I don’t drink beer. I don’t like beer. But to Jerry, this swill is the elixir of the Gods. Go figure.
Tomorrow I begin a brief vacation. Not because I’m sick, a family member’s sick or I have some stupid errand(s,) which is usually the only reason I take time off. Granted, I did tell Jerry I would list a bunch of his crap on E-Bay tonight (joy and rapture) and I did put the rack of ribs in the slow cooker. But he’s on his own for a couple of days which means the drive-thru better have some cold Natty Packs, and I better make sure he has Katie’s (the local good pizza joint) on speed dial. Tomorrow morning I head for the hills- literally- where Sprint access is a crap shoot (so no internet and probably no phone either) and things should be somewhat bull-shit free as long as Jerry doesn’t show up and ruin the quiet.
I’ll have Miss Clara with me, to screen any potential “visitors.”
Clara enjoys being at the campground. I do have to make sure she’s on a leash any time she’s not in the cabin, but I give her a long lead and let her explore. Clara is obedient and usually a good listener, but my only fear is that with the prey drive she has that she would lunge off after a critter and get lost. Prey drive is an instinctual thing with dogs, and when she’s locked on to something she may or may not respond to verbal commands. This is why a lot of people who work with protection breeds use shock collars (no I am not going there) so they can get a dog’s attention should they get locked on a prey item. I don’t want to take that chance in an area where she can get lost and/or mistaken for a deer. Admittedly, I’ve been paranoid with Clara ever since she was hit by a truck three years ago. She has never attempted to get beyond the fence since then, even when Sheena has found – or fabricated for herself- ways out. Sheena has about ten pounds on Clara, so any hole big enough for Sheena is more than big enough for Clara. Before she got hit Clara thought it was a fun game to try to find holes in the fence and such, but she has not strayed even once since. Still, I’m not taking any undue chances with her.
I’m not trying to get my hopes up about the upcoming election, though I was most encouraged by Romney’s debate performance last Wednesday. I’d never really thought Romney was much of a public speaker but this debate was a most pleasant surprise. The man knows what he’s talking about, and more importantly, he believes in what he says. The absence of the teleprompter was rather telling for Obama. Apparently Eastwood was right. Now if only the rest of the world will get a clue and see what I’ve known all along. The self-proclaimed “emperor” is naked as a jay bird.
Bluejays may not wear clothes, but at least they do have feathers.
Bluejays are interesting birds in that they eat almost anything, and they’re rather aggressive. A few years ago there was a huge scare in Franklin County regarding West Nile virus and people were asked to report any dead crows or jays (crows and jays are actually related types of birds) so the health department could test them. Of course I’m the lucky one to find a dead jay out in the front yard that wasn’t visibly mauled by cats or hit by anything, just stiff and dead as a post, so kept my distance and called the health department to come and get it for testing. I’m not a big fan of communicable disease, so I figure better safe than sorry. If there’s crap like that lurking about in my yard I want to know about it.
In response to my call, some guy from the health department showed up, with his hazmat garb and everything, to pick up the dead jay (with thickly gloved hands of course.) The health department guy observed that the jay’s mouth was open and that it had another bird (likely a baby starling) jammed in its throat in such a manner that it likely choked to death. He still took the dead jay for testing, but assured me that the cause of death was most likely asphxyiation rather than West Nile. Apparently this is a somewhat common manner of death for jays.
Thankfully no one needs to tell me this twice.
Most sports are pretty stupid when you think about it. Football for instance, involves chasing a funky shaped ball up and down a field. It also involves having very big guys jump all over your sorry carcass. I spent the first thirteen years of my life trying to avoid having my ass kicked. Even if I were coordinated and could play a sport for money, I don’t think the scratch would be worth daily ass kickings all over again. NFL players are coming out and saying that they are getting brain damage from all the concussions they get playing football. Granted most athletes aren’t rocket scientists to begin with (and I say this from deep within the highly uncoordinated geek camp) but shouldn’t brain damage be your sign that playing certain sports might not be worth it?
Today you’re throwing a football on national TV. Tomorrow you’re sucking up pureed bananas in a straw whilst shitting your drawers.
Hockey is another sport I don’t get. It’s only fun if they fight.
Which brings us to NASCAR fans and WalMart shoppers….
Perhaps that’s mean of me, and a bit ironic, because occasionally I go to WalMart, if I have to get something I can’t find at Target, or I’m in Marion where there is no Target. But NASCAR, I can’t bring myself to watch that shit. Ever.
Must have taken this pic in Newark (OH)- the Lardy Lady Capitol of the Midwest!
Freddy Mercury would have loved Newark. Big fat Fannys everywhere!
Speaking of big fat Fanny- but she’s a cat- and she’s cute.