Yeah; I Could Do That

Well, President Obama came to Cincinnati today.

Whoppee.

He had an appearance at Cincinnati's Music Hall, which holds a max of 3500. No word on attendance, but I'll bet he didn't fill it. No word on the cost of the tickets either. I'll bet they were free.

I also bet I could fill a 3500 seat hall if I gave out free tickets. With me as the entertainment.

Reading the phone book.

The Yellow Pages.

From Larimore, North Dakota.

Yep; the bloom is off the Obama rose.

And I think he knows it. Well, suspects it anyway.

I am really looking forward to November. And then January.

Everything Changes In An Instant

I have posted my thought before on the George Zimmerman situation, back in March. This isn't an update, but a different perspective.

Once upon a time the world was happily ignorant of the existence of George Zimmerman. A fact he was most likely aware of and happy with himself. Then one rainy evening a set of events irretrievably changed that. We all know the story/stories; no need to repeat the basics here.

No, today we will examine how one decision may or may not have changed his current situation. Bear in mind, I have no special insight into events of that evening. I am just taking what we have been told is true, and adding a few (hopefully) logical suppositions.

First, in my opinion, George Zimmerman cares. He cares for his community, and he cares for his fellow man. That's what led him to become an unofficial Neighborhood Watch Captain. He didn't have to do it. Maybe it was not a sense of responsibility for his neighborhood that led him down that path, or other motives, hinted at in the press. Or maybe a combination of the two. Either way, he had taken the first step down the decision tree toward notoriety.

His decision to obtain a Concealed Carry Permit; his decision to buy a gun; his decision to carry that gun. All decisions that led to the events of that fateful night.

Another step in that series was taken that night. For some reason George felt the need to patrol his community. For its protection, or for his ego? Only George knows. His supporters say the former; his detractors the latter.

What was it that led hm to Trayon Martin? What Fate led their two paths to cross? And what caused George's suspicions to be aroused? Again, small choices led to a fateful decision; left or right at this intersection; 15 or 25 miles an hour; look left or right; look right or straight ahead. All choices he unconsciously made, just like the multiple choices we make many times in the course of a day. And all became fateful.

Think about that. Had George been traveling at 25 MPH instead of 15 MPH; had he turned left instead of right 2 intersections back; had his attention been captured by a fleeting motion out the left hand window instead of the right, or if Trayon had decided to carry an umbrella against the rain instead of wearing a hoodie, the world would still most likely be ignorant of the existence of George Zimmerman.

The biggest choice may not have been a decision George was allowed to make. Some reports say that Trayon was the aggressor in the final meeting between George and him. If that is so then the self-defense actions George was forced into were his only possible course. The other course- to allow himself to be beaten or killed- is not an acceptable one.

But then there is a side that says George was the aggressor. If so, then that is another choice he actively made to put himself into the final position.

Assume that it's so; assume George was actively seeking to defend his neighborhood by the use of a firearm. And he found a victim. One walking alone in the rain. An easy mark.

And in cold blood George shot him.

This course of action takes several fewer decision steps, and ignores multiple pieces of on record evidence. But it could have happened. At least the prosecution thinks so.

Myself, I see a man who made several decisions, over the course of years, decisions that were based on any number of inputs, including his personal convictions and morality; his interpersonal relations with his family, neighborhood and community, and his feelings toward his own life.

All decisions made by George himself. Some with careful consideration, some  without conscious thought and some with a split second to decide.

And all lead to one fatal instant. When, for both George and Trayon, everything changed.

A couple of anniversaries past last week without notice on the blog- My Dad's birthday on the 12th and the loss of my dog Junior on the 9th. Hard to believe they both happen in the same week every year. I didn't have a chance during the week to reminiscence, but this morning I do.

There is very little to say that would be new. Reviewing the too few faded memories, worn and scratchy; like an old film played a few too many times. Trying to find a new detail in a story or image studied many times before. Or maybe just sussing out what their lives still mean to me today.

We don't get where we are by ourselves. In some respects we are all Post Turtles, balanced where we are with the help of our friends. It is that help that makes the post we seem to be stuck on disappear, so we lose that sense of not belonging where we suddenly find ourselves. Dads always help with that feeling. Hell; it's their job to set us up on the post in the first place, and then help us grow the legs to get down.

A good dog is a help there too. When you are stuck on the post, looking for a friendly hand to help you down, that hand may just be a paw. Sometimes all you need is for a push is the gentle nudge of your dog's nose against the underside of your hand.

You miss that when it's gone.

And sometimes waste the rest of your life looking for it again.

Folks look in various places. Other friends and family. Or a new dog. Maybe in religion. Or a bottle.

But the best place to look is inside. Dad didn't help you grow those legs so you could pull them up inside your shell. You are meant to use them for every post you find yourself on. And yeah, some of those posts are longer than what you have met before. So what?

You grew legs once; grow them again.

And then thank the ones who taught you how to get down.

Friday Night at the Movies

I was searching through Netflix last night for something to watch and ran across Urban Cowboy. If I have ever watched the whole movie it has been 30 years. Parts of it I remembered, and parts of it were new, probably because I had never seen it before, except bits while channel surfing between commercial breaks.

One of the parts I didn't remember was the beginning, where a bearded Bud, Travolta's character, leaves the farm for the big city.  Something that is not really worked through the whole movie is that Bud is not an Urban Cowboy, but a Cowboy transplanted to the Urban. That puts a whole different spin on the way the movie plays out.

One scenes is still iconic- Debra Winger riding the mechanical bull for the second time really sticks with you. The interiors, shot at Gilley's, (once billed as the largest honky-tonk in the world)  treated the whole world to Texas Excess.

I've never been a real big fan of Travolta's. I have seen Grease a few times, but other than that I probably haven't seen a total of 30 minutes of his other movies, and probably couldn't name more than 2 or 3. But Urban Cowboy is special. For the soundtrack.

I have the 8-Track somewhere in the attic. I was stuck in the radio in my old T-bird for a month back in the day, and I must have heard it a thousand times that month. Mickey Gilley, of course; Johnny Lee, Charlie Daniels, Kenny Rogers and the Eagles, just to name a few. A veritable whos-who of late 70's music.

Even last night I was focused more on the music that I was the movie. the songs that formed the background for the movie were also the soundtrack of my life in 1980. Each was as familiar as an old friend, and brought back another memory.

Well, except one. A song I heard last night for the first time; it wasn't on my 8-Track. The 8-Track held about 10 songs, and there are 18 in the album. As soon as I heard the song I knew who the artist was, even though I had never heard the song before. I was only mildly surprised to hear him; 1980 was probably his biggest year, as far as establishment music goes. He had just had a hit song that was played everywhere- Pop, Country and Rock radio all had that one song in their playlists, and still do today.

Yes, in the movie the Urban Cowboy was that grand purveyor of drunk, Caribbean rock and rock and the Mayor of Margarita-ville himself, Jimmy Buffet.

Who knew?

Well, I guess I would have, if I would have sat through the Urban Cowboy 30 years ago.

Again One Thing Leads to Another

Okay, so here's the story I am blogging about. I found it through a link at Instaundit; that lead me here, and then finally to this.

Which story am I blogging about?

Well, MINE of course!

I read Instapundit daily, at least. I consider it the Reader's Digest of the Internets. Not the modern, large format People Magazine wanna be, The Old Reader's Digest. The one that aggregated Stories of Lasting Interest.

Any rate, the tree ring story caught my eye on Instapundit. Interesting reading. But they never do explain how they figured out how old the trees were. I can understand how they fell into the lake, but how do they know which tree is is 20 years old, and which one is 2,000?

And I'd love to know how they can extrapolate the temperature OF THE ENTIRE GLOBE from a bunch of soggy trees in Finland!

That leads me to the second article.
A dungeon, secret passageways, peepholes and lingering ghosts: A young couple paid $395,000 in CASH and might have gotten more than they bargained for by buying castle in Missouri is the headline. But what is the news? They bought an old house, dressed up with a lot of stonework. Yehaw. Here is what I found interesting. They paid cash. $395,000 in cash. What makes that funny?

The buyer is a MORTGAGE BROKER. I didn't realize there were still mortgage brokers. I thought they had disappeared with the property flippers.

And then the last story. This guy spent 40 years looking for a stolen car; and found it. They don't go into details, but from the way the story reads it must have been Dad's car; Dad died and the kids were settling up the estate by selling the car.

Here's my question: How did Dad (assuming I am right) tag and insure a stolen car for over 40 years?

And also: if your car was stolen, how long would you keep the keys and old title?

In the interest of full disclosure, I still have the owner's manual and the key to a car I sold 30 years ago. So maybe I would still have the key and title to one that was stolen.

But; I also admit to being a little odd....

Okay; so here I am kicked back on my porch swing, blogging.
It might make things easier; I'm not sure.
Ot does allow me post a photo I just took, but the lack of a multi- finger keyboard hurts my composition for some reason.
The photo is ip on the hill behind my porch. We have a few targets up there to plink at with air rifles while we're kicked back on the porch.
Yep; Redneck fun at its finest!

ON EDIT:

Okay; so here I am kicked back on my porch swing, blogging.

It might make things easier; I'm not sure.

It does allow me post a photo I just took, but the lack of a multi- finger keyboard hurts my composition for some reason.

The photo is up on the hill behind my porch. We have a few targets up there to plink at with air rifles while we're kicked back on the porch.

Yep; Redneck fun at its finest!

Yeah, I can blog from my phone, but I am better at a keyboard.

Free Tickets to the Ballet! Want 'em?

Certain people enjoy certain things, and will not enjoy certain other things.

Take for instance Opera. I enjoy Classical music, but cannot stand Opera. Maybe because it sounds so much like a bunch of furriners shouting at each other. But that's not my point.

If you did a VENN diagram of the folks who liked Opera overlapped with the folks who liked, say... NASCAR, there would be a very small overlap. I haven't done a study obviously, but the basics are there. Opera represents the highest of culture to most folks. It is the purview of the upper- crust. Along with Ballet, they are considered the highest of performing arts.

And anybody who would consider a Sunday afternoon watching 30 cars speed around a 2 mile track for 500 miles in the broiling heat not just Heaven, but a Heaven he would pay to attend, would also consider 2 hours at the Ballet a torture he (or she) would pay to avoid.

The question then becomes: Nature or Nurture? Are we genetically predisposed to enjoy one or the other, or are we raised that way?

Sports are similar. There are guys who will sleep eat and talk baseball for 12 months out of the year, and not even know what Wimbledon is. Or the Olympics. Is that also a high-brow/low-brow split do you think?

There are always outliers. There will always be the one individual who can discuss tennis as easily as he can football, baseball or soccer. and there will always be the the individual who knows as many stats about NASCAR as he does the various steps in Ballet.

Nature, or Nurture? Or, for the folks with a foot in both worlds, does their Nature pull them one way, and their Nurture push them in another?

Yeah Well, One Thing Leads to Another

Sometimes a blog topic just falls into your lap. The event just happens, or the news story is written in such a way that comments are tripping over each other fighting there way to the keyboard.

And other times...

Not so much.

Then you need to go looking for a topic. I have my set bunch of sites that I visit, for just such an emergency. And of course, the Borderline Sociopathic Blog for Boys is one of those sites. Lots of good stuff there this time. I could have blogged about this, which reminded me of how long its been since I've done that, or maybe this, which also brought back old memories. Or even this, which kinda struck my funny-bone.

But I reached this post and just had to give it a wider distribution. Well, assuming my readership is greater than his, or at least that I have a couple of readers he doesn't.

If I have ever seen a greater example of folks with too much time on their hands I don't know what it is. Well, maybe people who watch golf on TV. At least these guys are a little creative.

This also reminds me of an old game called 'Beer Hunter', that if memory serves, was a SCTV skit  featuring Bob and Doug McKenzie.

Anyway, the premise of Beer Hunter was to take a 6 pack of beer and shake one up (I mean REALLY shake one up) and then through it in the cooler with the other 6. Of course the loser was the one who opened the exploding beer.

Well, it was funny when I was younger.

And drank cheap beer.

Well, You Didn't Hear it From Me

So yesterday I went to a family reunion and had a great time.

Listening to the old family stories and jokes; looking at the old pictures and eating watermelon.

The best part?

It wasn't my family.

I have a a long standing commitment to a work related extra curricular, and yesterday part of my job was to attend another family's reunion.

Obviously I can't say too much, or go into too much detail, but it was a great time. I found out some fantastic information to help with my project and met some absolutely fabulous folks.

And there something about being a relative outsider at what is, very basically, a very insider function. It's not like they sell tickets to those things you know.

I was a very honored guest, and very honored to be that guest.

This is killing me. I hate having this 'secret life' that is incredibly interesting, and I can't (usually) talk about it.

I feel like I am in the CIA or the FBI.

Or maybe the Witness Protection Program.

But I swear you all will be on the mailing list when the book comes out!

The Heat Ain't Just From Miami

What is there to blog about?

Obamacare; The Heat; Libyan Elections; THE HEAT; the Zimmerman deal down in Florida; THE HEAT; the Western wild fires; THE HEAT; Unemployment; THE....

But I guess you get the idea.

I have about as much interest in stepping out ot my air conditioning as I do voting for Obama.

Twice.

On the same day.

But what can you say about the Heat? More importantly, what can you do about the Heat?

Well, nothing that ain't been said already, and flat nuthin'.

Interestingly enough, did you know that you cannot make cold? Cold is simply the absence of heat, and is created by using the Law of Convection (heat will always travel from a warmer to a cooler object).

Basically, you chill a refrigerator, or a room, by using something cold to suck the heat out, and them dumping that heat somewhere else.

Where am I going with this?

Elephino (say it real slow). The heat blew me off my train of thought five paragraphs ago.

I just got home from a work related function, and I am toasted already. I stopped at McDonalds for a cup of their ice tea, and I don't know what happened, but the guy in front of me took forever to pick up his food. So I sat and fried and got madder and madder.

I have got to get the AC fixed in that car.

Damn this heat wave. It's uncomfortable, dangerous for man and beast, and worst of all it's ammunition for the damn Global Warming idiots.

That's it. I'm done. I need to find a cold beer and a cool seat in front of a few dozen fans.

And maybe a good John Wayne movie. One where its cold.

Island in the Sky might just be the ticket.

Well, So Much For That Promise

Today is July 6th, and this will be only my 4th post.

In my defense, I did take on a project for work that has eaten into my time more than I expected. And the 4th of July was a day long affair.

Literally.

My oldest boy and the #1 grandson showed up at 9:30 on the 4th. And they weren't the first guests.

Some folks came on the 3rd and camped out. So, technically, we had company on the 4th at 12:00 midnight.

Folks came and went all day long, right through the last of the fireworks about 10:00.

It's kinda hard to leave your own party to do a blog post.

The Young'un asked what was so special about July 4th. So I started reciting the Declaration of Independence. She looked at me a little sideways and said: "Really?".

It made me realize how hard it is to explain our freedom to somebody who has never known any other way of life. And it is equally as hard to explain what we are losing to the youngsters who never had it.

I guess that's because so much of what used to a FREEDOM has been redefined as a RISK. Like smoking inside and actual building. Or riding a bike without a helmet. Or not wearing a seatbelt. Or riding in the bed of a pickup truck.

Each of these activities is a risk, but a calculated one. Yes you can get hurt, but what are the odds?

And individual behavior would moderate the risk. Like riding in the bed of a pickup. Sitting with your back to the cab while the truck is in motion minimizes the risk involved. Walking around with a beer in your hand while on the entrance ramp to the expressway tends to increase the risk.

Guess whose activities were cited when making this activity illegal? So the millions of folks who minimized the risk are criminals, and the idiots with the beer are still dying. Sure, they're dying as criminals, but the law has not modified their behavior, just the behavior of the folks who were modifying the risk anyway.

And now we have a precedent for the next step.

That is the interesting thing about Freedom; we win it all at once, and lose it one little piece at a time.

The Magna Carta was in some respects a Declaration of Independence for English Noblemen. Those freedoms eventually migrated down, as the noble class increased in size and their descendents became less noble and more common. And then they started disappearing. Especially in the colonies. Freedoms that were once held as inviolate, became violate.

The trouble was, at least for the King, was that the people KNEW what they losing, and fought to keep the Freedom they had.

A percentage of the Founding Fathers did not want to found a new country. They wanted to stay a part of Britain, but as an equal partner, not a slave state. The King had a choice, and he choose unwisely.

And over the last 70 years those hard won Freedoms have been chipped away at. Always for good reasons (remember- Never Let a GOOD Crisis Go To Waste), and but never, in my opinion, is there a reason good enough to stifle Liberty.

Well, maybe next year we will have more reason to Celebrate.

Or, possibly, won't be able to celebrate at all.

Hot Enough Fer Ya?

I mowed my lawn today.

Well, I ran my mower around the yard anyway. About all I really did was knock down some tall weeds, clip the heads off of a bunch of white clover  and vacuumed up the leaves.

Yeah, all of the boxwood trees are starting to drop leaves already. About the only way I knew where I had traveled with the mower was the track of missing leaves.

I has been hot. This is I think our 8th day in a row of over 90 degrees. And July just started. This is August weather, not June weather.

I said all winter that we would pay for the mild winter we had; I just wasn't sure how we would pay for it.

I think I know how now.

We are planning on having a little family get together here on the Fourth, and the last few days of getting things ready has been pure Hell. I am getting about half of what I wanted to get done accomplished, because I am spending half my time recuperating from heat stroke.

But we will be party ready, come party time.

At noon tomorrow the preparation stops and the party begins, I won't have everything done, but I'll be the only person that knows that.

Unless I tell the Young'un.

Then EVERYBODY will know what didn't get done.