What's Wordsworth's Words Worth?

~
Back in the good old days life was a real gas. It was flipsville and endsville. Our friends were the bees knees, the cat's pajamas, and the cat's meow. It's funny that none of us ever found out who won those submarine races. When we were knee-high to a grasshopper we were always reminded to pull the chain, and not to take any wooden nickels. The boys wore knickers and sported a DA. The girls' fashions included poodle skirts and pedal pushers and on their heads they had pageboys or beehives. Parting company wasn't noted with a simple good-bye, it was catch you in the funny papers or see you later alligator.
~ Oh my stars! The English language is an ever-changing reflection of the times. Each generation brings with it a unique vernacular and slang. To be hip, you to talk hip if you wanted to be a part of the in-crowd. Remember when hunk meant a large lump of something? Crack was a small opening. Ice was frozen water. Pot was a cooking utensil. Rap meant to knock on a surface. Do you recall that pound was British currency or a measure of weight? Now it is that tilted tick-tack-toe thingy above the 3 on a keyboard or beneath the 9 on a telephone.
~ A stay-at-home mom used to be a housewife or a homemaker. Somewhere along the way the stewardess morphed into a flight attendant. When I was a boy, my mother wasn't pregnant, but in a family way or expecting, and it was the stork she was expecting.
~ We had our own words for money: greenbacks, cabbage, moolah, dough, ticket to ride, jingles (coins). Today the kids use: cheddar, shekels, benjamins, dead presidents, duckets, ends, grain, paper, scrilla, and they kept dough.
~ Yes, the times they are a-changing as we try to keep up with the lingo of the kids today.
~ The following disappearing words and phrases still hold meaning to some of us:
~ Jeepers. Swell. Spiffy. Hunky-dory. Groovy. It's your nickel. Pshaw. Nifty. Just ducky. Spooning. Billing and cooing. Flivvers. Hubba-hubba! Moxie. Cut a rug. Straighten up and fly right. Put on your best bib and nickers. Juke joints and Juke boxes. Life of Riley. Copacetic. Kilroy was here. Skate keys. I'll be a monkey's uncle. Candy cigarettes. Passion pit. Lovers' lane. This is a fine kettle of fish. Rumble seats. Peachy-keen. Fountain pens. Nincompoop. Fridgidaires. Victrolas. A dilly. A doozy. Heavens to Betsy. Not for all the tea in china.
~
( Some of the words and phrases appeared in the article "The Way We Word" by Richard Lederer, appearing in he Mar-Apr '05 AARP Magazine)>
~
To see how well you know the English language, try the 20-Questions at: http://www.aarpmagazine.org
~
No.180
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Shut The Cell Up!

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Just what did everyone do before they had one? Did they manage to get by? Did they miss anything? Were their lives any less complete?
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~ Everyone, it seems, has one. Hey, I have one myself! Of course, that of which I speak is a cell phone. They are everywhere. They are so much a part of our lives now, that it has become difficult to imagine a world without them. But it is to desire such a world.
~
~ Like them or not, you positively must have one! They are important after all. They are certainly handy in cases of emergencies. They are essential when you are in a movie theater. They are important when riding on a bus. They are a must when you are at the supermarket. Why bother with shopping lists, when you find out what you need over the phone? Apparently the internal combustion engine will not operate properly unless the driver is talking on a cell phone.
~

~ Now if you happen to have a head set, the uses of your cell phone will increase expotentially because you have both hands free. A certainly celebrity, who shall remain nameless, says that she likes to talk on her cell phone while she is making love. Of course, Ms. Hilton prefers a phone that can take pictures and record video.
~
~ You can talk on the cell phone with one hand, and surf the TV channels with the remote in the other. Speaking of surfing, you can easily talk on the phone and read your e-mail. I suppose that it must be particularly satisfying to talk to the person about the e-mail they just sent you.
~
~ You can take walks with a cell phone to your ear. You can even go jogging while using one. You can download your favorite tunes and use them as your ringer. You can send text messages. You can play games.
~
~ What ever happened to independence? What ever happened to "getting away from it all?" What ever happened to "leaving the phone off the hook?" What ever happened to "calling home when you are going to be late?" What ever happened to ordering a pizza to be delivered at home instead of a street corner? What ever happened to trying to keep the phone bill low?
What ever happened to peace of mind?
~
~ Must they really have to pass laws to prevent people from using a phone while they are driving? Do they really have to be scolded for using a phone in a theater?
~
~ Enough already!
~
~ Get a life!
~
~ Shut the cell up!
~
No.179
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It Takes Two Hands To Handle A Whopper

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Picture in your mind that you are removing the cork from a bottle of wine. You will hear that creaking sound as the cork and bottle neck protest separation. Finally your efforts are rewarded with an explosion of release - that familiar "pop." Now, if you will, hold on to that image until you have read a little more.
~ This was too funny to keep to myself. It was an occurrence that just begged to be captured on video. Because I had no recording device at hand, I felt I had to first set the scene for you. Perhaps then you place yourself by my side and experience it first hand. The scene: a Burger King parking lot on a hazy hot and humid afternoon. Backdrops: My truck, a maroon '98 Sonoma. Her vehicle, an '04 red and white Mini Cooper. The cast: Me. Her. Props: me, a Double Whopper w/cheese, a large onion ring, and a vanilla shake. Her, orange pants.
~ Now that we have established the scene and the cast has been identified, it is time for you to call upon the imagery of that cork being removed from the wine bottle.
~ As you know, it takes two hands to handle a Whopper. With that culinary concoction advancing to face the onslaught of my teeth, I was savoring the first mouthful. Have you ever seen a conveyer belt or an escalator stop suddenly? Well there it was, that virginal burger suspended in my hands, short of its destination, unmindful of mouth agape. As if someone had hit the pause button, it was if I were in suspended animation.
~ My eyes, however were busy, still filming he spectacle unfolding before me. The aroma of the hovering Whopper continued to waft, causing my mouth to water and my stomach to growl at the impromptu stoppage. Still rolling, my eyes recorded in vivid detail that which you are about to read. The woman in the Mini Cooper was attempting to extract herself from the car. Her international orange pants evoked thoughts of Linus' Great Pumpkin! To say this woman had a large derriere would be to understate the obvious. Believe you me, she was in need of a back up bell!
~ It is now that you should concentrate on the image of that cork and wine bottle. It is now that the "creaking" has started. The building pressure and resistance of door and hips are nearing the point that something has to give!
~ The growing crowd you see have not gathered waiting for you to pour them some fruit of the vine. Three or four people stopped on the lot near our two vehicles. Whether they were amused by what they were witnessing, or had stationed themselves close by if their help might be needed, I am not certain. From my passenger mirror, I had my doubts about how much help they would be, because I saw no winches or block and tackle among them.
~ The creaking was more pronounced, something was surely about to give. I was compelled, but did not, yell "Thar she blows!" If an intent audience can be considered fanfare, so it was we heard the "pop!" She was free! I assume those in back of us resisted the temptation to go into a boisterous round of applause. In fact, they were gone.
~ It was then that I saw the person attached to the backside. Folds of flesh bulged from what I assumed was the waist of those orange pants, and from beneath and above a purple halter top. I wasn't sure if I should have been turned off by the flesh, her color scheme, or the wardrobe itself.
~ Salvation was mere inches from my still gaping mouth. The Whopper was still suspended where it had stopped before, clasped in my two hands awaiting further orders. My brain finally meshed the gears and set the mechanisms of my arms into motion. The Great Pumpkin and the bottle of wine slowly faded into my subconscious mind.
~ I practically inhaled that Whopper! If it were possible to have absorbed the thing by osmosis, I would have done so. I was of the mindset that I did not wish to see the woman return. I had no desire to see how many bags of food she would be carrying upon the return to her car.
~ I shuddered as I was pulling out of the parking lot. For some morbid reason, I had begun to picture her attempting to get back inside of that little car. Imagine, if you will, trying to put that cork back into the bottle! Need I say more?
~ God bless her husband, that is if she was indeed married! I certainly hope that he too is a large person. It would help too if Mr. Great Pumpkin had a pair of rather large hands. As you know, it takes two hands to handle a Whopper!
~
No.178

Food Fight

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No, this isn't what you are thinking. If you are hungrily preparing to read this article because you are expecting projectiles of food stuff, you will be disappointed. No fruits or vegetables were harmed during the composition of this blog. There will be no pies in the face. There will be no banana peel prat falls either.
~ This is about taste. It's about choice. It's about differences. If everyone liked the same kind of music, wore the same clothing, drove the same car, and had a palate for the same foods, you would have to agree that it would be an awful boring existence.
~ In a recent blog I made a faux pas, wherein I made an unfounded negative reference to a certain food item. As part and parcel of the same thought process, I made the same reference to a couple of other foods.
~ In that blog, but only as a footnote, I remarked that I resented junk e-mail being called spam, simply because I happened to like Spam. I went on to suggest that they could have called it liver or Brussels sprouts. Then I added tofu and crap as candidates also. It was there that I ended the blog.
~ I was taken to task by a fellow blogger, one who happened to like tofu. While I do qualify my postings that they are opinion and that they are written as satire, I found myself in agreement with my detractor. I suppose I could have stood pat. I could have just as easily treated that dressing-down as one of an irresistible force meeting an immovable object. I could have declared it a stalemate!
~ I did see a flaw in my, as it turned out, misguided statement. There was a significant difference between those three food items, not to mention that other organic substance. I do not like liver and I simply detest Brussels sprouts! I can and will stand firm on those two because I have actually tasted them and found each to be unsavory. As for the tofu,I cannot honestly say that I like or don't like it. For you see, I have never even tasted the stuff.
~ I should also go on the record to state unequivocally, that I have not and never will taste crap! I will not allow myself to subjected to any debate about the culinary standing of the stuff. That it is beneficial to the dung beetle is of no interest to me.
~ In a nutshell, I found that I had no justifiable reason to suggest that tofu should be ranked with liver, Brussels sprouts, or crap for that matter. Not wanting to make a short story long, but then again I've already done that, I edited my blog and removed any mention of tofu from that footnote.
~ I suppose one more concession should be made. The title of this blog is in fact misleading, but I am not going to change it. It still works for me in the context of this and the original blog. I will not change it, even if someone threatens to beat the tofu out of me!
~
No. 177

Earth Cake!

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My Aunt Bernice left a legacy that will survive well beyond her many nieces and nephews. My dad said of his sister's gifts that they may well still be around after the next Ice Age. Just in sheer numbers alone, I'm sure he was right.
~ My father was one of fourteen kids raised by my grandparents. Eleven of those had at least two or more children of their own. I have forty-seven first cousins on my father's side of the family alone. My mother's side contributed another eleven. Of those fifty-eight, at last count, there has been one-hundred thiry-six second cousins turned out in the shadows of those West Virginia hills. You would be safe to say that I have more cousins than Jimmy Carter has peanuts!
~ Bernice never forgot a birthday or an anniversary. She kept track of our clan without a computer. Not one of us was ever forgotten when we graduated from High School. No achievement was too insignificant. Right on cue, there she was at the door with one of her prized fruit cakes. Nothing went into her masterpieces unless it was grown naturally from the earth. Dad used to say she mixed eggs with the dirt from her garden. So it came to be, that to this day, her cakes are fondly referred to as Earth Cakes.
~ Seeing one on the table when you came home always caused someone to yell Earth Cake! I understood that in nearly all the homes of my aunts and uncles, there would be a playful enactment of the house being under the siege of an actual earthquake. Someone would grab hold of a doorway and tell everyone to grab something also. Invariably someone would dive under the table for safety.
~ Not many things evoked as many different emotions as Bernice's cakes. There were always the obligatory displays of appreciation in her presence, of course. But once she was gone, a whole phalanx of reactions would come pouring out. Depending on whose house a cake had been delivered, you might see horror. There could be disgust and even nausea. There would be pity targeted at the recipient of the cake. From the youngest of the kids there would be tears, afraid they would be made to eat some of it.
~ If ever there was a reason to dread birthdays, anniversaries, or graduations, it was the pall that one of those cakes would have your name on it! Fortunately over the years, my parents never pulled the old "your mother knows best" of "your father knows best" routines on us. They never made us eat the Earth Cake.
~ There are many family anecdotes surrounding the mystique of Aunt Bernice's cakes. Many of them have become our personal "urban legends." Which were true and which were not became nearly impossible to distinguish through the decades. Nonetheless, seldom was there ever family gatherings that did not feature a sit-around discussions of those cakes.
~ Urban Legends
I did witness one of the cakes falling from the counter onto my mother's big toe. The preacher down the street must have heard the less than Christian cries of pain; if he did he never said anything. Although it wasn't broken, her toe was swollen and bruised. She limped around for months after the Earth Cake had attacked her. My uncle Jack liked to tell everyone that he once used one of the cakes as a stone for his grinder until he could buy a new one. His brother Frank swore that he was still using one as a wheel for his wheel barrow. His son supposedly used one as an anchor for his rowboat. Another cousin said she uses two of them to hold up the badmitton net in her back yard. My Uncle Rex says he has one on his work bench into which he sticks his drill bits and screwdrivers. Another uncle, Max claimed for years that the well in his yard was made entirely from Bernice's cakes. He also said that his wife used one as a doorstop. Aunt Clara said that she planted Petunia seeds in one of hers, and claimed for several years that the flowers came back year after year. Uncle Bill said that his youngest son used a hacksaw to cut off pieces he could use to skip across the pond. I remember my dad asked him how he managed to saw through the thing, because he broke a chisel trying to chip a piece off of it. Aunt Caroline said she put them in her corn patch to keep the crows away. According to her, the crows would break their beaks trying to eat it. Then they would fly away and never return. She said it worked better than that useless scarecrow. Even Bernice's father, my grandfather, got into the act at times. He once said that if the Goodyear company had discovered those cakes, we'd be driving on them instead of rubber. Both my dad and Uncle Jack harvested black walnuts for extra money. Both of them said they used those cakes to crack the shells.
~ So much fun was made of the Earth Cakes, that I suspect there was sibling competition to come up with the best uses they found for those cakes. It seemed that almost every aunt and uncle on any given week had developed a new and clever way to put them to work. I don't know how, but they managed to keep their feelings about the cakes to themselves. It would be many years later before she ever had any inkling of the true popularity of her cakes.
~ The best legend of all, which became the final one, was born nearly forty years later. It was at my father's funeral that Bernice herself came out with an Earth Cake tale of her own. She revealed the fact that she thought her cakes were awful! When she started baking them, it was as a joke. But when she "discovered" that everyone "loved" them, it was then that she stepped up her production of them in earnest. Before she knew it, she was baking them for other important days other than for the holidays. So it was as she and her surviving brothers and sisters gathered around after the funeral to catch up on everyones' lives. In memory of her departed brother, she said what she really thought about those cakes. Who laughed the hardest? Why Bernice, of course! Not only was the joke on her, it was on all of them. She said she was glad that no one ever complained to her. She was glad, too, that she never learned of their clever uses of her cakes. If for any reason over the years she had stopped making them, then that magic gathering at dad's funeral would never have happened. Bidding farewell to my father, the legacy of the Earth Cake, was the string that bound them together.
~
No.176
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Gunfight at Oak

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It had begun as a border dispute. Although there were now boundaries and fences, there were still those who longed for free-ranging. Some even went so far as to ignore such laws, opting instead to venture into others' territories. This is the story of one such event. The gunfight at Oak will go down in the lore of the Old East, right up there with the Great Molasses Flood.
~ Collecting returnable bottles and cans has been a source of income for some people for several years. Where once it was the lot of the winos or the homeless to earn some pocket money, it has become the only revenue to many others. Indeed, entire families can be seen patrolling the streets on the mornings of trash collection.
~ Carefully planned routes in each city ward are followed rigidly. Their fleet of shopping carts were set into motion at 4:30 AM. By the time many of us are just rising, the carts are laden with three or four lawn bags bloated with discarded bottles and cans. Three such bags with only cans would yield fifty to sixty dollars at the redemption center.
~ But their idyllic business was threatened about two or three months ago when a rival faction arrived in town. The group, headed by a man I'll call Wong Clanton, wasted no time before moving in on the homesteaders. The patriarch of the other "family," Wight Earp had known this day would come, but insisted that there would be no violence. He would meet with Clanton and begin peaceful negotiations.
~ Although Wong Clanton had shook hands with Wight, he had no intentions of honoring any agreements. That was all too evident three days later when his shopping cart broadsided the one manned by Wight. The ensuing argument ended abruptly when Clanton pulled out a gun and pointed it at Earp's head. Without hesitation, Clanton pulled the trigger!
~ There was no loud retort as the pistol was discharged, but a stream of liquid, however, showered into Earp's face. Clanton had pulled out all the stops, arming himself with a water gun! Earp never confirmed what liquid may have been in the gun, but it was reported that he immediately went home to clan up.
~ The stage was set, the lines had been drawn! It was almost certain that the feud between the Earps and the Clantons would not end there. A showdown was brewing, kindled by by the gun play that day. For several days nothing of any consequence. There had been no sightings of the Clanton's. There had been no incursions into Wight Earp's turf.
~ A week later all that would change. Reports reached the Earp's that several of the Clantons had gathered at the corner of Main St. Ad Oak. This was well within Wight's borders, and he was determined to defend his territory against the interlopers.
~ Except for maybe a supermarket, never had so many shopping carts been seen gathered in one place. The lawn bags were empty, neatly folded on the carts' child seats. No bottles or cans had been collected. Business as usual had been put on hold for the business at hand.
~ Wong Clanton and four of his minions all bore the same type of gun that been used on Earp several days earlier. Those standing beside Earp had their weapons hidden beneath long trench coats, which according to witnesses were London Fogs. It is unclear who actually opened fire first, but in mere minutes hundreds of shots were spraying.
~ Too late, Clanton realized that Earp and his men had shown up loaded for bear. They had foregone pistols, packing instead the high-powered Super Soakers. The skirmish was over. Amid the carnage, it was apparent that Earp had successfully defeated Clanton.
~ The gunfight at Oak, as the battle would become known, will go down in the annals of history. It is the perfect example of good winning over evil, and the oppressed overcoming the oppressor. Yes, it was Wight over Wong!
~
No.175
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Girth Control

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A new study by a committee on nutrition has released a preliminary statement today. (I pay attention to these studies. You never know when they will come out with an announcement that Klondike Bars are essential for a long and healthy life.) You might say that findings of that study are quite comical!
~ They have determined that laughter is beneficial in losing weight. (Who knew, laughter is the best medicine!) The statement notes that laughing for at least fifteen minutes every day can burn as much calories found in a brownie. They added that laughing under that guideline could equate to a loss of four pounds a year.
~ Apparently a jovial person is more energetic. It is no secret that exercise burns calories. A healthy dose of comedic relief, combined with a balanced diet will go a long way in helping those who are fighting the battle of the bulge. On the other end of the spectrum, melancholy people tend to eat less than healthy foods, and as such are less likely to exercise.
~ It comes down to humor. So if you want to be happy for the rest of your life, never make a pretty woman your wife! Oops! Sorry about that. That last line just sort of fell in place.
~ Read the comics! (Garfield is a good one.) Watch a good funny movie! (I recommend "The Party" with Peter Sellers.) Go see a stand-up comedian at an Improv Revue! (I like Lenny Clark.) Look at your old Prom pictures! (Strike that! Maybe not such a good idea. After all we are looking for laughs here, not tears.)
~ I have an excellent idea! If you really want to drop a few pounds, try reading a funny blog! ("Step into my parlor," said the spider to the fly.) Well, since you are already here, read my blog! (Eat your heart out, Dr. Atkins.)
~ I just realized something. This makes me a nutritionist! Imagine that! Since my services are free, it won't cost you an arm and a leg. All you stand to lose is a few ounces via a healthy dose of guffaws. I will probably have to add a warning notice to my site, though. "Precaution should be observed when reading material on this site. Exposure of more than fifteen minutes could result in looser fitting clothing."
~ Remember to laugh when the world laughs at you. Put down that eclair! Don't unwrap that Twinkie! Leave the candy Kisses in the bag! You don't need that Big Mac and super-sized fries! Just settle back in your chair and click that favorites link that brings you to a site that offers not only humor, but nutrition. This site! Bam! Bam! I guess I'll have to turn it up a notch!
~ This is the place to practice girth control. For nutrition, for your health, and for some laughs, this is the one-stop, all-you'll-need blog. I'll stand by by my product and guarantee that it is 100% fat-free, or your money back!
~
~(Laughter is the shortest distance between two people. - Victor Borge)
~
No. 174
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Wet Dream (lyrics)

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~( I heard this novelty song years ago. In fact, I had almost forgotten it altogether. I was checking out some lyrics when I found "Wet Dream." I think it is pretty good with some clever puns. The song was recorded by Kip Addotta. If you ever want the lyrics to novelty songs check out: http://php.indiana.edu/~jbmorris/lyrics.html
~
It was April the Forty-first, being a quadruple leapyear; I was driving in downtown Atlantis.
My Barracuda was in the shop, so I was in a rented Stingray, and it was overheating.
So I pulled into a Shell station; they said I'd blown a seal.
I said, "Fix the damn thing and leave my private life out of it, okay, pal?
"While they were doing that, I walked over to a place called the Oyster Bar. A real dive.
But I knew the owner; he used to play for the dolphins.
I said, "HI GILL!" (You have to yell, he's hard of herring.)
~
Chorus:
~
Think I had a wet dream,
cruisin' through the Gulf stream.
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh. Wet dream.
~
Gill was also down on his luck. Fact is, he was barely keeping his head below water.
I bellied up to the sandbar; he poured the usual:
Rusty Snail, hold the grunion, shaken, not stirred.
With a peanut butter and jellyfish sandwich on the side, heavy on the mako.
I slipped him a fin, on porpoise.
I was feeling good; I even dropped a sand dollar in the box for Jerry's Squids, for the halibut.
Well, the place was crowded. We were packed in like sardines.
They were all there to listen to the big band sounds of Tommy Dorsal.What sole.
Tommy was rockin' the place with a very popular tuna, " Salmonchanted Evening",
and the stage was surrounded by screaming groupers, Probably there to see the bass player.
One of them was this cute little yellowtail, and she was givin' me the eye.
So I figured this was my chance for a little fun. You know, piece of Pisces.
But she said things I just couldn't fathom.
She was too deep, seemed to be under a lot of pressure.
Boy, could she drink. She drank like a...She drank a lot.I said,
"What's your sign? " She said, "Aquarium." I said, " Great! Let's get tanked!"
~
Chorus
~
I invited her up to my place for a little midnight bait.
I said, "C'mon baby, it'll only take a few minnows."
She threw me that same old line: "Not tonight, I got a haddock." And she wasn't kidding, either,
cause in came the biggest, meanest looking haddock I'd ever seen come down the pike.
He was covered with mussels. He came over to me; he said,
"Listen, Shrimp. Don't you come trollin' around here." What a crab. This guy was steamed.
I could see the anchor in his eyes. I turned to him and I said, "Abalone! You're just being shellfish."
Well, I knew there was going to be trouble, and so did Gill, cause he was already on the phone to the cods.
The haddock hits me with a sucker punch. I catch him with a left hook. He eels over.
It was a fluke, but there he was, lying on the deck, flat as a mackerel, kelpless.
I said, "Forget the cods, Gill. This guy's going to need a sturgeon."
Well, the yellowtail was impressed with the way I landed her boyfriend.
She came over to me; she said, "Hey, big boy, you're really a game fish.
What's your name?" I said, "Marlin."
~
Chorus
~
Well, from then on we had a whale of a time. I took her to dinner; I took her to dance;
I bought her a bouquet of flounders. And then I went home with her.
And what did I get for my trouble? A case of the clams.
~
( Well, I like it! )
~
No.173

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Crimes of Fashion

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Now it begins. Memorial Day, the unofficial start of summer has passed. All around people are bursting from their cocoons, shedding the winter attire. But it is not lustrous butterflies that emerge!
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Is The Circus In Town?
~
The ensuing parades remind one of such festive events as Mardi Gras and Halloween. Leading such parades is usually an elderly gentleman with a paisley shirt and madras Bermuda shorts, complimented with black socks and sandals. Normally he will be accompanied by his wife who sports a large straw hat with daisies in the band, which accentuates the pink floral mu-mu which in turn meets white nurse's shoes at the ankle.
~ People dress in in light clothes to keep cool, not to look or be cool. As unsightly as some are, you find yourself gazing anyway. Maybe it's to get your brain to confirm what your eyes transmitted to it. You try, you fail to justify their choice of wardrobe. Where is Joan Rivers when you need her?
~
Send In The Clowns!
~
I was sitting at a red light as a small procession of three crossed the street without benefit of a walk light. They seemed oblivious to the sudden braking car, the blaring horn, the stream of profanities wafting from the driver's window, and the extended finger letting them know they were number one in his book.
~ The first in line, a small frail old man must have thought it fashionable to combine go-to-church-dress with a casual look. He was wearing a gray sports jacket with red and green plaid atop a pink shirt with a lilac bow tie. The buttoned jacket hid the belt that held up the the knee-high beige walking shorts. Lilac stockings, presumably chosen as a match to his tie, were strapped into brown sandals.
~ Behind him a lanky teen was clippity-clopping along in his flip-flopping sneakers. Showing support, I suppose, for his favorite teams, he had on a NY Yankees cap, backwards of course. A too-large Larry Bird basketball tank top was draped loosely over his skinny frame. The cut-outs for the arms nearly reached his waist line, his talcum-pale ribs exposed. The shirt hanging so low, there was the appearance he may not be wearing shorts. His sockless feet were bearing untied size-13 red Converse sneakers.
~ Bring up the rear of this procession, was a woman maybe in her mid to late thirties. Hatless, her sandy-brown hair framed her overly-made up face from one four-inch hooped earring to the other. She too sported a tank top, a red one, but it clung to her body. A rather large tattoo of a stemmed rose adorned the exposed are of an ample breast. Indeed, both were as much covered as they were exposed. Dangling between them was a gold chain featuring a small cross. Her much too-tight denim shorts would be envied by Daisy Duke. Her long legs terminated in a pair of red 3-inch heels, which matched the tattoo of heart just above her ankle.
~
A Family Affair!
~
It occurred to me as the old man and the teen waited until the woman joined them on the far sidewalk, that I had been watching three generations of fashion mavins! Father, daughter and son, out for a leisurely walk about town, had inadvertently supplied me with the fodder that would become this posting.
~ You can learn a lot by simple observation. Why, I even learned something today! I learned that I had to post-haste throw out my basketball tank tops, as well as those red sneakers in the back of the closet. And, oh yeah, that plaid jacket just has to go!
~
No.172
~

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Over 1,000 Served

~
I'd like to think that there have been one thousand satisfied customers to visit this site. It would be nice to think that perhaps in some way they have been at least a little amused. I can't in any way say that this body of work is necessarily informative, it is probably more or less irrelevant.
~ At this time, I would like to thank everyone who has visited my little corner of the internet, especially those of you who have left the kind comments. As much as I enjoy posting them, I relish even more the knowledge that someone has enjoyed reading them. Who ever it was who said a pat on the back can be as rewarding as a raise, must have been already wealthy! I have my own philosophy on praise: Don't applaud, throw money! Seriously, it is rewarding to be acknowledged. Apropos is a well known phrase about the dietary habits of a million flies. So it is, that one thousand blog readers can't be wrong.
~ If my mission, my resolve has been to entertain, I think I have at least in a small way come close to that goal. A chuckle here and a giggle there, or at least a smile, are the results for which I have strived.
~ Of course by continuing to post good blogs, there will be, I feel, those who will come back again. (And again?) To those so foolish, or to those with good taste, I want to thank you personally. Thank you, Greg (Blue), you are a good man. Some who read this can check you out at : http://bluedillydilly.blogspot.com. I would be remiss not to mention Peg (Schnoodlepooh). What can I say about you, but tres bien merci and mercy bowcups, mon ami.
~ She offered some good advice that I have taken to heart and to task. From one of her favorite movies, and one I like also, Field of Dreams, there is a well known line, "Build it and they will come." Hence, write it and they will read. If you love animals, you will enjoy visiting her at: http://birddogblog.blogspot.com
~ Besides the head count and the comments, I did receive the ultimate compliment two or three months ago. Catching up on my e-mail one evening, after the deletion of umpteen pieces of spam*, I was surprised to receive a copy of one of my own blogs in a e-mail from my sister. Noting that had been forwarded to twenty other addresses, it felt almost like a crowning achievement! (That blog by the way was "Cliche' College," blog number 12, posted in January.) I will point out that my sister had no idea that the article she thought funny enough to forward to dear brother, was one of my postings. You see, I had not yet informed her that I in fact even had a site!
~ For laughs one day, I went to Google and attempted a search using words in my titles and topics of the blogs. I was curious to see if anything would come up as a search result. Morbid stubbornness or self edification, I'm not sure which motivated me, but I persisted. It took a lot longer than I expected at first. You cannot imagine how many search results appear for "Vermont Teddy Bears!"
~ Finally by using only my blog persona, pointmeister, did I get a list of search results that wasn't onerous or seemingly infinite. I found two references, one a blog and another a submission of a brain teaser to a game site. (The brain teaser was rejected, by the way.) Those two were found within the first fifty of two hundred results that Google had found.
~ Well, that exercise humbled me. I was but a flea on the tip of the tail of Canis Major! There is the universe and there is the blogiverse, and both are unfathomably vast and far reaching.
~ Your, mine and our blogs are most likely discovered by random blog reading. It is the returning reader and their word of mouth references, or those who forward what they come across, that make blogging rewarding.
~ It's true. Build it...They will come.
~
* ( I happen to like Spam. I would like to take exception to unwanted junk e-mail to be given the name spam. Why not liver or Brussels Sprouts? Did they consider ...crap? ) *
~
~* ( Out of deference for Peg, I have graciously editted the last line by deleting "tofu" from the text. While I happen to like Spam, so it is she likes tofu. Point taken and the white flag is raised! Now, as for any lovers of liver and Brussels Sprouts - no way! I am drawing a line here. This is my blog - I don't like liver or Brussels Sprouts - and it is my stomach! )
~
No. 171

He Who Laughs, Lasts

~
My Grandfather once said to me:
~ You have two eyes and two ears, but only one mouth; therefore you should observe and listen twice as much as you speak!
~ Actually, my Grandfather never said that; but I'm sure some Grandfather once said that to his grandson. So until one them steps forward to claim that quote, I am keeping it!
~
I once tried walking tall and carrying a big stick, but I ran into someone taller carrying a bigger stick!
~
Life is a long preparation for something that never happens. ( William Butler Yeats)
~ I guess that's true. I've been preparing for the day I hit the lottery ! Well, it hasn't happened yet!
~
It is not true that life is one damn thing after another - it's one damn thing over and over. ( Edna St. Vincent Millay )
~ I can't tell you how many times I have been asked to repaint and wall paper the bathroom!
~
What a good thing Adam had - when he said a good thing, he knew nobody had said it before. ( Mark Twain )
~ I guess that makes Eve he very first plagarist?

~No.170

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Sunshine Superman

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Look! Out in the yard! It's a bird! It's a squirrel! No, it's Sunshine Superman! Yes, it's Sunshine Superman. A strange pedestrian from in the house after a month of rain. Faster than a speeding Dachshund; more powerful than a pull cord on a lawn mower; able to leap the bottom step to a porch. Able to pull weeds with one hand, straighten a kinked garden hose ... And who disguised in shorts and tee shirt, fights the battle against dungarees and jackets ... for vermouth and some ice and a nice summer day!
~
I've been in a sort of a daze the last two days. There has been present an eerie, otherworldly bright light up in the sky. So bright was it that objects were casting shadows. If that wasn't strange enough, there was detectable radiation in the form of heat. One can only hope that those rays are not harmful. It appears that even the local flora has been affected, seemingly overnight more alive, colorful and vibrant than they had been earlier in the week. Even the fauna seems to be less lethargic.
~ It was evident that I was not alone in my bewilderment, indeed others who had ventured outside were looking skyward in awe. Some were staring dumbfoundedly at unneeded umbrellas clutched in their hands. It was as if the dilemma of whether to carry the object or to leave it behind was as perplexing as the coat they were wearing. People like myself who had dressed down into shorts, tees, sandals and sunglasses, were subjected to wide-eyed stares from those clad in foul-weather gear.
~ I was keenly aware of their stares as I walked down the street. There was a spring in my step and a grin on my face. One of Donovan's songs playing inside my head easily trekked to my lips as a melodic whistle where I forgot the words, and gave way to voice on certain lines ... Superman or Green Lantern, ain't got nothing .. on me!
~ I started the day with the windows in my truck rolled down. Please, don't spread this around, we certainly don't want to cause panic, but I even had the air conditioner on! I had already drawn enough attention to myself without news of my scandalous use of the A/C! I probably did pique some curiosity in those who saw me drive by with the windows up. Soon enough normal warmth for the month of June will be accepted. But after weeks and weeks of rain and high temperatures in the 40's, this sudden spate of two consecutive days in the high 70's and low 80's has caught most people off guard.
~ I must confess hat I wasn't the only Sunshine Superman out and about, there were quite a few. There was also a significant number of Sunshine Wonder Women! I must say, that despite the efforts of the Supermen, I didn't see a single one get lassoed by a Wonder Woman's magic riata! I heard no stories that anyone had seen any of the women's Diana Prince alter egos changing into those tight outfits inside the Invisible Robot Plane.
~ We aren't exactly candidates for the Justice League of America, but we do revel in the emergence of a warm summer sun and a nearly cloudless sky. We all live for the sun ...!
~
No. 169

Who Let the Blogs Out?

~
Writing blogs has become almost a cottage industry. I guess it would be fair to call blog sites a media outlet, as more and more of them are becoming sources of news and information. This is not without controversy, as many of these sights are of questionanble integrity. What may appear to be a scoop, may in fact be a contrived story.
~ Web logs as the were called in the beginning before being abbreviated to blogs, have become a part of the culture. While there remain many that are innocent diaries, their scope runs the gamut from religion to world politics. They have become the forum of struggling would-be writers and poets. Some provide information on a wide range of topics. As such, they have become wonderful sources for research. With a measure of patience, one can find material on practically anything from the mating habits of the fruit fly to quantum Physics.
~ Blogging has become so poular that it is has given rise to a growing list of words, terms and phrases not yet being reflected in dictionaries. Indeed, the internet has addressed this issue, and has spawned several unique dictionary sites. For example, there are: http://pseudodictionary.com , http://wikipedia.org and http://education.yahoo.com to name three. Interestingly, the spell-checker for this very site, does not even recognize the word "blog," or any of its forms such as blogged, blogging and blogger.
~ If I may, I have compiled some of these terms, phrases and words that are not found in typical reference publications. I have taken the liberty of adding some I have made up. (I think I made them up.)

1. Ablogalypse - a disastrous attempt to post a blog, unsatisfactory writing, usually deleted
2. Ablogolize - to appologize not publicly, but by posting appology on a blog
3. Blogaholic - a person who is addicted to posting blogs, usually to the point that quantity becomes more important than quality (the Pointmeister just might be a blogaholic)
4. Blogdom - the world of blogging
5. Bloggie - (1) a person who posts blogs, a blogger; (2) a bit of information taken from a posted blog, the theme or idea of a blog
6. Bloggist - a blogger, the author of a blog
7. Bloggle - (1) a cryptic unclear message of a blog; (2) to confuse, addle a reader of a blog
8. Bloggy - weary or tired from reading or writing blogs, like being groggy when awakened
9. Bloghard - a blogger who posts his exploits in a boastful manner; a blowhard
10. Bloghead - an idiot or dunderhead who attempts to blog; a blockhead
11. Bloghorn Leghorn - a bloghard, but more wordy and arrogant, writes convincingly about topics of which they know nothing
12. Blogic - logic that is applied to a blog
13. Blogism - a quote from a blog; a reference to the field of blogging; the words in this list would be blogisms
14. Blogiverse - the world of blogging; the sum total of blogs posted; suggestive of a universe of blogging
15. Blogjam - comparable to writer's block; having many ideas for a blog, but unable to post a blog; having a blogjam usually produces bloggles
16. Blogography - facts about a blog author; a biography
17. Blogophile - a frequent reader of blogs, usually has many blog sites book marked
18. Blogosphere - smaller than a blogiverse, the realm of blogging;
19. Blogpile - (1) a cache of material set aside for a future posting; (2) a blog full of garbage, off the wall remarks usually factless; stinks like a cow pile
20. Blogtrotter - A blogger who travels to gather info, pics for their sites; blogtrotters are known for posting voice reports on their sites

What a blogpile this bloghead bloggist has bloggled for blogophiles entering this blogosphere to become bloggy!!

No.168

Blog-a-Doodle-Doo!

~
Ever wake up with a lot of blog ideas flowing in your head like the water you have to pass as soon as the bathroom is free? Ever been lost deep in thought, not realizing someone is talking to you? Neither have I!
~ Sometimes I have an idea for a blog the minute I awaken in the morning. Many times the blogs are born from a simple combination of words. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I wonder what nature's eyelid glue is made of, and if it could be reproduced. Anyway, once the eyelids have separated, I'll concentrate on prospective titles to build a blog around.
~ It's kinda like putting the cart before the horse...like walking through a door without opening it...like using the toilet only to discover you forgot to pick up the lid...
~ Let's see, I have a few good ones! Oh, yes ... A Blog A Day Keeps ... Nah, I've already used that one ... Blogging Through The Snow ... No. Out of season ... To Blog Or Not To Blog ... Yuk. If that's the question, what's the answer? Blog Is Blog ... Hmm, sung to the tune of Los Bravos' Black Is Black. Well, maybe ... but not today ...Bloggy Mountain High ... er sorry, John Denver! ...
~ I seem to be having bloggers blog ... uh, Block ... Ah! ... How Much Is That Bloggie In The Window? ... Oh, man!! I've already used that too. ... Blog Party ... Bloghead ! ... Hmm, getting better ... Bugaloo Down Blogway? ... I'd Blog A Mile In ... No! ... You Beblog To Me ... Whew ... Starting to dredge the bottom of the barrel now ... Blog Bottom? ... Bloggin' In A Coal Mine ... excuse me, Lee Dorsey! ... I'm such a bloghead!! ... This Blog Is For You !
~ At times like this, I start to get aggravated ... Take This Blog And Shove It! ... ooh, I like it. That's a keeper! ... Blogging Around The Clock ... maybe ... He Ain't Heavy, He's My Blogger ... sheesh! No way Jose! ... Blog Jam ... Nope, taken. ... Blogged Arteries ... Already used it! ... Blog-a-Doodle-Do! ... No way! I hate that one ... Wait! I think I'll use it after all, here and now!
~ Okay, now that I have a title, maybe I can come up with a blog idea built around that title. Well, I'll be darned! It looks like I already have it! I just have to remember that you cannot be distracted in the least when you want to post a blog. You have to have a clear mind, indeed a mind in the first place, to post up something interesting. (Sigh) I suppose I could try again later today. Maybe then that working title can be honored with a decent article. For now, I think I'll just post what is here. I can always edit it later.
~ Besides, it is time to bloggie ... er boogie ... off to blog ... I mean work. I have a blog ... a job to do. If I don't go now, I'll just blog this one up ... I mean ... oh never mind!
~
No.167
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Blogaholics Anonymous

~
Hello, everyone. My name is Mike and I am ...er... (ahem) ...a... umm ...Blogaholic! I guess I'm a lot like the rest of you. I didn't want to admit that I was ...addicted, that I had a ...problem. As long as I can remember, I always wanted to be a writer. Now, I don't recall wanting to write the next great American novel, but I did dream of being a successful writer.
~ I always took pride in my vocabulary, constantly learning new words, using them in sentences and of course how to spell them. I was almost always the spelling champion at the schools' various annual Spelling Bees. Anything less than an "A" on a spelling test would devastate me.!
~ Speaking of tests, while my classmates prayed for true-or-false or multiple choice tests, I reveled in the essay questions. I was one of those who always used that extra sheet of paper to complete the answers.
~ There were a few times that writing essays gave me troubles. That was only when we were limited as to how many could be used. Perhaps to show off my writing prowess, I tended to be verbose. It was unfair, I felt for an essay or writing assignment to be limited to say one hundred-fifty words or less. To me it was like being hand cuffed!
~ Somewhere along the way, I recognized the connection of writing to journalism. It seemed to me that by entering the news business, it would surely open doors for a writing career. About the same time I picked up on the need of writers in the comic book industry. Did I happen to mention that I could also draw pretty good?
~ Not only did I fill a lot of my spare time writing when I could, but I also started drawing my own comics. I "borrowed" from DC Comics to create superheroes and their fantastic adventures. Of course, I found it easy to write the dialog for the conversation balloons
above their heads.
~ But you have to play the cards you are dealt in life. Alas, as such I never pursued a job at a newspaper. After graduation from high school, I found increasingly less opportunities to write. With less opportunities, my desire to write seemed to wane. Save for writing letters while I served my military obligations, I found less and less need to write. Barely three months out of the service, I was watching my future father-in-law walk his daughter down the aisle to where I stood. That was thirty-three years ago.
~ A little over a year ago, I became aware that people were writing material and publishing it on the internet. At that time my internet experience consisted of playing card and board games. For quite sometime, the computer displaced television as my source of entertainment.
~ Finally, on the 20th of January of this year, I worked up the nerve to check out this thing called "blogging." There has been no turning back since. In about four months I have posted an average of forty blogs a month. I prefer humor, mostly in the form of satire and parody, straying into serious territory on only a handful of postings.
~ Yes, I am addicted. In a way, I feel I am fulfilling those schoolboy days so long ago. I might be trying to be a little too prolific, but there are a lot of ideas I wish to address. For the time being, I don't foresee my production slowing down. Is that good or bad? I don't know. I don't know if it is a problem per say, but I always wanted to write. You know what? I am writing!
~ I am a blogaholic!
~
No.166

Let Him Eat Cake!

~
( The following is from an AP article. Sometimes these stories are so unbelievable, they must be true! )
~
A Nashville, Tennessee woman is facing criminal charges stemming from a birthday party for her 16-year-old son. Apparently nothing was too good for her son, as she hired a stripper to dance for him.
~
Annette Pharris, 34, was indicted by a grand jury on charges of contributing to the delinquency of a minor and involving a minor in obscene acts. The boy's father, the stripper, and two others also face charges. The defiant mother could see nothing wrong with her plans.
~
Pharris said, " I tried to do something special for my son. It didn't harm him."
~
Ten people under the age of 18 were at the birthday party in September, including minors not related to the family, authorities reported. Police spokesperson Don Aaron said minors are not permitted in adult establishments.
~
There were no complaints filed the night of the party. The police were notified several days later by the employees at a local drug store. Mrs. Pharris had taken photographs at the party, some of them showing explicit contact between the stripper and her underage son, as well as some of the other minors in attendance. Pharris took the photos of the party and tried to development the film at the pharmacy.
~
To reporters outside the courtroom, she said, " Who are they to tell me what I can and can't show to my own children?"
~
( I wonder if she ever heard of Polaroid cameras or these new creations, digital cameras? )
~
No. 165
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What Were They Thinking?

~
The following are snippets from a regular column that appears daily in the Boston Herald. These are taken directly from the Boston Police Department's Blotters.
~
I'll Have 25 Cents Worth, Please
~
~ Sales Contreras found out Saturday night that a quarter doesn't go far these days. Our hero allegedly solicited the services of a woman he thought was a prostitute. It turned out however, she was an undercover police Officer.
~ He honked his horn at the woman and pulled up to where she stood on Norfolk Street in Dorchester. The last of the big spenders, he offered to pay her 25 cents for "everything."
~ When she asked what he meant by everything, he specified several sexual acts. Contreras was summarily arrested.
~ (One can only wonder if the officer might have been at least a little miffed what the man felt she was worth.)
~
A McNugget Short Of a Happy Meal
~
Darrell Allen, 33, of Dorchester and Balbene Samuels, also 33, of Roxbury, apparently aren't eligible any ways soon for Mensa membership. This was exhibited Saturday morning on Blue Hill Avenue. They were drinking beer in plain view of passing traffic, a misdemeanor.
~ Unfortunately for them, a police cruiser was part of that traffic. A subsequent search of the two men produced a 9mm and a semi-automatic handgun, both loaded, bags of crack and marijuana, two knives, and more than $1300 in cash.
~ (Do you think their confiscated knives were sharper than they were?)
~
From time to time when I find some these gems in the column, I'll post them here.
~
No.164
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In Memoriam, In Nomine Domini

~
A lot of years have gone since the two of you left us. I've been remiss to visit you, although many miles separate us. As a matter of decorum, first on paper and lastly onto my website, I commit to words the feelings I have been harboring for over three decades.
~ Dad, it's been almost ten years and the passage of that time has brought me to terms with the rift that alienated us for so long. I never had the chance, no I never seized the moment, to talk face to face with you as a man. I left home as a boy, naive to the realities of the real world. The late 60's were a difficult time in a troubled country, in just a corner of a hostile world.
~ Only when you were asleep, did I confront the demons that I had buried deep within my subconscience. I was angry that you denied me that tete'-a-tete'. How dare you leave and not let me confront you! My brother had exorcised those demons long ago. He too never faced you, he felt he had no need. I, on the other hand, had suppressed them so deeply that only your death could release them. That release was an emotional cascade that left me weakened and ashamed.
~ I realize now that you raised us the best you could. Only then did I discover that you too had locked away your childhood memories of your father. That explains why you never spoke to Grand Pa. That's why you never allowed any of us to get close. You just drew upon the images of Fatherhood that you had witnessed, and in turn used it as the model that used to shape us. You never confronted your father either, did you?
~ Now that I too have exorcised those suppressed feelings, I am no longer in need of a confrontation. If only you had had the same fortune, perhaps there would have never been a rift between two fathers and two sons.
~ In any event, that is the past, but the son you raised is finally the father you wanted to be and wanted to have. That which I suppressed shall remain within me, free to be expressed. At long last, I can honor you In memoriam and In nomine Domini. (To the honor of and in the name of the Lord.)
~
Mom, it's only been four years and five months since your departure. For you there was no alienation. As the course of life, college, the military and a family of my own, have kept us apart, but only in the physical sense. I know that letters, cards and telephone calls are not a decent replacement for a hug or a kiss, but under the circumstances it was the best I could offer. It was you and my brother and sisters, who suffered through my absence. While I had no tangible reason I was aware of, I didn't want to come home. Strange, I didn't even know that I didn't want to come home.
~ I know now, that all that I had locked away somehow influenced me to the point that it prevented me from returning home. Somehow I had shielded myself, insulated myself so that I would never have to face him. Though I had no control, I am so sorry that you had to pay the consequences. You know that from our conversation after Dad's funeral.
~ When I flew home that August in 1995, you told my brother something he wouldn't tell me until your funeral. You said to him that you felt it was the last time you would ever see me. God, how could you have known? How could I have known? You were right, Mom. Less than five years later in November of 2000, you left us to lie beside your mother.
~ That cross I bear now. But there was contact, I made it a point to call at least once a month. There were plans in place, we were coming down to W.Va. the following summer of 2001. Everyone was excited down there, as were we up here in Boston. Alas it was not to be ... In memoriam, and In nomine Domini!
~
~ Yes, I faced myself and those demons. Although I learned a lot when my father died, I realized also that we are fragile beings trying to live a life that is often unfair. Displaying my soul and inner self for the world to chance upon, I place myself above myself. I cannot change what has passed, but I can take those events and shape what I am yet to become.
~
No.163
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Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road?

~
(Apparently to avoid the long arm of the law.)
~
In an appeal of a traffic ticket, Lena and Linc Moore were in court in Ridgecrest, Calif., last week. It appears that their chicken was ticketed for Jaywalking and impeding traffic. For crossing the road the chicken was issued a $54 ticket on March 26, after it wandered onto a road in nearby Johannesburg.
~ California state law restricts livestock on highways, but law does not apply to domesticated animals. The Moore's attorney argued that the fowl was a domestic pet and could not be charged as livestock.
~ The Moore's claimed the ticket was a form of harassment. They were the most vocal of several people who complained that local deputies have done little to curb noisy off-road vehicle riders.
~ "For the last two-and-a-half years no one has been able to stop kids from riding their trail bikes in the middle of the road or the neighbors' dogs running loose around the neighborhood," Linc Moore said. "But when our chicken escaped and crossed the road once, it became a huge issue."
~ While the ticket was dismissed, the Moore's were told to make sure their chicken stayed out of the street. "They singled us out because our names' were on their blotters," noted Lena. "But those noisy bikes are still racing in the middle of the street."
~ One thing is certain, although the ticket was over turned, due to the publicity of the case, the Moore's will be watched for a while. They could find themselves facing animal cruelty charges should there be evidence of a fried chicken dinner!
~
No.162
~
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Desperate House Flies

~
The recent rains, six consecutive weekends with at least one day of downpours, has had a few positive effects for New Englanders. Obviously the water levels of our reservoirs will be at or near capacity. Lawns will be lush. The last remnants of slat on the side panels of our vehicles and in the streets will be washed away.
~ Not so fortunate is the Musca domestica Linnaeus, or the common house fly. Conspicuously absent because of the rains and cold weather, one can only imagine their frenzied appearance once the temperatures and conditions approach that of spring.
~ Which gives me pause to ponder, where do flies go in the winter months? Do they own time-share property in Florida? It has occurred to me that I have never noticed their exodus during the transition from Autumn to winter. Not once have I seen U-Haul trucks. If they travel en masse in a vee formation like geese, Nova has never aired a program on this phenomenon.
~ Despite some rain last night and possible showers tonight, this Memorial Day weekend promises to be pleasant. The enigma of the flies' vacation habitues was quickly shelved for matters of the moment, particularly yard work.
~ The back yard was alive with lush greenery, bright tulips, and of course dandelions and a smattering of clover. Not to be missed was the sounds of life. The familiar buzz of bees and the chirping birds wafted from all directions. Not to be ignored, there were of course the flies.
~ As was the case when they left for the winter, they had returned unnoticed. Their spring domiciles open, they too were busy with chores. Unlike bees and butterflies, these creatures enjoy the comforts of indoors as well as out. For all our efforts to screen them out, they are no less laborious to invite themselves into our homes.
~ I decided to be the proverbial man on the wall and trespass into their homes and their lives. I started by following a certain fly, just to study his habits. He was a cocky one and apparently well known in Flydom. Every time he came near another male, they would deftly greet with an impressive four-handed set of high fives. He was quite the jokester also. At one point he pointed down at another and said, "Your man is open!" Laughing he flew off, leaving the other shaking his head.
~ Like any young virile male, this one too was on the prowl looking for some females. His multi-faceted eyes taking in everything as he zipped around the yard. It didn't take long for him to spot a pretty one. Well, pretty to a fly anyway. She was sitting on a recent deposit one of my dogs had left behind. He hesitated but a moment before moving into a circling pattern above her. To my amazement, not unlike men, this fly used a clever pick-up line. "Excuse me, miss. Is this stool taken?" She must have been thinking that men are all alike with only one thing on their minds. To her it was the same old shit!
~ Back in my world, I cannot help but reflect upon the life of that fly. Their life expectancy is brief. They can only find shitty work. Everyone gives them shit. And what do they get for supper? Shit! While dealing with all that crap they must find a woman! Like any other male in any species you choose, they have that innate instinct to procreate. Unfortunately they have to dish out and take a lot of shit to accomplish and justify their existence.
~ How do I show my appreciation for that fly's plight? I give him shit of course, with a fly swatter or a newspaper or even fly strips. Such is life for desperate house flies.
~
No.161 ><