Scenic Central Ohio, Happy Halloween, and the Moochers’ Banquet

October 31, 2013Tonya Lanthron 3 Comments

Nothing says “high class” like an aspiring rug salesman fast asleep atop his wares…

At least his business associate stayed home today and the both of them weren’t sleeping in the rugs again.

The not-so-savory view across the road makes me almost wish they hadn’t closed the Swifty station, even though every time they were three cents a gallon cheaper than the stations down the road, the Somalians would line up for what seemed to be miles up and down Morse Road. I am averse to just about everything that blocks traffic, especially when all I’m trying to do is get out of the parking lot and get to Sally’s to get my hair dye.

Given my morbid sense of curiosity, I have to imagine what kind of exotic vermin are hiding out in those magic carpets- bed bugs, cockroaches, lice, or who knows what divers kinds of insect life that is not indigenous to the Midwest?

The native insect life is quite bad enough, thanks. The last thing we need here is an(other) infestation of some exotic and impossible to eradicate pest. It’s bad enough the Somalians and others hailing from cultures not accustomed to indoor plumbing, washing clothing regularly, and tending to daily hygiene brought in trillions of bed bugs.

I absolutely loathe unauthorized insect life- especially those that bite and/or spread disease.

As far as the unfortunate rug salesman, in his defense, at least the poor guy is trying to do something somewhat honest (providing that the rugs aren’t hot) rather than just collecting a welfare check and looting the grocery stores the entire first week of every month. Which reminds me, I’d better stop off at Costco and Target tonight and get scripts, coffee and dog food unless I want to fight off the unwashed masses tomorrow. Costco doesn’t take SNAP, (boy howdy how I wish Kroger’s and Speedway didn’t take it either, believe that) and you have to be a member, so that cuts down on the first-of-the-month free-for-most (but certainly NOT me) there, but you can’t buy everything at Costco. I don’t need to buy toilet paper 96 rolls at a time, for instance, and I don’t have anywhere to put 15 gallons of mustard.

It’s not going to sound very nice (since when do I worry about that) but there’s a lot in common between the government gimme crowd and trick-or-treaters.

For example, both government moochers and trick-or-treaters wear sometimes lame, sometimes colorful, but always interesting clothing and hair styles:

Trick or Treat- how cute!

I guess if you don’t have to worry about dress codes, anything goes!

I guess if you’re going to loot the grocery stores on my dime, thanks for at least giving me a good show.

Getting Away- Let’s Try This Again, and Why Not Take the Train?

October 16, 2013Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

I embark on “vacations” with a sense of trepidation. Last year I was supposed to have two entire days of peace and quiet at the campground with just Clara as company. Instead I got five days of Jerry barking orders at me- and to make it even more miserable, I had a wicked sinus infection throughout the whole “vacation” which lingered on for about 10 days after.

It was not fun.

How do I explain to him that part of the point of taking a “vacation” is not having to run and fetch for him? When I think of a vacation I’m thinking of margaritas and pool boys and beaches and sleeping and reading.

A vacation for him is never a “vacation” for me. It is more reminiscent of boot camp.

Every time Jerry has ever imposed himself on one of my “vacations,” I’ve been happy as hell to get back to work.

I still want a couple of days’ peace and quiet with nothing but canine company. It probably won’t happen. I will be stuck running after beer (which I don’t drink) and lottery tickets (that I don’t play.) I’ll likely be recruited to perform home improvement projects and maintenance for him that I am not very good at doing. Then I will get nine kinds of shit about how bad I suck at hanging blinds or cleaning gutters.

The nearest establishment to the campground that sells beer and lottery is about six miles away. Then *while I’m out- ha-ha* I will get demands to procure obscure items at hardware stores (even further out), to fix food and to run divers errands, until my head spins. He will want me to take the dogs out at midnight, just because. There will be no quiet. There will be no resting. He will make a concerted effort to drive me completely apeshit.

I’ve taken vacations with my parents and/or Steve-o which do afford more relaxation time, but Mom and Dad can prove grating as well. Mom’s insanely pokey and doesn’t get motivated easily. Dad is constantly wanting to stop and go munch somewhere, which means it’s pretty much impossible to adhere to any kind of schedule.

Perhaps it is just my wiring that makes the fun vacation (for me) the solo vacation, where I can operate on my own itinerary and do what I want when (and if) I feel like doing it.

33 states honor my Ohio CCW, which is a comforting thought, as I don’t generally travel unarmed. Most of the places where I would routinely travel are quite fine with concealed carry. The bad thing is I really, really want to see the Mütter Museum in Philadelphia. But my CCW is not valid in Pennsylvania, which really sucks. I have to ponder this one. Is it worth it to travel unarmed and run the risk of being carjacked, robbed, raped and/or pillaged? I will have to find out if open carry is legal there, but it’s probably not. Once the gun control weenies ban concealed carry, they usually aren’t cool about open carry either.

It’s about 500 miles one way, which is a day trip to get there, overnight in a motel, all day at the museum, then another night at the motel and the trip back. It looks like this trip is three days- if I drive and take it leisurely.

I’ll have to find out if it’s in a safer part of town. I won’t go alone if I can’t carry and it’s in da hood. Having a good time at a strange destination is all about the research. I’ve traveled alone many times with little more than some scribbled directions and a general sense of where I need to go. I remember going to one series of meetings (two days) with about 15 minutes notice and I ended up having to buy toiletries and a change of clothes at a freaking Odd Lots store. It was sort of fun but also quite harrowing to try to get by with a weird sized curling iron, soaps and makeup I’d never heard of, and clothing that was less than flattering.

I’d rather research the area, know where I’m going, and have my reservations ahead of time.

One thing I have planned for my brief upcoming hiatus is a train ride- the Hocking Valley Railroad offers a short day trip through southeast Ohio on a passenger train. I’m planning to go next Thursday and I hope the weather cooperates. Better yet, I hope Jerry shuts up long enough for me to actually enjoy the scenery.

A Public Service Message for All the Little Big Men

October 15, 2013Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

When you’re home at night and your wife is busy pussy-whipping your pathetic ass (again) I hope you have the balls to talk to her the way you think you can get away with talking to me.

Then I hope she beats your ass the way I wish I could but won’t because I am too professional. In spite of your pompousness and rudeness I need this job, otherwise I’d thrash you worse than your old lady could dream of.

Believe that, ass pilots of the world.

One Dog Down the Cat Hole, and One Against the Thugocracy

October 15, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

It’s easy for me to forget that Lucy is substantially smaller than the other two dogs. I thought that since Lucy has a rather large head for her size, that she was too large for the cat hole. I have since realized that Fanny can get through a smaller hole than previously thought possible, and Lucy can get through a much smaller hole than I’d ever imagined.

Let me explain the logic behind the cat hole.

The New Improved Cat Hole: Just big enough for 17# Fanny to fit through…and nothing bigger- I hope!

Dogs absolutely lust over cat food, and most dogs are inexplicably enamored of snacking on cat shit as well. Neither cat food (too high in fat and protein for a dog’s metabolism) nor cat shit (well, it’s shit, ’nuff said) is healthy for dogs to consume in any kind of quantity. It’s sort of like humans living on bacon and candy- it might taste good at the moment, but it’s just plain unhealthy, and such a diet can lead to serious disease. Dogs are not the best arbiters of healthy eating, and they really shouldn’t be left to free-forage. As George Carlin once wisely pointed out regarding “gourmet” cat food, “How many gourmets lick their ass?”

Since we have four cats and three dogs, the cats need a safe place to hide when the dogs get on their nerves, as well as a safe place to eat and crap. The dogs need to be kept out of cat food and kept out of cat shit. In our house, the dog-free zone is the basement. There’s a roughly cat-sized hole cut in the basement door that (in theory) keeps dogs out while letting cats move freely in and out.

Big Fat Fanny- that’s what I get for naming the cat while listening to Queen. The dreadful 70’s linoleum- not really my choice.

The original oversize cat hole worked just fine for Clara and Lilo, who have long since realized that they aren’t going to get to go downstairs to munch. Clara is slender but even so, she’s still 65#. Lilo is about 55#, and not terribly motivated to pursue anything that doesn’t afford her easy access. Lucy, at a comparatively tiny 45#, however, decided to use her thick skull to worm her way through the cat hole.

The cat hole was a bit oversize because Fanny is a bit oversize. Our cats range in size from 4 1/2# Jezebel to 17# Fanny. Isabel is just slightly bigger than Jezebel at right around 5#, and F.B. is about 8#. I have four cats and only one is “normal” sized. Go figure, and I have no idea why the two black ones are so tiny. Jezebel eats more than any of the other cats, but she’s still the smallest. Her (Jezebel’s) feral relatives that live on the body shop lot are all petite cats as well. Perhaps city cats have some sort of advantage in smaller size vs. farm cats who tend to be large like Fanny. Isabel and Jezebel were both city ferals at one time. Fanny was from out in farm country, and I have no idea where F.B. came from before we took her in when her first owner died.

As long as Fanny fits, and Lucy keeps from ramming it, the reduced size cat hole should keep cats and dogs in their proper places.

If Obama gets his way, the rest of the country will be just like Detroit.

I’ve tried to keep my mouth somewhat shut about the political rancor and just plain stupidity going on in Washington right now, but I can’t understand why there are still dimwits out there who don’t get it about Obama. Including Jerry’s Dad, the former Klan member.

“Take a shower!” or was that “White powder?” Ass pilot.

I can’t say I condone the Klan, but frankly I’m tired of any racial or ethnic group demanding preferential treatment. The white supremacists are just as stupid as the Al Sharptons and Jesse Jacksons and Muslim extremist crazies of the world, believe that. But Jerry’s Dad seems to have done a 180° to think Obama’s the best thing ever, and I really don’t understand why or how he would. Maybe he’s gone senile and he’s feeling guilty for 70+ years of unabashed racism? Or maybe he’s just batshit crazy. I tend to believe suggestion #2.

This guy is a nut, too.

The thing is, I can feel bad over injustices committed against black people – or any other oppressed group-in the past without feeling a need to offer a free pass to Obama’s present ineptitude, incompetence and malice. Equal opportunity includes the obligation to own up to your own epic failures. If you can’t run with the big dogs, I don’t care what color, gender, ethnicity or whatever you are. Stay the flying flip on the porch.

Instead of working together with others in government toward responsible leadership, Obama has established a thugocracy- a culture in which there is one central premise: that big government knows what’s good for you, and we’ll take what you have by force, ostensibly in the name of “the common good.” In reality it is about big government feeding itself at the cost of those who work, produce and create. Communism / socialism didn’t work in the (former) Soviet Union and it doesn’t work now.

I don’t know who came up with this summary but it’s pretty good:

Socialism: Moochers electing looters to steal from producers.

Joy and rapture. Welfare day at Walmart. I think I’ll wait until the second week of the month to do my shopping.

I’m just hoping Lucy doesn’t get downstairs to dine on the magical dog candy again.

Old Stories Revisited, and Some Things Never Die (But Should)

October 10, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

When I was in high school I had a taste for bodice-ripper novels. By the end of my freshman year I had an entire locker filled with discount cover-less $1.35 novels from the cigar store that were so graphic I had to get rid of them when school was out. Mom would have found them in her regular treasure hunts through my stuff, and “smut” like that would have given my mother a coronary. (I wonder if Beth’s mother ever found them, but then Beth’s Mom wasn’t nearly as snoopy as mine, which is why I gave them to Beth in the first place.) I always knew Mom snooped, so I made sure Mom never found anything good such as cigarettes, “smut” books, birth control pills, short skirts, fishnets, etc. in any of my stuff. I had a few friends once I got a car, and with them, divers places to stash incriminating stuff.

I like the concept of stashing one’s guns under the stairs. I like stashing the gun next to the bed even better.

I wasn’t into ordinary flowery *clean* “romance” stories (think Hallmark Channel snooze fare, or the Harlequin romances Grandma liked to read.) I liked the more juicy ones that usually didn’t have much for a plot, but didn’t leave out the graphic details. Cut to the chase, already. I also had a taste for mystery and who-dunnits for a time, along with my usual historical and scientific non-fiction fare, but when I was in high school I would pretty much read anything and everything I could get my hands on. Today, because I have to do other things (like it or not) I have to be a bit more judicious in my literary choices. Let’s face it, the myriad ways of performing the conjugal act get a bit overhyped at times, and I need a bodice-ripper like a hole in the head these days. My imagination does not need any assistance in that realm. Besides, If I’m going to spend time in fiction I want a good story. Something with an actual plot that’s deeper than, “spying his turgid member, she unzipped his pants…” I want something epic, something meaty, or why bother?

Whether you like fiction or fantasy (normally I am not into either) or not, Tolkien is awesome. I’ve read these more times than I can count.

I never read a lot of fiction (other than the aforementioned bodice-rippers, and I’m really not compelled to go for bodice-rippers any more) but I did and still do like Stephen King. I may not agree with his politics (I don’t) but he is a hell of a writer. One of my favorites authored by King is the book IT, (not to be confused as a horror novel about IT, which is good given that many in the IT profession are quite scary enough,) so I simply had to get it on Kindle.

Maybe I shouldn’t put it like this, but Kindle is a hyperlexic’s high holy fantasy. There are millions of books available for momentary download for a modest fee (and some are even free.) Since my particular Kindle has 3G and Wi-Fi I can pretty much download anytime and anywhere, meaning I have to be careful in the Kindle Store. I have limited myself to one book a week, and only if I have finished the previous one. There is something just plain magical about having so much reading material at one’s fingertips.

My favorite Stephen King book, except for maybe The Stand. It might be a tie.

I read IT back in 1987 shortly after its release in paperback. I couldn’t afford hard back books at that time. $4.95 was pricey enough back in those days, but worthwhile. I couldn’t put it down- and read it the first time in about two days. This time I am taking my time and only reading a few chapters at a time, for no other reason than I don’t have entire days to lock myself away to just read anymore. I really miss being able to do that from time to time. I am one of those incorrigible nerd types who can get lost in a book and forget just about everything else.

IT, I am finding, is a more personal story for me now than it was in 1987. When I read IT the first time, there wasn’t much distance between me as the 10 year old and me as the 18 year old. It was a great story, but I didn’t really identify with the characters back then. Today I can understand their perspective much better. There is a lifetime of distance and several changes of spheres between me as the 10 year old, and me as the forty-something. There are those long-forgotten incidents and pictures from the back of the brain box that I don’t always acknowledge are there until some external event triggers the memory. There are plenty of incidents I’d rather forget, and many pictures that are best left buried deep and not disturbed from their sleep.

Such as: every day.

Even more unnerving, just as Derry, Maine had its scandals and secrets and monsters in the closets (and the drainage system,) I come from a small town with a history that is mired in intrigue, scandal, untimely death and *evil?* just as the fictional Derry was. Some of that history is fascinating and some of it tragic, but none of it rests well. My own personal history rests uneasily too.

I Don’t Wanna Talk About It (But I Will Anyway,) and I Love Lucy

October 2, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Lucy is clearly not a Belgian Malinois (most likely Bulldog and Beagle) but as Mick Jagger once sang: “You can’t always get what you want /But if you try sometimes /You just might find /You get what you need…”

Even considering the insight of the Rolling Stones, I didn’t really need a third dog. Even so, I was surprised it took Jerry from May to September to end up with another dog. I wanted another Malinois for Miss Clara to mentor, (and I still do) but when a stray dog (almost) got into it with one of the ankle biters at the campground over table scraps, Jerry had to intervene, and rightfully so. I couldn’t say no to that face and those eyes.

Either we took Lucy with us, or she’d have ended up with an ass full of buck shot, as the owner of the ankle biter in question would not hesitate to do it. It was a no-brainer. We took Sheena, messed up as she was, because she needed a home and we had a space. Lucy, even though I have little to no experience with either bully breeds or hounds, has a lot more going for her than poor Sheena did.

This is a young female Malinois- not Lucy!

Unlike Sheena, Lucy can hear. Lucy also has teeth. She has a bit of an underbite, (normal for Bulldogs) but she still has 42 sturdy, clean, white teeth. She’s also young (about a year, according to the Vet) and to our shock, had already been spayed. I feel bad that she was put under anesthetic and cut on only to find out she’d already been spayed, but how were we to know? In spite of undergoing what proved to be an unneeded surgery, she’s in impeccable health- aside from having to lose a pound or two from her incessant moochings at the campground. (Who can resist those eyes and that face?) She should get down to a proper weight now that she’s on Diet Plate with Lilo and eating pretty much just dog food. She also has a microchip and tags now, should she manage to wander off from us.

I don’t know why anyone would bother to spay a dog and then not microchip her, or bother to put a collar and tags on her, but that’s not my call. Against my first instincts, I love this weird looking little dog, even though she waddles when she walks and drools in her sleep. Even the cats are chumming up to her and kissing on her, (Jezebel especially loves dogs) which makes me wonder if she really went off on the ankle biter, or that if the ankle biter’s owners were just paranoid that she was hanging around and mooching. Then again, in our house the cats don’t compete with the dogs for food. The cats eat in a dog-free area, otherwise the cats wouldn’t get to eat at all. As far as competing with the other dogs, Clara and Lilo are both a lot bigger than Lucy, and she strikes me as being smart enough not to pick a fight with either one of them.

I’m starting to think my tits have mistaken themselves for migratory birds, as they have moved so far south. I know my grandmother warned me when I was 13 that I should always wear a sturdy bra, and for the most part I have heeded her advice, but the effects of gravity, like those of other forces associated with entropy, are inevitable.

Aging sucks, especially when it challenges your deeply held belief that it won’t happen to you.

I’ve been trying to avoid the political landscape as that whole scene is just plain depressing. I knew what a piece of work our illegitimate president was before he cheated himself into office the first time. I’m not at all surprised by what’s going on, even though it’s puzzling to me why the illegitimate fraud squatting in the White House hasn’t been impeached, removed and deported by now.

-Apparently playing the race card can still get you very far even with no experience, talent or ability to cooperate with others, and apparently not enough people care that you are illegitimate and lacking any sort of merit, if you can claim a favored minority status- and that makes my blood boil.

Anyway, I told myself I would avoid political tangents today so I am trying very hard not to. The bad part about trying to avoid doing something is that if you avoid it too hard you step right into it, sort of like when I try to go out in the back yard and try not to step in dog shit. Usually when I’m hell bent on avoiding dog shit is exactly when I step in it.

Oh, the parallels between stepping in dog shit and the illegitimate, destructive and dangerous Obama administration. The only difference is that dog shit washes off.

Wandering Through the Graveyard, Yeah, the Bell Tolls for Me

September 24, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

They say, “Ask not for whom the bell tolls.” I used to be able to hear various church bell cotillions growing up, but today the only things I hear from my surroundings are the various airport noises, police and fire sirens, and the tornado siren that goes off every Wednesday at noon. Perhaps the church bell cotillions have gone out of style, in much the same way as we try to distance ourselves from the natural rhythm of death and dying. In Victorian times, death was up close and personal and in your face. There were no nursing homes to warehouse the elderly, and for the most part, when one got seriously ill or injured, death came quickly, usually either on the spot or at home. There were no fire squads or life-flights or trauma units to tend to the catastrophically injured. People didn’t linger on in cancer wards or on machines in intensive care units, sequestered off to die, far away from prying eyes. You just bit the big one wherever you happened to be.

Maybe some Metallica, cranked up, would help. I doubt it.

Infants and children died at an alarming rate as well, which begs the question, how emotionally invested were parents in their children? I could see the temptation in those days to keep loved ones at arm’s length rather than to dare to get too close, but I’m emotionally distant to begin with. I don’t like getting too close to anyone even if I am somewhat confident of their continued longevity.

I do think that this mother was very close to her departed six-year old Wallie. This headstone is both unique, and to me, rather sad.

Maybe wandering through a graveyard is macabre, and certain graveyards have a sort of a creepy vibe to them, but others are pleasant to wander through. I’ve always found the Marion Cemetery to be a fascinating and aesthetically pleasant place to wander about, at least in the daytime. I’d like to go back again with an empty memory card and several hours to simply take pics and read the headstones and try to visualize the people whose lives were behind them.

There are graveyards closer to my house, but there’s something intriguing knowing that I have relatives buried in the ones up in Marion County. Some of my relatives’ graves are marked, but some aren’t, and most, I’d have fun finding. I have yet to find the numerous relatives of mine that are buried in Marion Cemetery, but I also have to remember that place is massive- it covers hundreds of acres and goes back to before the Civil War. When I took this batch of pics I was mostly wandering through the Civil War era sections of the cemetery. It was cold that day and after about two hours I’d pretty much gone through my memory card (I have a bigger memory card now) and my joints’ tolerance for cold and damp. I’ve not done much traipsing about in other parts of it. Yet.

Amos Kling was Florence Harding’s father. His obelisk is rather impressive, but I didn’t step back and get a pic of the whole thing.

I’m still amazed at how much money people had to have spent on some of these monuments. Either Marion County was a far more opulent place back in the 19th and early 20th centuries (I’m guessing this one) or people spent a lot more scratch on the dead than they do now. Maybe it was both.

I do know there are a good number of unmarked graves even in the Marion Cemetery which is the largest (and highest dollar real estate) cemetery in Marion County. Whether poverty is the main reason behind that. or indifference, I don’t know. I know some people die and nobody really cares too much about remembering them, but in the end how many people really are remembered for long, and how long do those stone monuments last? Many of them from the 1880’s and earlier are almost beyond deciphering.

This one always intrigued me- is it an idealized image of the deceased or a heavenly specter, or both?

I think they were referring to the building being built. Still funny though.

“Less Than Optimal,” Liar, Liar, and Uncommon Sense

September 11, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Straight from the mouth of our “less than optimal” illegitimate president.

Jim Carrey starred in a movie a number of years ago called Liar, Liar in which his character’s (who was a habitual liar) son’s birthday wish was that he couldn’t lie for 24 hours. I think it would be hilarious if something to that effect happened to Obama- if he had to tell the truth out loud, without a teleprompter, to the American people, for 24 hours. If he couldn’t evade questioning, and if he was compelled to blurt out the truth, I can only imagine the tales that would be told. (After all, truth is generally stranger than fiction.) I can only dream of the wave of vindication that would be enjoyed by thinking people (to borrow from Rush Limbaugh,) all across the fruited plain.

Oh, the sweet sound of the truth setting this country free from the entanglement, ineptitude, and tyranny of the corrupt and debauched Obama regime.

Of course, the Liar, Liar movie is fiction, and Obama is too morally bankrupt and caught up in his own delusions to ever admit to the truth, but envisioning Obama as the Liar, Liar instead of Jim Carrey might be even funnier, and a hell of a lot more gratifying to those of us who have seen through his deception from the beginning.

Knowing how many states are in the United States is a good start.

Anyway, I can really get fired up and distracted on any discussion of politics, and anyone who knows me on any level has probably already figured out how much I loathe Obama. It would be different if he hadn’t cheated to get where he is. It would be different if he didn’t make such a concerted effort to do exactly the wrong thing- all the time, every time. I do find it a bit pathetic that the only time Obama has ever shown any inkling of being the least bit hawkish it is in an effort to help his al-Quida and Muslim Brotherhood friends. Never mind all the Christians that got killed in that Egyptian mess. Never mind all the Americans who were killed in Benghazi. Obama’s all about his home boys, and it shows.

Middle Easterners of various factions and stripes have been killing each other for thousands of years. Since the only thing that’s consistent in the Middle East is (with the exception of maybe Israel) they hate Americans, why not just let them kill each other, because that’s what they want to do anyway, and cut ourselves out as the middleman?

My apologies to Sir Winston Churchill, but yes, Obama’s that bad. He’s bad enough that he eclipses the dismal failures of the previous Worst President Ever in a grandiose, epic failure tsunami that I never would have believed possible, except for I’m observing it now as I speak.

Jimmy Carter subscribed (and still does) to most of the same bad ideology that Obama espouses, but with an important difference: motive. I don’t think Jimmy Carter has the same destructive, anti-American, malicious motives as Obama. Carter’s not in it (intentionally, anyway) to destroy the economy, to race-bait, to manufacture poverty, or to create division. I think he just has the old-time thickheaded liberal ideology that followed FDR- that whole delusion of “government for the common good” mess.

However, one does not bring about prosperity by spreading the misery out more widely, which is the idiocy of the “old school” liberal argument. Prosperity is brought about by spreading around the prosperity (i.e. free market economics) as Reagan rightfully observed in the 1950’s and 1960’s.

Obama doesn’t want to bring anyone prosperity, except for him and his cronies. He is all about the oligarchy- a handful of elites with all the wealth and power, stealing from those who produce the wealth to give to themselves and to others unwilling to work to bring about that wealth.

It’s not too late to send him back.

Middle Age, The World’s End, and a Farewell to the Courtesy

September 3, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I love British humor, especially when it’s from the same minds that brought us Shaun of the Dead. The World’s End was a bit different than what I expected in that it sort of hit close to home. It was funny in that way peculiar to the Brits, but it also made me think. Here you have a guy (Gary King) wanting to re-live his one top-of-the-world halcyon moment- and you almost have to hand it to someone who has been able to keep that joie de vivre of youth alive past age 40. I think the whole joie de vivre concept went down the drain for me pretty much by 21, and it was gone for good after my divorce.

In the movie you discover that Gary King’s friends are a lot like me: washed out, sold out, burned out and resigned to the fact that the best of life is far behind them. Gary hadn’t changed, but his friends had. The world around them had changed too, thanks to the blue-blooded alien robots. Orderliness, conformity, blah, blah, blah. The difficult thing is that the older we get, the more we buy the neat and tidy, bland, unexciting life, even when it goes to extremes.

There is something to be said for responsibility and routine and stability. Those things are boring, but at least they’re somewhat predictable and safe. 44 is a long, long way from 17. I know better than to dream lofty dreams or to expect anything better than the status quo. The saying that, “A young person wants a the world and a new BMW, but I’d be happy with just a good BM,” is pretty much true for me.

I’m pretty sure the 1986 me would have drooled over this.

2013 me is a lot more realistic.

I think for me the aggravating thing is that as far as I know, I’ve never had that top-of-the-world halcyon moment, and I’d probably not know it when or if I ever did- or ever will.

The sad part is I can identify with the blue-blooded robots- going through the motions, blending into a bland world of blasé days, one indistinguishable from the next, keeping things orderly and tidy and boring until one day you sort of drop dead. Sometimes I think I dropped dead years ago, but just forgot to fall over.

On another tangent, the city of Marion lost an historical landmark, if you can call a motel turned cathouse an historical landmark.

In 1960-whatever it was a nice little roadside motel with a pool and everything.

In 2006 it was a pay-by-the-hour cathouse.

It was a little bit sad to see what was left of the Courtesy bulldozed over, although I think the only purpose it had served for the last couple of years was as a crack house. The only thing is that half of the town or more would have to be bulldozed if they wanted to eliminate all the crack houses.

The main take-home I got from The World’s End is that you can’t really go home again, and you can’t really ever re-live your glory days, and I never really had any to begin with. Perhaps my mistake is that I have to go back home again from time to time and what I see depresses me even though I don’t live in that sphere anymore.

I think that’s why my sisters avoid going to Mom and Dad’s like the plague. That feeling of being misplaced and out of time is disconcerting enough, but add opening up the old wounds and bad memories and rivalries and so forth, and it can be downright abysmal. Sometimes I don’t understand why I go back as often as I do, but then I remember that my son and my granddaughter still live there. I can’t demand that my family meet me where I am, even if they could.

I leave with the philosophical observation of the day.

Say Guten Tag to Hans Strudel- Or Not

August 29, 2013Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

Hans Strudel. Sort of like a German version of Lucky the Leprechaun.

Being of Anglo-Saxon ancestry, I can’t help but find this commercial to be in really bad taste. Racial stereotyping anyone?

It has to be the whitebread equivalent to all those Afro-Sheen commercials on Soul Train back in the day. Really. It’s worse than all those commercials for Lucky Charms.

It’s almost as bad as the image of the “Thrifty Scotsman.”

Just had to throw something funny out there today.

ELYSIANHUNTER, ALWAYS INCITEFUL:

Because comedy is the flipside of tragedy

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Author: Tonya Lanthron