fun, happy, in spite of having to put up with my fellow rebel rousers and subjects like me that didn't know a lathe from a router.

Way back in the dinosaur days, I taught for a few years.  I always worried about controlling kids, a classroom - and one longtime teacher could sense my worry and told me "Don't let 'em see you smile until Christmas."  

Well, "Diane" was our librarian. I am certain a good lady, probably a good relative to kinfolk, was neighborly, but... I never saw her smile THE ENTIRE YEAR. Not that this has anything at all to do with that, but she was large.  Quite large.

My Senior year I collected all my final B-minuses, C-pluses, paraded with the others in those strange looking caps and gowns, and flipped the tassle from right to left.  Or was it left to right?.....

Anyways, I graduated. Needing money to eat, buy stuff, get gasoline to chase chicks I never caught - I got a job. A summer job.  For, the school district I went to. On the maintenance crew. The crew leader was, non other than Jack - yippee, I liked Jack.  He made work fun, and he never mentioned the lathe/router mixup I'd had. Certain he woulda preferred a different, more 'shop' talented rebel rouser on his crew - but he was stuck with me - and always, always nice, congenial, fun.

Long about late June, our boss came to our crew, looked ole Jack in the eye and gave us our task for the day.  It seems Diane had complained (imagine that) that "Kids are stealing books...See that six foot tall bookcase right by the door?  Well, they're grabbing books, hiding behind the tall case, then off they go, stealing the book."

Our boss said "Jack, I'd like you and Hank (that was me, I never in my life had a nickname until Jack's boss got ahold of me. He called me that, I guess, because his name was Vic too.) Anyways...he said.."I'd like for you and Hank to take that six foot tall bookcase, cut it exactly in half, making a couple of three foot tall bookcases."  "Can do" Jack said - off we went for the pickup truck to load the bookcase - take it to the shop to cut in half with the lathe, er, or the router, er, or a circular, jigsaw, compound miter saw...some kinda saw - I knew Jack would know exactly what we needed, and how to do so.

Undertanding my inabilities, he basically had me lift, hold, turn, twist, but never ever operate the saw as we split the bookcases.  He did all the cutting.  Perfectly. We brushed, sanded the bookcases, scooped up the sawdust - and loaded 'em in the truck to see if they met Diane's standards.

Got the the library, she wasn't there. Again, a big lady, we couldn't have missed her.  Offloaded the now three foot tall bookcases, headed back to the truck, to the shop to clean up, clean the tools, saws, call it a day, only to meet again in the morning.  Happy Jack whistled as we did so.

Next morning, our boss stands in fronta us for our daily assignment.  Jack looked at him and asked proudly, "well what did ole Diane think about the bookcases Hank and I sawed in half?"  Boss, smiled.  Looked at Jack and said "Well, she mentioned something about half-ass carpenters so I don't think she was happy"

With that, it unleashed a Jack version I'd never seen.  His feathers were clearly ruffled, his face as red as an apple.. easy to tell the ":half-ass carpenter" thing really bugged him. He stopped. Breathed deep, then let go (kinda screaming) "WELL YOU TELL THAT ASS AND A HALF LIBRARIAN......" I was laughing so hard, I don't even remember what he told our boss to tell her.  It was fun.  I loved working with Jack.  Being his student.  He made life fun.

A ltttle diddy, about Jack and Diane, two American educators doing the best they can.

Love, Victurd

Rear view mirrors.....

 Fourteen years ago I could see colors, but they were all drab, bland.  To eye doc.  Fitty-four years, had never been to eye doc.  Looked at me for what seemed like 30 minutes without a single word.  Finally, "how old are you?".. Fitty-four.  "You have cataracts in both eyes."

Surgery.  Intraocular lens (I think they call it.)  Artificial lens's, where one eyeball sees close up very well, the other, sees long distance nicely.  A miracle. Threw away 12 pair of readers (one in every rooom of the house, the car, work, yada).  If there was any negative, the close and far thing played hell on trying to catch a softball, but size 10 type was cinchy.

To lovely DMV to renew. All the necessary ppwrk, tax junk...finally, eye test. Amazing how well I'd done.  Then, she said "OK, now we're going to cover your right eye (the close up one)"... Oh Sh...Oh Shirt*.  Read the top row please. "There's a row?" I thought to myself.  The nice DMV lady could see I was struggling, and she whispered.."bah..bah...bah" "B" I answered! Then, "haa...haa...haa." "H!"...and all the way down three rows, she assisted.  Whew.

Fast forward to 2020. Oh *shirt, time to renew.  Walk in, nice lady don't work there no mo'.  Oh *Shirt.  Came time to close the close-up eye and try to read letters with the far-away-can-see-an-ant-at-the-end-of-the-block, but not one right below me.  I failed that part.  That's it. I'm never driving again. I can't work any longer.. Hell, I'm gonna have to move closer to the...Piggly Wiggly. (I was gonna say bar, but thought you might not think well of me.)

"So I failed?"  "OH NO SIR, it just means we'll have to put on your driver's license "left rear view mirror mandatory."  Whew.

Thank heaven, for little girls.  No.. that ain't it.  Thank heaven for rear view mirrors.

Rear view mirrors tell us much about life. Life in the rear view mirror of 2020 makes us realize, time is precious'er.  I know that ain't a word. Again, should be. We can bitch about much - but the river of life is gonna keep right on flowin'.  We can bemoan "Oh *shirt... he won, she won, he didn't, life, as we know it, is over."  It ain't.

We can get twelve shades of pissy (which I have) on political diddys.  Or not. We can, have had, 'battle' with those inclined to not think exactly as we each do. I/we, have been idiots, gotten pissy...I blocked someone not long ago, a classmate actually.. the other day, I messaged an old friend - he's politically opposed to me.  He didn't reply.

Time is precious'er.  Sorry, but screw that (political regurgitation). Bottomline, we're probably never going to change allegiance - so, pissy makes no sense.

 Health.  The rear view mirror of 2020 shows us the many fatalities along the way. Some, very old age, maybe expected.  Some, shocking.  Too soon.  Some, the pandemic.  Rear view mirror now shouting "PRECIOUS'ER."  Life, that is.

I ain't no preacher, I'm no longer a teacher, I've never been a mechanic over and above knowing Lefty-loosey, Righty-tighty.  That said...for 2021:

Hopefully calm prevails.  The rear view mirror has taught us, sometimes we simply aren't allowed, permitted, to see loved ones in person.  We can't forget how precious that is.

We had taken "STEEEEE-RRRRRIIIKKKKKE ONE" and "FIRST DOWN!" for granted....Hell, even curling ceased. Sure, we can still holler 'git ridda the manager, put somone else on the mound, at cornerback, in the GM office, yada.'  Just revel in the luxury of being able to do/say that.  The rear view mirror tells us it ain't a given. (Along with many things, a full church service, dinner out with friends, heck, even being entitled to attend a funeral to offer condolence.)

Thank God for children. Some, sadly, don't know anything over and above pandemic life. Oh how well they teach us.  Without the advantage of a rear view mirror they gleam, glow about life. We can learn from them.

Sorry I rambled. I'll get outta here. Main missive: relax. It's a given we will slip up. Don't beat ourselves up. We're human. Kind is always best. Our outer affects our inner. We see, believe, differently, and that will always be the case.  Facial expression is a choice. So are words.

The rear view mirror is mandatory.

2019 we took for granted.  Having 2020 in the rear view mirror (Thank God it's in the rear view mirror) teaches us life is precious'er for 2021.

Happy New Year,

Love, Victurd