Monday, December 10, 2007
Tagged
Ever since I first got the hint that this "tagging" shit was going on, I've been trying my best to keep my head down to avoid getting shot at. Didn't do me any damn good. The Unhappy American nailed me right between the eyes. Took me long enough to get it done, but, here goes............
1. "Shot at and missed, shit at and hit." Anyone who's raised kids knows exactly what this means. And yes, I've had both happen to me. Years ago, I was mugged by a punk in South Minneapolis. He had a chrome plated semi-auto, and seemed to be cranked up on speed. He pulled me into an alley as I was walking along Nicollet Ave one night, shoved the gun in my gut, and told me to "Hand over the money fucker!" which I immediately did. I mean, it's only money for crying out loud. He kept jabbing the gun in my gut though, even after he had the money, and had a look of indecision on his face. I did not like where things were headed, so when he started looking around to see if anyone was watching, I took off down the street as fast as my scared-shitless feet would carry me. He took one shot at me, but missed and then took off himself. The cop who took my report told me I shouldn't have run, muggers rarely shoot their victims. (WTF you talking about!! He shot at MY ASS you idiot!!) I, however, was convinced he was going to. He was caught two weeks later. He had mugged someone else, and yep, shot them. The victim survived because he was a speed addict who was a lousy shot. Oh, the "shit at and hit?" I was changing my oldest's diaper one day, when, at that particular moment, he came down with a case of projectile diarrhea. (And yes! You're quite welcome for that little mental image!!) As all parents know,when you're changing a baby's diaper, you're dealing with the business end of things. That's when I learned to stand slightly aside. I think that's enough of that subject. Let's just say I needed to take a shower and wash clothes afterwards.
2. I dislike most seafood, especially shrimp. Simply cannot stand the stuff. At all. It's OK if you want to eat the crap. Hell, I'll even let you use the same table as I'm using. Even with shrimp. But not clam chowder. (Curdled snot.) Never clam chowder. If you're gonna cook clam chowder (Much less eat the shit.) then Elvis has left the building. This semi-warped, and very unobjective view comes from being raised in the Kansas City metro area. Back in the days, it was a huge cattle shipping and meatpacking town. I can still remember smelling the stockyards, on a warm summers night, if the wind was blowing in the right direction. Some people thought it smelled like shit. My paternal grandfather, and my late father-in-law, both of whom raised beef cattle, said it smelled more like money to them.
3. I love science fiction written by Isaac Asimov. I've read his entire Robot/Empire/Foundation series. If you didn't before, you now know where my screen name comes from.
4. Up until Toby the 80lb lapdog joined our family, I'd never owned a dog in my entire life.
I'd always been a cat person. Always had them around until 1998, when I developed an allergic reaction to them. I was heartbroken. I'm now doomed to admire them from afar. Then, through a series of unfortunate circumstances, Toby lost his home, and was in danger of going to the pound. The former owner could no longer keep him, and was desperate to find someone to adopt him. She asked if we could. My kids were for it, but thought I wouldn't agree. They brought him over one day, and I took him for a walk to get to know him. They figured if I spent a few days with him, he might grow on me. Took half a block. He turned out to be an absolute sweetheart. I can't imagine life without him now, so it's lucky I'm not allergic to dogs too.
5. I hate moving with a passion that I share with few other things. When I was a kid, my Mom, out of necessity, was forced to lead a rather nomadic lifestyle for the first ten years of my life. Since then, I only move if I absolutely have to. (Pissed off landlord, neighbors with torches threatening to burn in me effigy, which is a small town just south of Owatonna, etc.) When we bought our current house, I reminded my lovely bride that she'd better be happy with this place, because "We're gonna be here for quite a while!"
6. Even though I can't stand the actor John (Revolta) Travolta, I stand in awe of the man. Why? Because he owns his own private exquisitely restored Boeing 707-138 jet airliner. That's why. And it really pisses me off! This one is an early model, with the Pratt & Whitney JT3C turbo-jet engines. They were really loud and burned a LOT of fuel. So much so, they earned the airliner the sobriquet "Kerosene Queen." And he doesn't just own the damn thing, he flies it himself!! The closest I've been able to come to that is a 707 panel on MFS. Penis envy, big time!!
7. I can't stand John Travolta's ass. He's a weenie. What?? Oh, already said that? OK. Well then, I am, on the other hand, a sucker for just about any Jimmy Stewart movie, including one of my favorite all time westerns, "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance." It features a true all star cast (Jimmy Stewart, John Wayne, Lee Marvin, Vera Miles, Edmond O'Brian, Andy DeVine) and an excellent script. Pop some corn, toss on the butter and plenty of salt (Screw the cardiologist!) and pop in the DVD tonight. You won't be disappointed. Did I tell you I can't stand...... OK, OK.
8. While some look to the Thanksgiving and Christmas seasons with dread and annoyance, I've always enjoyed them, and the chance to get together with family that comes with them. Now if I can just hide the tin of clams my wife uses to make her traditional pot of clam chowder.............
9. Cold weather doesn't bother me a bit. Unlike someone else I know, who fled to the southern climes because they're too much of a wuss to put up with cold weather, I've stuck it out here in sunny Minnysoder. On Saturday, while spending time with the family, we watched the temperature DOUBLE, from 1.5 F to 3. Woo Hooo!!
And 10. I always thought the game of golf was a good walk completely spoiled. Then, in order to spend some time with my son, who WAS interested in the game, I took lessons with him. Biggest mistake I ever made. You see, golf is a cruel cruel mistress. She'll abuse you. Make you feel like a complete fool. Stomp on you. Steal your self esteem and make you feel completely worthless. Then, when you've had enough, when you're ready to make a clean break of it, when you're ready to toss your clubs into the nearest dumpster, she lets you score! You manage a tee shot that goes clean, high and straight. Doesn't hook, lands near the fairway. And you putt it in, allowing you your solitary par for the game! It feels wonderful! Just like the first time! Pure ecstasy. "Wow," you think to yourself as you note down the only honest score you've written so far, "Maybe things are better now! Maybe we can make this work after all!" So, face aglow, you go to the next tee, full of hope and promise. Then, with a cruel laugh, she slaps you. Hard. Across the face as you're next tee shot heads straight for the sand bunker, and your son stands there, laughing his ass off! You could have gotten out while you had the chance, but noooo. It's too late. She still has you in her grip. There's nothing you can do about it, and you know it. The things I do for my son...........
11. Yes!! Eleven! Hot damn, you get a bonus! I love symphonic music. Beethoven, Bach, Hyden and all the others. What's amazing to me though, is that over the last few years, I've found myself drawn to opera too. That's something I never thought would happen. But, there's some damn good stuff out there. Give it a try. You might like it. Then again, It might come across to yo like TUA's chili. Bitter and annoying. At least try it. You'll never know until you do.
1. "Shot at and missed, shit at and hit." Anyone who's raised kids knows exactly what this means. And yes, I've had both happen to me. Years ago, I was mugged by a punk in South Minneapolis. He had a chrome plated semi-auto, and seemed to be cranked up on speed. He pulled me into an alley as I was walking along Nicollet Ave one night, shoved the gun in my gut, and told me to "Hand over the money fucker!" which I immediately did. I mean, it's only money for crying out loud. He kept jabbing the gun in my gut though, even after he had the money, and had a look of indecision on his face. I did not like where things were headed, so when he started looking around to see if anyone was watching, I took off down the street as fast as my scared-shitless feet would carry me. He took one shot at me, but missed and then took off himself. The cop who took my report told me I shouldn't have run, muggers rarely shoot their victims. (WTF you talking about!! He shot at MY ASS you idiot!!) I, however, was convinced he was going to. He was caught two weeks later. He had mugged someone else, and yep, shot them. The victim survived because he was a speed addict who was a lousy shot. Oh, the "shit at and hit?" I was changing my oldest's diaper one day, when, at that particular moment, he came down with a case of projectile diarrhea. (And yes! You're quite welcome for that little mental image!!) As all parents know,when you're changing a baby's diaper, you're dealing with the business end of things. That's when I learned to stand slightly aside. I think that's enough of that subject. Let's just say I needed to take a shower and wash clothes afterwards.
2. I dislike most seafood, especially shrimp. Simply cannot stand the stuff. At all. It's OK if you want to eat the crap. Hell, I'll even let you use the same table as I'm using. Even with shrimp. But not clam chowder. (Curdled snot.) Never clam chowder. If you're gonna cook clam chowder (Much less eat the shit.) then Elvis has left the building. This semi-warped, and very unobjective view comes from being raised in the Kansas City metro area. Back in the days, it was a huge cattle shipping and meatpacking town. I can still remember smelling the stockyards, on a warm summers night, if the wind was blowing in the right direction. Some people thought it smelled like shit. My paternal grandfather, and my late father-in-law, both of whom raised beef cattle, said it smelled more like money to them.
3. I love science fiction written by Isaac Asimov. I've read his entire Robot/Empire/Foundation series. If you didn't before, you now know where my screen name comes from.
4. Up until Toby the 80lb lapdog joined our family, I'd never owned a dog in my entire life.
I'd always been a cat person. Always had them around until 1998, when I developed an allergic reaction to them. I was heartbroken. I'm now doomed to admire them from afar. Then, through a series of unfortunate circumstances, Toby lost his home, and was in danger of going to the pound. The former owner could no longer keep him, and was desperate to find someone to adopt him. She asked if we could. My kids were for it, but thought I wouldn't agree. They brought him over one day, and I took him for a walk to get to know him. They figured if I spent a few days with him, he might grow on me. Took half a block. He turned out to be an absolute sweetheart. I can't imagine life without him now, so it's lucky I'm not allergic to dogs too.
5. I hate moving with a passion that I share with few other things. When I was a kid, my Mom, out of necessity, was forced to lead a rather nomadic lifestyle for the first ten years of my life. Since then, I only move if I absolutely have to. (Pissed off landlord, neighbors with torches threatening to burn in me effigy, which is a small town just south of Owatonna, etc.) When we bought our current house, I reminded my lovely bride that she'd better be happy with this place, because "We're gonna be here for quite a while!"
6. Even though I can't stand the actor John (Revolta) Travolta, I stand in awe of the man. Why? Because he owns his own private exquisitely restored Boeing 707-138 jet airliner. That's why. And it really pisses me off! This one is an early model, with the Pratt & Whitney JT3C turbo-jet engines. They were really loud and burned a LOT of fuel. So much so, they earned the airliner the sobriquet "Kerosene Queen." And he doesn't just own the damn thing, he flies it himself!! The closest I've been able to come to that is a 707 panel on MFS. Penis envy, big time!!
7. I can't stand John Travolta's ass. He's a weenie. What?? Oh, already said that? OK. Well then, I am, on the other hand, a sucker for just about any Jimmy Stewart movie, including one of my favorite all time westerns, "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance." It features a true all star cast (Jimmy Stewart, John Wayne, Lee Marvin, Vera Miles, Edmond O'Brian, Andy DeVine) and an excellent script. Pop some corn, toss on the butter and plenty of salt (Screw the cardiologist!) and pop in the DVD tonight. You won't be disappointed. Did I tell you I can't stand...... OK, OK.
8. While some look to the Thanksgiving and Christmas seasons with dread and annoyance, I've always enjoyed them, and the chance to get together with family that comes with them. Now if I can just hide the tin of clams my wife uses to make her traditional pot of clam chowder.............
9. Cold weather doesn't bother me a bit. Unlike someone else I know, who fled to the southern climes because they're too much of a wuss to put up with cold weather, I've stuck it out here in sunny Minnysoder. On Saturday, while spending time with the family, we watched the temperature DOUBLE, from 1.5 F to 3. Woo Hooo!!
And 10. I always thought the game of golf was a good walk completely spoiled. Then, in order to spend some time with my son, who WAS interested in the game, I took lessons with him. Biggest mistake I ever made. You see, golf is a cruel cruel mistress. She'll abuse you. Make you feel like a complete fool. Stomp on you. Steal your self esteem and make you feel completely worthless. Then, when you've had enough, when you're ready to make a clean break of it, when you're ready to toss your clubs into the nearest dumpster, she lets you score! You manage a tee shot that goes clean, high and straight. Doesn't hook, lands near the fairway. And you putt it in, allowing you your solitary par for the game! It feels wonderful! Just like the first time! Pure ecstasy. "Wow," you think to yourself as you note down the only honest score you've written so far, "Maybe things are better now! Maybe we can make this work after all!" So, face aglow, you go to the next tee, full of hope and promise. Then, with a cruel laugh, she slaps you. Hard. Across the face as you're next tee shot heads straight for the sand bunker, and your son stands there, laughing his ass off! You could have gotten out while you had the chance, but noooo. It's too late. She still has you in her grip. There's nothing you can do about it, and you know it. The things I do for my son...........
11. Yes!! Eleven! Hot damn, you get a bonus! I love symphonic music. Beethoven, Bach, Hyden and all the others. What's amazing to me though, is that over the last few years, I've found myself drawn to opera too. That's something I never thought would happen. But, there's some damn good stuff out there. Give it a try. You might like it. Then again, It might come across to yo like TUA's chili. Bitter and annoying. At least try it. You'll never know until you do.
