My Newest Piercing!

Mildly disturbing picture below. You've been warned!

Friday night I fell into a pit. Saturday I got into a tiff. Today I got a piercing.

As noted earlier, we went sailing today. Had a Pleasant Day. But Pepper Dog was mad at us for coming home smelling of beach and coconut oil without having taken her along.

So, around 4:00pm I decided another trip to the beach was in order, for our usual walk, Ms. Pepper and I.

I cannot tell you how perfectly perfect it all was, how happy and zen-like the day, and this lovely ending of the afternoon. Indescribably wonderf... SHIT!!!!

Owwww!!! Stupid frickkin' surf-fishermen were fishing on the very point of land where the current was ripping right out the channel. This means that their lines, instead of being perpendicular to the beach are almost parallel. But it doesn't mean they should be unattended. There, in less than two inches of water, laying in the sand where folks were walking, was a three-tiered rig of hooks washed up with the tide. My foot kicked into the rig and, as we were walking pretty fast, 1.5 inches of metal went right up inside my foot and broke off. Don't be a wuss, take a look, no blood:

So, a wonderful couple came to my rescue, put Pepper and me in the back of their pickup truck and toted us back to my car. I called the J.R. and had him meet me so that he could take the doggie whilst I drove myself to the E.R.

The doctor didn't want to futz with it until it was xrayed to see what kind of hook we had and how deep. Now, I'm not in much pain, really, but he decides to numb my foot. Which means a shot right into the wound.

Do you know how many nerve endings there are in your foot??!!! Ay-chi-mama! I came up off the gurney like a levitating monk. Only faster and louder.

After the xrays, Doc comes back in, says nothing, puts on a glove, grimaces slightly, and pulls the beastly thing out of my foot without so much as a how-do-you-do. He hands me the offending bit of a leader-pin, one used for fastening a big hook. NOT A HOOK! We are all relieved, no surgery! Yea!! It is a right-angled piece of metal. The part you can see is only about one-half of the length of the part that was inside my foot. We're talking a deep puncture wound, but small and clean and very little blood. So, y'know, nothing more gory than what you see there.

So, I got another shot, tetanus, and I gotta stay off muh foot for a few days, take some antibiotics. And maybe some Tequila for the pain.

I dunno. It seems that Erica's maimed mojo has moved to Florida, before she could get here.

However, I am slightly disappointed that I'll not be sporting a peg leg.

Don't Hate Me Cuz I Went Sailing

It's always good to remember what you like about this little pirate town, if you live here. It's easy to gnash one's teeth in dealing with tourists, traffic, and politics and payoffs.

The Jolly Roger decreed that we should go the National Park nearby and rent a little catamaran and catch some sun and fun. Which thing we did.

Fair dinkum breezes, nice little boat, cool water, warm sun (yea! No sun spots to fry our noggins!) and--- ah! ---beautiful! Yes, I got to man the helm, the J.R. manned the sheets, and it was so much fun that we know we'll go again soon. We miss having a boat.

I didn't have a camera, but let me just say that seeing my brown feet and red toenails against the backdrop of blue sparkling water, under the canopy of bright sun and white sails was just what was needed today.

The sunburn isn't bad, either. It's the rite of passage into summer.

Hangover Cures and Lightning Bugs

Mike Wilson, sometime heretofore known as Mad William Flint, is having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad hangover.

Seems he's been mixing his alcohol intake between some nasty-ass cider beverages and Wodka.

He's a bit bummed that the gallon of Gatorade (Go Gators!) and some bits of bread haven't cured him.

I know I can depend on a bunch of Slackers like my readers here to know just the right thing for him to try next time, since he's determined to go out with the same Farkin' crowd again soon.

Please help. The brain-pan you save may be your own.

*****

Elsewhere, your favorite Irrelephant, like every good pachyderm, is remembering something very important. And he writes about those little points of light in a way that'll make ya smile and possibly forget your hangover. Go bug him over at his place.

Max Hardberger's Sea Bitch is MINE!

Something had gone missing from my rum-addled brain during my two months of Slack. I've been reading Patrick O'Brian when not blogging. I am so ashamed to say that he has not captivated me. It's been a joy to read for the sheer mastery of his work, but dry-sledding in the beginnings. I guess when I read about the sea, I want a bit more action. Now!

So, after casting about in my mind as to what my muse was missing, I remembered that I was going to purchase Max Hardberger's Sea Bitch for my next reading assignment. I did. I got it from his website. You can, too, for a paltry four bucks. Just read an excerpt, here. My kinda story.

I stole a pic from Max's law firm page to show you the Author as a Young Man. Rowrr!

Imagine my surprise to hear back from the author himself! Not only did he send along the file for Sea Bitch, but he included an extra, true pirate treasure, Tom Cringle's Log by Michael Scott. The Log is a swashbuckling tale from almost 200 years ago that Mr. Hardberger has edited, as a labor of love, for modern readers. I'm getting value, here, peeps. He should put a Paypal link for it on his website.

The Author also tells me that soon he'll begin work for a History Channel series and then go sailing for a month. Can you imagine? A month of sailing! ::sigh::

So, one paragraph into Tom Cringle's Log and I'm hooked. Too hooked to blog, gotta go read.

N'oreaster Flotsam

You can always count on certain things washing ashore after winds from the northeast. Large piers and planks always make me dream of playing "Survivor" on this beautiful beach and building myself a righteous palapa; several bits of coquina blocks, and bricks and the occasional gold ring arrive at my feet. Yes, this would do nicely.

But last evening was the most dismaying thing to wash ashore, oh, since the last EveryDay here in Florida:


A strange, beached creature, we wondered what it could be, so we circled to see more of it:


Another farookin' Honda. Where could this one be from? Hmmm... Click the pic to read the license plate.

Like we don't have enough of these peeps down here. Only one peep, maybe two, from Brooklyn that would be a welcome sight, here. Sorry guys, really do wish you were here to enjoy this beautiful Spring!

The Practical Idea of Having an Ideal

"...therefore shall a man leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife."

Bou has just the most wonderful post up about her changing/growing relationship with a young man of 13 years, that made me a bit melancholy. It wasn't her fault, it was just that her post was building upon the muse I've entertained for the last few weeks.

Nearly six months have passed since The Wedding. Frequent phone calls and financial needs have subsided. My son never visits my blog anymore (prob'ly a good thing!) and the signs of his newfound identity as, Husband of a Beautiful Woman have started taking hold; much like the character, Vulcan, introducing Uma Thurman as, "Venus. The goddess. My wife."

Nevertheless, it is his beautiful She, who must take precedence, and have more influence in his life. His heart will bend towards her more and more, and she will learn to respect that deference and together they'll squabble and tussle and bump into each other's very strong wills and learn to live together. Their Sixth Month Surprise is just around the corner, when a lot of the shiny has faded into the practical and the Need for Space resurfaces-- to the consternation of the one who feels shut out in the process.

I know my son well, but for not much longer will I know him better than most. And, he will grow even more into a wondrous person that will make me and the J.R. look at each other and say, "how, out of our two half-lives, did this entire Man arrive?" And his new bride is a woman of depth and substance and savvy who'll challenge him to grow. And when they have children (grandkids! yea! little pirates to steal our hearts!) he will change again.

Dads, when you're worrying about your daughters, just know that some moms are worrying about their sons, too. It's not just a one-sided hope we parents hold; for someone who'll be kind to their little girl and will love them and respect them.

It flows both ways. We have the same hope for happiness for our sons as you do for your daughters. Some parents really do want to grow their sons into the fullness of Humanness, despite the incredible and growing assertion that as humans, we're all a bunch of animals. That may be good enough for your kids, but not for mine. We want our sons to be treated with kindness and respect from a true young lady, not nagging narcissism from some spoiled princess or wild child.

We must teach our children how to live with, respect, love, and grow with another human being. To allow kids to think their tender feelings or tumultuous urges are the center of the world's attention is to raise a monster, whether boy or girl.

I'm sure that my son has found a wonderful young woman, but I'm even more sure, beyond any doubt, that she has found a man most fathers would want their daughter to marry. In fact, there was a real, if unwritten, List going around among the fathers of the young college girls my son used to hang out with. He was on every father's short list of eligible young men worthy of their daughter.

Idealistic of those dads, wasn't it, to expect so much? Well, worthiness is a two-way street; and in today's male-bashing world moms may feel a bit more anxious than you'd think.

Fortunately, two very worthy young people found each other and we are all very happy with their choices. Choices they made for themselves. Ideals they embraced as humans with a free will.

*****

Now then, isn't this a sappy and unrealistic view of today's young people? Unfortunately, it is just too easy to convey to children-- usually by never communicating its opposite-- that they are simple animals and must make practical choices to account for their weaknesses. And so parents tend to arm them with birth control and technical information and phony Self Esteem, but never fortify them with an Ideal. It's just too impractical!

[Full disclosure: the J.R. and I like to kid that the Scripture verse on our Wedding Invitation was, "...it is better to marry than to burn with lust." ]

Well, the most impractical person you'll ever meet is someone who has never developed any self-possession or restraint; one who has never forged their natural energies and desires into an Ideal. Amoeba-like, they are doomed to merely respond to present surroundings, and will never even open that pack of Trojans or take that BC pill. Kids today have more information and practical support than ever they had when the only choice was to have and Ideal or be forced to live with the shame of failing that Ideal. And yet, more children are born out of wedlock and "by accident" than at any time in our history. Why? What changed? And why is it seen as a better and more "practical" approach. You'd think that our current crop of pseudo sociologists were born yesterday and had just discovered sex today.

Ideals are as strong as the people who hold them, and are not at the mercy of the weaker animals who sneer at them or ridicule them. Find the Ideal mate. Look for the Ideal purpose. Live the Ideal of your convictions. Even when you fail, you'll still be farther along than the amoebas.

Everyone else, please go buy condoms and pop BC pills. And stay home on election days.

Honest Org Chart

h/t Last of the Few

I'd Post Something but...

...it would just be a wasted effort.

It's Tuesday and a bunch of you will be watching American Idol. A bunch more of you will watch it but won't admit it.

And the rest of you are looking for boobies and beer and such.

This will have to do, instead; solving a bit of a curiosity for many a guy who has wondered just what would happen if:

Solid Gold Charm

Just in case you haven't had your cackleberries and jumpstart yet this morning, head on over to GuyK's place for some political insight that is wasted on today's yutes:

I think I know why those of old tolerated a monarchy. They knew the politicians were gonna fuck them regardless so why put up with a bunch of them fucking you when you can settle on just one to do it. The kind kills all the competition and you just get fucked over once by the king. Then if the king fucks you too much you kill him and select another one...worked for eons until some smart men in the USA decided that they could rule themselves...well, they could.

But I ain't all that sure about the sheeple in this country today. They are dead set on turning this great constitutional republic into a democracy..and I would rather have tyranny by a king than tyranny by the majority..a king is easier to get rid of.

I always say that Republicans lie. Democrats lie, too. It's up to us to pick whose lies we like more than the other.

Lookout Elisson!!!

Elisson vs Godzilla, Mothra, Gigan, Mechogodzilla, etc.

.

American Idol rates Obama's latest number

Honestly, I think the singers on A.I. face tougher criticism than the folks wanting to run our country. That's just messed.up. I'd like to see Obama face the A.I. (so funny, nobody mistakes that abbreviation for "artificial intelligence" since only one part of it would apply.) judges-- and watch them make him cry. Herewith, and with apologies to everyone who can do this sort of schtick better than I, is Obama's performance:

You go into these small towns in Pennsylvania and, like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing’s replaced them…And they fell through the Clinton Administration, and the Bush Administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not.

And it’s not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.

Dude, I gotta tell you, you totally have got it goin' on, but that was a bit pitchy. I'm not sure it was the best choice for your voice. I mean, the song's got a great message, just between you an' me, but I wasn't feeling like it deserves a record contract based on that performance, Dawg. It was just... okay. It was good enough for the church choir, Dawg, but you gotta bring your best game at this stage of the competition. You gotta get on pitch. Pitchy, dude.

Oh no, Randy. It was beautiful! Obama you... are wonderful and beautiful and my chihuahuas almost jumped out of my bustier with that performance. I just... hope... you... You never change. You have an amazing gift. You should be proud and I just love what your wife picked out for you to wear tonight. You are... yes... you... just... great and I love you!

Sit down, Paula, no one wants your chihuahuas to escape their pen. Personally, Obama, I have to say that, not only did you hit the wrong notes, you came across to the rest of Ameriker as pompous and arrogant. [loud boos!]

"I didn't say it as well as I should have..."

[off camera: he meant to say "when you're bitter you turn to what you can count on." "So people -- they vote about guns, or they take comfort from their faith and their family and their community," he said. But he said he had not meant to imply that was a bad thing.]

Shut up, Ryan.

As I was saying, I think this was not a good choice for someone who, at this point, should be connecting with a wider audience. I mean, what was that? Did you actually think you could hit those notes just because you sing such drivel in the shower at home? I know your wife thinks you sound good, but that's simply not enough to make you ready for this level of competition. And I don't even know what that was scribbled on your hand... let's see...

Oh, very immature. See, I don't think that's very likely, but it is up to Ameriker to decide, I mean, ultimately it comes down to what the people want, and it's really not about you, and if you can't make a majority of the people believe in you, connect with you, it's not going to matter how talented you think you are. And tonight, you really, really, blew it with that sorry choice.






What would you know about choices, Simon? I think,... you... you're... you sorry pile of mushy peas and soggy chips or whatever the hell you people from Britain eat. You're not even an American! At least I'm Syrian- Brazilian- Canadian- American. And I say, yes! Yes! You, Obama are going all the way with such charisma and charm and I've got a new record out and I dance, kinda, in the video and did you see where I--



[ off camera: Shut UP, Paula!]

Update: Whoa! Protein Plasma! Thanks, Dan!
Dan Collins has the hot action on Obama and Hillary's Donk Duet. Don't miss it!

Beach Bummin'

It's a tough assignment, but somebody's gotta go find The Slack and bring it back to you poor slobs. Herewith:

Now you know why they call them "Blue Dogs."

No sand dollars today but I did spy this little guy:

Hai thair. My tiny feetses. Let me show you them.

He seemed still alive so I left him alone as we walked on by. On the return trip about 20 minutes later, he had moved himself about three inches toward the water. Such efforts should be rewarded so he was flung back into the treacherous currents off the Point. Live, boy! Run! Live!

I remembered this picture from March 1st, that I forgot to share, it's my favorite schooner taking tourists out for an afternoon cruise:

Life's good if you're a good pirate!

O hai...

2 Nice
2 Blog

76 degrees and the beach is 5 minutes away and it's only 5:00. Here in the sunny South we still have almost three hours of luscious daylight left.

Sand Dollars and Starfish are waiting for me to find them.

Blogging can't touch that.

"Great men always have too much sail up. "

I haven't even finished reading it, and already, Christopher Buckley's homage to his father is oh, so wonderful to read. Thanks to whomever it was who pointed me to this.

When I was six, my father contrived a treasure hunt. He bought an antique wooden chest and filled it with silver dollars. Also with some of my mother’s jewelry. He and a friend sailed across Long Island Sound one weekend and buried it on a sandy spit called on the chart Eaton’s Neck, but which I will always call “Treasure Island.”

He told me that he had come into possession of an old treasure map. It was something out of Robert Louis Stevenson, scratched on thick parchment in blood-red ink. The location of the treasure was indicated with compass bearings. I couldn’t sleep the night before we set out, I was so excited.

We sailed across. After digging up half of Eaton’s Neck, we found the treasure. I can still remember the thrill as my fingers scraped the chest’s wooden lid beneath the sand. When we got home, my father said it would be a nice gesture to give my mother the pirate jewelry. Okay, I said grudgingly, but I’m keeping the silver dollars.

Go on. You have just enough time to read it before American Idol.

Meanwhile, it's a great way for me to settle my thoughts before my next long post wherein I must disagree with Rachel Lucas about something important. I know. I know. But it's not going to be what you think. And I'd as soon shut down my own blog than even hope to write as well as she, but I must address this, because it's been simmering long before her prologue to the discussion.

So, a bit of Buckley, to center. A bit of rum, to stir the muse and kill the slower brain cells.

BRB...

Beer Post - Sexy Lager

RE-posted for KeesKennis' benefit:

Yes, the Bikini is made from scratch-off coating...

Note to Self

Next time you're the new Office Manager and the main door's deadbolt refuses your key because all the rain has seeped through the cheap aluminum door and soaked the lock, and so you go to the side door just so you can get inside the building and turn the alarm off (because the person who trained you in JUST.THREE.DAYS. at least showed you how to arm the system) and then too late you find out that you don't have 20 seconds to turn off the system before all the alarms sound, but you get there, turn off the blaring noise and wonder out loud to the empty office, who is our alarm company and how can I call them? and thankfully, the phone rings and it's the alarm company; you can at least identify yourself and tell them you turned the alarm off, but are horrified to learn that, more than the alarm key-code you must know a CODEWORD, which you find mildly aggravating because at this point you know you'll never find it before the alarm company employee decides she must hang up on you and call the authoritahs, who efficiently arrive in duplicate, in 5 minutes (sweet!) with grim faces and dubious expressions as you explain that you're new here, let me get my keys and show you how they don't work, and they cover their guns as you open the file drawer and dig through your purse and present the keys while silently cursing the fact that you're not wearing your official name tag that would help so much, but they take keys and find that yes, the lock is extremely unyielding but that the key does indeed finally work after much coercion and are curtly dismissive of my apologies as nothing to worry about and drive off and the executive in charge later relates that I wouldn't have known the password since they've never had a reason to need it, but it is xxxx--- well, as a note to myself: next time, maybe, ask a few more questions when you're being shown the alarm system.

Best Line of the Day

From the most Venemous Kate, a biting commentary on getting a married man to help around the house:

So, as for why women gain weight after that wedding ring slips onto their fingers? Chances are it’s because they’ve since realized they already picked up 180ish pounds of dead weight, so what’s another 40 going to matter?

Charlton Heston, Free At Last

Another great one has slipped the surly bonds of Earth...

For most, he'll always be remembered as Moses, but this is the way I'll remember him:

May he rest in peace.

Six or Less

I'm s'posed to write my memoirs in six words or less. So tags the recuperating Ms. Leslie.

Memoirs. Eulogy. Tell me the difference.

No, wait, that's not it, but sheesh, how do ya keep it from sounding like an epitaph? Hmmm...

Life never failed to delight me.


For evenfewer words,

"Huh. Who knew?"

Wind Owes

I owe the wind so much
because it turns every little unit of my building
that has left a window open to the salty breezes
into an aeolian harp
cooing and moaning fretfully in turns

I walk down the street and listen to the intonations
the altos caused by stingy window-cracks
the moaning tenors of bravely hoisted sashes
and the low buzzing hum of aluminum downspouts droning
the chordal anchor
as the wind works its fingers through and over all

Relentless and constant
It makes me imagine a row of mournful giants
thirty feet high on either side
lining my way to the marsh
where I shall tarry, and consider their lost loves
and glorious battles, remembered in awe-ful warrior songs
that lead me down to the shore of something forgotten
before I was born

Birthday Presents! - Belated Update!

1. 70% Cacao Chocolate bars.
2. A fake plant I can't kill.

Life is good! My birthday was today, but this Sunday we'll celebrate it by attending the Met Opera Simulcast in our local theatre, (many, many thanks to Edward Christie at the Vodka Pundit for the tip!) and then off to the county fair for some rodeo and funnel cakes!

I am a woman of complicated tastes.

I'm also at the age where it's best to transpose the numbers on my birthday cake!

Oy! Of course Birthday Present Payback is hell:


Heh. Gotta get to work, slackers. Thanks for all the kind words!

Judy Attitudee

Ring!

• Me: This is Joan. [not my real name.] Can I help you?
• Judy [actually, she never said her name]: Yes, hello, can you tell me--I'm trying to help someone with ______.
  
• Me: Well, unfortunately we're unable to meet that need.
  
• Judy: Well, what is this address on ____ road?
• Me: We have nothing on that road, I'm sorry.
• Judy: Your organization is everywhere! Why don't you have _____ here? What does your organization do, exactly, for people in this situation?
• Me: We do what we can, when we can, but we don't exist primarily as an organization for that need. I'm sorry, ma'am.
• Judy: Well, don't you have a phone number of other organizations?
• Me: Yes, have you called ------?
• Judy: Oh, I've never heard of them.
• Me: Well, give them a call. You could also dial -------. An operator will ask you a few questions and then can scan an entire directory of local assistance, and with availability information that I wouldn't have.
• Judy: No, I don't want to call that number. This is a small town and I'm a teacher and I'm only trying to help someone and I don't want to talk to them.
• Me: Well, here's the number of the only place in town, but if you really want to help your friend, I don't understand your unwillingness to call the other central number...
• Judy: You.are.making.an.assumption! I am NOT unwilling. I just do not want to call that number! Do NOT assume anything about me.

Right about here, I'm laughing softly because her tone has been mildly abusive from the get-go. I understand it but she is crossing a really funny line, getting all indignantly righteous on my ass! How can I help her if she's not gonna call the numbers I've given her? I don't know, and now I can't assume!

• Me: Well, they won't ask who you are, in fact, I don't even know who you are...
• Judy: Yes, but they won't be nice or helpful and you have been. You've been very helpful and I thank you.
• Me: Yes, well, I'm sorry I couldn't do more than that. Good luck with helping your friend.

The above is an amalgam of many typical calls I field in my new job. It's not my primary duty, but it falls to everyone to answer such a call from time to time.

I've had years of experience in this, but far too many years away from it. Surprisingly, or maybe not, it's easier than it used to be.

That could be because it's so easy to tell the pro's from the poor ones who've been genuinely surprised and dismayed to find themselves in difficult circumstances.

What's hard is to realize is that even in a demographic area that is thin on resources, and thus does not attract huge numbers of supplicants, one out of five may be truly pitiable and in dire straits. The rest are system-gamers, and needy in a different way because by this time, gaming the system is the only lifestyle they can sustain. It's all they know how to do, and so are ever on the skids, but fairly happy, plump, driving a car, talking on their cell phone, fussing at their kids, and being seen by a doctor, either M.D. or Psych. And so private organizations step in when the government game runs a bit dry, or the safety net just doesn't hold.

I'm not saying it's easy for these folks, having to gather papers, information, and stand in long lines and put up with unmotivated government employees, but really, it's no more aggravating and humiliating that a cubicle job in a large corporation. I know whereof I speak.

Yeah, most should get a job, but the government handouts have ruined their ability to do for themselves, understand the world, understand business, or survive without help. I see it every day. There's a whole culture built around it, that expects help as a matter of course, and gets indignant when private organizations don't jump when they squeal-- because that's what government institutions have taught them to expect.

It angers me that Obama, Clinton, and the Left want to see many more people like these; hopelessly dependent on someone else to run every facet of their life. It's sad enough to see people who've messed up their lives with bad choices or bad luck, and it's very rewarding to help them back on their feet. I love that!

But it's downright maddening to see perfectly good human potential enervated by the government's provision of soft landings for continuously foolish choices.