One of the things I seem not to really sweat is what I sleep on. I really don't know why but I'm not really picky just so long as it isn't a rock pile of some sort. I don't know why this is but it's pretty much the way it is.
Some people I know seem to lose sleep if someone places a pea under the mattress.
I do not know where this comes from, most likely from being a hard-nosed camper as a kid. Maybe it was the army, hard living in Alaska or a combination of a rough earlier lifestyle.
I can sleep on a bench seat of a pickup and zonk out like a baby and I have done so on countless road trips. Just last year I got tired while driving home and crashed out for a couple hours on the bench seat of my pickup. I had to put the shifter in 5th to get it out of the way but then I was good to go.
I consider it to be one of the things I have been blessed with.
Another thing that seems to happen to me is that I always seem to have good luck finding parking spaces. I swear, I could show up at the Superbowl fifteen minutes before game time and get a spot fifty feet away from the entrance. It's uncanny.
A couple of years ago I went out for Black Friday because I had never done it before and I pulled up in front of Wallyworld ten minutes before it opened and someone was pulling out for some reason or another and I wound up parked in the spot closest to the door. I don't know why this is.
On the other hand, when I am driving on a rural US or state route it seems that I always get stuck behind a slow mover for several miles, I suppose this makes the parking space business is a wash.
Sometimes I can't for the life of me figure out why the dear Lord made me this way, but he did and I ain't complainin'.
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Friday, December 12, 2014
Thursday, December 11, 2014
The kid across the street seems to be doing pretty well in science and math
which is a good thing. I'm hoping he gets his degree in some kind of science or engineering as it would likely permit him to get a halfway decent job and be useful.
I was talking to another guy a while ago and he made me laugh. It seems the Social Justice Warriors were up to something useless and it was on the news. He was sitting at a computer and heard it and commented that the Social Justice Warriors most likely have degrees in things like Woman's Studies or something along these lines.
He's probably right. These people likely do have useless degrees. If they had degrees in science or technology they's likely be doing something useful.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
I was talking to another guy a while ago and he made me laugh. It seems the Social Justice Warriors were up to something useless and it was on the news. He was sitting at a computer and heard it and commented that the Social Justice Warriors most likely have degrees in things like Woman's Studies or something along these lines.
He's probably right. These people likely do have useless degrees. If they had degrees in science or technology they's likely be doing something useful.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
What will I write about today?
I don't know and I still haven't figured it out yet. I gotta pull something out of my ass.
This is the season I do not do very well and it goes back to the Vietnam war and a trip I made to Florida to deliver a car for a neighbor. It was Christmas Eve and Day '68.
The car had been delivered and I was at the airport and got socked in. I believe it was Orlando. Then they bussed us to Tampa where I met a GI headed home for Christmas. He had just arrived from Vietnam and was kind of a mess.
I swapped flights with him for 2 reasons. One was I wanted to see him get home and the other is that I wanted to arrive home after the family left for Grandma's for the usual Christmas disaster.
I am the oldest of the generation and all the cousins are younger. Truth be known, I was generally a monster sized Irish Catholic zoo and something to be avoided if possible.
While we waited at Tampa airport the GI and I rounded up a bunch of people and started caroling people at the various gates and then the ticket counters. It was pretty good, really. It was one of those rare times people were not angry over something they could not control, namely the weather.
We were socked in and that was the way it was. It seemed the mood of the crowd was pretty good. Suddenly the weather lifted and the GI had his plane called and disappeared. The PA announced my later flight was a go and I left 30 minutes later.
My plan to miss the family zoo was foiled, though.
When we landed at Logan I knew the family hadn't left yet so instead of calling home I opted to hitch-hike. (Try hitch-hiking out of Logan today!) I hadn't been on the road five minutes when fate intervened.
One of my mother's friends had picked up her husband at the airport and spotted me and drove me straight to the door. I was spotted getting out of the car as Mom and my brother and sisters were loading up. I didn't even have time to hit the woods and hide.
When I pointed out I hadn't had any sleep in almost 48 hours, Mom started in on how I just HAD to go and then Dad came out. He took one look at me and told me I looked like hell and to hit the rack.
Mom argued and Dad gave Ma a terse look and said that when we got to Grandmas I was going to hit the rack the instant we arrived.
"But..." protested Mom.
"But nothing" Dad shot back. "He's been awake for two damned days!"
When we got to Grandmas I simply went in the door, charged upstairs, grabbed a bed and zonked out.
It wasn't long until one of the little cousins woke me and I shoved him and told him to beat it. He started crying.
Dad was infuriated. He had told all of them to stay away from me but knew he had to do something. He went upstairs and started cussin up a storm and punching his palm and making it sound like a fist fight out of a John Wayne movie. It sounded like I was getting a real beating and when an uncle came up to intervene he was told loudly to butt out even as my dad was looking at him and whispered that it was OK.
My uncle went downstairs and calmly said I was putting up a pretty good fight and all my aunts were horrified.
Dad then came down calmly and sat down while I went back to sleep. It was hard to get to sleep because I was laughing but I zonked out.
A few hours later I was awakened and came down to dinner and the aunts looked at me expecting to find me battered and wondered why I wasn't.
At least dad had made the day survivable. He always seemed to know what to do.
I have hated Christmas ever since then.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
This is the season I do not do very well and it goes back to the Vietnam war and a trip I made to Florida to deliver a car for a neighbor. It was Christmas Eve and Day '68.
The car had been delivered and I was at the airport and got socked in. I believe it was Orlando. Then they bussed us to Tampa where I met a GI headed home for Christmas. He had just arrived from Vietnam and was kind of a mess.
I swapped flights with him for 2 reasons. One was I wanted to see him get home and the other is that I wanted to arrive home after the family left for Grandma's for the usual Christmas disaster.
I am the oldest of the generation and all the cousins are younger. Truth be known, I was generally a monster sized Irish Catholic zoo and something to be avoided if possible.
While we waited at Tampa airport the GI and I rounded up a bunch of people and started caroling people at the various gates and then the ticket counters. It was pretty good, really. It was one of those rare times people were not angry over something they could not control, namely the weather.
We were socked in and that was the way it was. It seemed the mood of the crowd was pretty good. Suddenly the weather lifted and the GI had his plane called and disappeared. The PA announced my later flight was a go and I left 30 minutes later.
My plan to miss the family zoo was foiled, though.
When we landed at Logan I knew the family hadn't left yet so instead of calling home I opted to hitch-hike. (Try hitch-hiking out of Logan today!) I hadn't been on the road five minutes when fate intervened.
One of my mother's friends had picked up her husband at the airport and spotted me and drove me straight to the door. I was spotted getting out of the car as Mom and my brother and sisters were loading up. I didn't even have time to hit the woods and hide.
When I pointed out I hadn't had any sleep in almost 48 hours, Mom started in on how I just HAD to go and then Dad came out. He took one look at me and told me I looked like hell and to hit the rack.
Mom argued and Dad gave Ma a terse look and said that when we got to Grandmas I was going to hit the rack the instant we arrived.
"But..." protested Mom.
"But nothing" Dad shot back. "He's been awake for two damned days!"
When we got to Grandmas I simply went in the door, charged upstairs, grabbed a bed and zonked out.
It wasn't long until one of the little cousins woke me and I shoved him and told him to beat it. He started crying.
Dad was infuriated. He had told all of them to stay away from me but knew he had to do something. He went upstairs and started cussin up a storm and punching his palm and making it sound like a fist fight out of a John Wayne movie. It sounded like I was getting a real beating and when an uncle came up to intervene he was told loudly to butt out even as my dad was looking at him and whispered that it was OK.
My uncle went downstairs and calmly said I was putting up a pretty good fight and all my aunts were horrified.
Dad then came down calmly and sat down while I went back to sleep. It was hard to get to sleep because I was laughing but I zonked out.
A few hours later I was awakened and came down to dinner and the aunts looked at me expecting to find me battered and wondered why I wasn't.
At least dad had made the day survivable. He always seemed to know what to do.
I have hated Christmas ever since then.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Policing the police
I read where someone thinks that the people ought to police their own police departments like it's a brand new idea.
It's not. I've been doing it for years.
I live in a community that has a pretty good department and to date I have not see an officer get out of line to any great extent. They, for the most part seem to be pretty good officers.
There was one clown a while ago that had a knack of being a can of gasoline when there was a camp fire to put out but he's gone now. He didn't know how to de-fuse a situation and he had a knack for making things worse. While I suppose he knew how to enforce the law, he didn't know how to keep the peace.
I had nothing to do with him leaving. I believe that the other officers complained about him and he got run off.
While over the years I've supported my department it is simply because the officers have given me a department worthy of my support. They do their jobs and treat the guy on the street with a little respect. If they have to use force it is most likely because some jerk worked overtime to make the officer use it.
I've watched a couple of take-downs and I can't help but say I'd have probably done the same thing, but it would be a lie. I don't have the patience our officers do. I'd have responded with force a bit earlier. This speaks pretty highly of them.
Still, I do keep my eye on them and I'm not afraid to snap a picture or two and bring it to the attention of the city council if things start to get out of hand.
Incidentally, I'm not a little Goody-Two Shoes. If I ran into a cop that had taken a punch from some thug and was playing a little catch-up to let him know that hitting people isn't going to end well I would likely turn a blind eye so long as it didn't get too far out of hand.
I am well aware that there is the law of the land and the law of the streets and cops have to deal with both.
I think that just being willing to keep an eye on things and notify the city if things turn south makes it good for the department and the people it serves.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
It's not. I've been doing it for years.
I live in a community that has a pretty good department and to date I have not see an officer get out of line to any great extent. They, for the most part seem to be pretty good officers.
There was one clown a while ago that had a knack of being a can of gasoline when there was a camp fire to put out but he's gone now. He didn't know how to de-fuse a situation and he had a knack for making things worse. While I suppose he knew how to enforce the law, he didn't know how to keep the peace.
I had nothing to do with him leaving. I believe that the other officers complained about him and he got run off.
While over the years I've supported my department it is simply because the officers have given me a department worthy of my support. They do their jobs and treat the guy on the street with a little respect. If they have to use force it is most likely because some jerk worked overtime to make the officer use it.
I've watched a couple of take-downs and I can't help but say I'd have probably done the same thing, but it would be a lie. I don't have the patience our officers do. I'd have responded with force a bit earlier. This speaks pretty highly of them.
Still, I do keep my eye on them and I'm not afraid to snap a picture or two and bring it to the attention of the city council if things start to get out of hand.
Incidentally, I'm not a little Goody-Two Shoes. If I ran into a cop that had taken a punch from some thug and was playing a little catch-up to let him know that hitting people isn't going to end well I would likely turn a blind eye so long as it didn't get too far out of hand.
I am well aware that there is the law of the land and the law of the streets and cops have to deal with both.
I think that just being willing to keep an eye on things and notify the city if things turn south makes it good for the department and the people it serves.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Monday, December 8, 2014
Ahh, thinking of buying a toilet seat cover, I see
said the woman at Lowe's yesterday as I was looking at a wreath.
She was the woman that was there last year when some woman asked me if I was going to hang the wreath I was looking at on my door. I told the woman I was using it as a toilet seat because I had seen it on the Martha Stewart Christmas special.
That woman is funny.
Christmas has officially started as far as I can see. I've already been ripped off.
I left a printer box on the lid of my pickup and went up a nearby hill with a thermos, stool and binoculars to watch. It took maybe 35 or 40 minutes but someone pulled up, snatched it, threw it into their car and took off. It's an annual event and there wasn't a printer in the box. It contained the usual bag of rotten fish.
Yesterday I was in a parking lot and was leaving. I was going to an address so I decided to punch it into my GPS. I realized I was blocking traffic so I pulled into a parking space oblivious that it was reserved for new mothers. No biggie, as I was only going to be there for less than a minute.
Being Pittsburgh, the maternity police showed up and he said I was parking in a maternity spot.
I pulled my fedora down a bit and gave him a hard look.
"Tell it to my parole officer," I said.
That ended the conversation then and there. It's a good line and I will use it from time to time.
A few years back I was humming a tune when I walked into a 7-11 and some nebby little guy asked me why I was in such a good mood. I told her in my best Joisey thug accent, "I just got outta da joint."
Stupid is as stupid does. He asked me what I had done.
"I stabbed some nosy jerk that asked me too many personal questions," I replied.
The cop standing on the other aisle fixing his coffee laughed outright and the guy walked off in a huff.
Christmas season has started and it looks like I will survive it.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
She was the woman that was there last year when some woman asked me if I was going to hang the wreath I was looking at on my door. I told the woman I was using it as a toilet seat because I had seen it on the Martha Stewart Christmas special.
That woman is funny.
Christmas has officially started as far as I can see. I've already been ripped off.
I left a printer box on the lid of my pickup and went up a nearby hill with a thermos, stool and binoculars to watch. It took maybe 35 or 40 minutes but someone pulled up, snatched it, threw it into their car and took off. It's an annual event and there wasn't a printer in the box. It contained the usual bag of rotten fish.
Yesterday I was in a parking lot and was leaving. I was going to an address so I decided to punch it into my GPS. I realized I was blocking traffic so I pulled into a parking space oblivious that it was reserved for new mothers. No biggie, as I was only going to be there for less than a minute.
Being Pittsburgh, the maternity police showed up and he said I was parking in a maternity spot.
I pulled my fedora down a bit and gave him a hard look.
"Tell it to my parole officer," I said.
That ended the conversation then and there. It's a good line and I will use it from time to time.
A few years back I was humming a tune when I walked into a 7-11 and some nebby little guy asked me why I was in such a good mood. I told her in my best Joisey thug accent, "I just got outta da joint."
Stupid is as stupid does. He asked me what I had done.
"I stabbed some nosy jerk that asked me too many personal questions," I replied.
The cop standing on the other aisle fixing his coffee laughed outright and the guy walked off in a huff.
Christmas season has started and it looks like I will survive it.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Sunday, December 7, 2014
So it's Pearl Harbor Day.
I saw a yarmulke sitting atop the glass case that I was given by a Jewish friend to celebrate Festivus with. It's embroidered with 'Happy Festivus' and I will proudly wear it on that holiday.
Actually the Jew that sent it to me is on an internet board I frequent often. I posted a thread asking where to buy one for the holiday and every gentile on the board told me I was in for an epic beatdown over it.
Of course, I had done my homework and the Jewish members jumped in there and instead of chewing me out or even telling me where to buy one, they offered to send me one.
One man offered to have his aunt embroider it and I took him up on his kind offer.
I wear it proudly on Festivus which is a pretty good holiday to celebrate at sea.
As I post this the Young Ladies net is in the background and the net control said there was misty rain where he is. I played dumbass and asked him if Misty Rain was some kind of movie star. He said if she was she likely starred in one of THOSE kind of movies.
I can be pretty dry.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Actually the Jew that sent it to me is on an internet board I frequent often. I posted a thread asking where to buy one for the holiday and every gentile on the board told me I was in for an epic beatdown over it.
Of course, I had done my homework and the Jewish members jumped in there and instead of chewing me out or even telling me where to buy one, they offered to send me one.
One man offered to have his aunt embroider it and I took him up on his kind offer.
I wear it proudly on Festivus which is a pretty good holiday to celebrate at sea.
As I post this the Young Ladies net is in the background and the net control said there was misty rain where he is. I played dumbass and asked him if Misty Rain was some kind of movie star. He said if she was she likely starred in one of THOSE kind of movies.
I can be pretty dry.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Saturday, December 6, 2014
One of the reasons I have not gotten upset
by the recent grand jury decisions in New York and Ferguson is that neither of the two men that were victims were clean to begin with. Both resisted arrest after committing crimes.
It's hard for me to get too worked up when someone does something stupid and gets hurt or wins a Darwin award over doing something stupid like that.
Now there IS a guy I could support down in Florida that got shot by a policeman but for some reason it hasn't made the big time because it seems like the media wants to follow losers around for some reason.
This guy in Florida was rummaging through his own car in his own driveway. Apparently someone saw him and called the police who showed up and probably assumed since he was black he must be up to no good and in the process of the ensuing discussion the man got shot in his own driveway.
The man was a 60 year old guy that was merely going through his car and doing nothing illegal.
It strikes me that this is the kind of guy the media should be looking at to use to stir up interest. He's pretty clean, seems to be a fairly solid respectable citizen and first and foremost he didn't swing on a cop or resist arrest.
Incidentally, while I'm at it, a few years back I had a neighbor that was an FBI agent and we discussed a few things in the driveway one Saturday morning. One of the things we discussed was the (then fairly new) hate crime legislation.
He hated the legislation because he felt (and I agree with this) that you can't really know what's in a man's heart when he does something.
Personally I'd have a pretty hard time as a juror in a hate crime trial. The state had best be doing their homework because they have to be able to prove to this kid what was going through the accused's mind when he committed the act.
Simply crossing racial lines doesn't cut it.
The example he used was someone burning down a black church. That sort of sounds pretty cut and dried...or does it.
There are any number of non-hate related reasons the guy could have had for torching the church, all of them bogus, of course. Still, none of them actually hate related.
Maybe they owed him money for something he did and they skipped out. Maybe the singing woke him up when he was trying to sleep in. Perhaps he got tired of having is driveway blocked every Sunday by the overflow of the parking lot.
Of course, none of these are a legitimate reason for torching a church. Still, none of these reasons are hate related.
As a juror I could easily send someone up the river for arson, the truth remains that unless the state could prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the arsonist had hate in his heart when he lit the match I am very unwilling to convict a guy like that on a hate crime.
The state had best be able to present me an air tight case and show me what was in that man's heart when he torched the church.
The hate crime legislation makes little sense to me. It strikes me as unenforceable and when you think about it, only serves to act to stir things up even worse.
As a parting shot, I'd have to say an awful lot of crimes are hate crimes that have no racial overtones when you think about it. Have you ever heard of someone beating someone or robbing them because they loved them?
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Pleasant update.
There are four does about 20 feet away from me out my window staring in. That is very good news. Last night there was a lone doe foraging and I feared the herd had been chewed up because I have seen a couple of deer that have been hit by cars in the general area.
I was afraid the deer that inhabit my area had been hit and I am glad to see it is not so. I do love to watch those animals go about their business in my back yard.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
It's hard for me to get too worked up when someone does something stupid and gets hurt or wins a Darwin award over doing something stupid like that.
Now there IS a guy I could support down in Florida that got shot by a policeman but for some reason it hasn't made the big time because it seems like the media wants to follow losers around for some reason.
This guy in Florida was rummaging through his own car in his own driveway. Apparently someone saw him and called the police who showed up and probably assumed since he was black he must be up to no good and in the process of the ensuing discussion the man got shot in his own driveway.
The man was a 60 year old guy that was merely going through his car and doing nothing illegal.
It strikes me that this is the kind of guy the media should be looking at to use to stir up interest. He's pretty clean, seems to be a fairly solid respectable citizen and first and foremost he didn't swing on a cop or resist arrest.
Incidentally, while I'm at it, a few years back I had a neighbor that was an FBI agent and we discussed a few things in the driveway one Saturday morning. One of the things we discussed was the (then fairly new) hate crime legislation.
He hated the legislation because he felt (and I agree with this) that you can't really know what's in a man's heart when he does something.
Personally I'd have a pretty hard time as a juror in a hate crime trial. The state had best be doing their homework because they have to be able to prove to this kid what was going through the accused's mind when he committed the act.
Simply crossing racial lines doesn't cut it.
The example he used was someone burning down a black church. That sort of sounds pretty cut and dried...or does it.
There are any number of non-hate related reasons the guy could have had for torching the church, all of them bogus, of course. Still, none of them actually hate related.
Maybe they owed him money for something he did and they skipped out. Maybe the singing woke him up when he was trying to sleep in. Perhaps he got tired of having is driveway blocked every Sunday by the overflow of the parking lot.
Of course, none of these are a legitimate reason for torching a church. Still, none of these reasons are hate related.
As a juror I could easily send someone up the river for arson, the truth remains that unless the state could prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the arsonist had hate in his heart when he lit the match I am very unwilling to convict a guy like that on a hate crime.
The state had best be able to present me an air tight case and show me what was in that man's heart when he torched the church.
The hate crime legislation makes little sense to me. It strikes me as unenforceable and when you think about it, only serves to act to stir things up even worse.
As a parting shot, I'd have to say an awful lot of crimes are hate crimes that have no racial overtones when you think about it. Have you ever heard of someone beating someone or robbing them because they loved them?
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Pleasant update.
There are four does about 20 feet away from me out my window staring in. That is very good news. Last night there was a lone doe foraging and I feared the herd had been chewed up because I have seen a couple of deer that have been hit by cars in the general area.
I was afraid the deer that inhabit my area had been hit and I am glad to see it is not so. I do love to watch those animals go about their business in my back yard.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Friday, December 5, 2014
Today is a zoo.
I might be able to post later.
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Thursday, December 4, 2014
After the recent grand jury decisions in Ferguson and New York
Fearless leader has decreed we now need a federal police force to add to the numerous federales we already have. It's the last thing we need.
It would instantly turn into nothing more than another federal boondoggle of chaos and stupidity and another attempt at a one size fits all solution to a non existent problem.
Local police forces generally reflect the values of the community it serves and can generally be managed by the populace through city or town leaders.
I know the city leadership here does a pretty good job of keeping their eye on the locals and as a result I enjoy the services of a pretty good police force. They generally do a pretty good job of things here and treat the locals with a respect. For what it's worth, response time is incredible.
I feel pretty content having these guys police my town. They do a pretty good job of reflecting the values of the community.
The town one down towards the city has a different set of problems and their force is a little different. Our officers sometimes refer to them as 'the Border Patrol' because that town serves as a buffer to the north end of the city. They have a reputation of being a little tougher.
When I say that local cops serve local needs I guess the analogy I can make is when Lefty and I go on a road trip together. If we are in New York City and are passing through Times Square and the call of nature hits it is not a very good idea to pull up to the curb, hop out and pump the bilges on the sidewalk. If a member of New York's Finest happens to be driving by he's going to stop, blow his whistle and throw a couple of penalty markers. Jail is a pretty good possibility.
On the other hand, if Lefty and I are on the side of Route PA 86.4 somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Potter County and a sheriff's deputy passes us then most likely he won't bother to bat an eyelash. Most likely he did the same thing about thirty minutes earlier. It's no big deal.
A Federal police force would do very little and would even be a detriment to society when you think about it. It would turn into a massive federal boondoggle and do little but to upset local customs.
For one thing there would be no way to keep an eye on things from a local level. Getting rid of a poor officer would take (probably literally) an act of congress. Complaints of a substandard cop would likely be next to impossible to lodge. You'd likely he mailed a form to fill out and send it that some government employee would toss into the wastebasket.
Local customs would fall by the wayside. An example of this would be the farmer that had fields on both side of a county road. He drives his tractor across the street to get to his lower 40.
While technically illegal, none of the locals really care and he's been doing this for decades. Most likely the Feds would put the kibosh on that sort of thing and try and make us all behave in the same way.
An officer that grew up in Philly and was assigned to Mayberry would go crazy inside a month and a cop from Mayberry assigned to Philly would be stomped in an instant.
Nobody would benefit and the whole thing would be just one more expensive federal debacle that we simply can't afford.
This is nothing more than a knee jerk reaction on the part of the president over the plain and simple fact that a pair of men involved in illegal activity decided to resist arrest, fought with police officers and lost.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
It would instantly turn into nothing more than another federal boondoggle of chaos and stupidity and another attempt at a one size fits all solution to a non existent problem.
Local police forces generally reflect the values of the community it serves and can generally be managed by the populace through city or town leaders.
I know the city leadership here does a pretty good job of keeping their eye on the locals and as a result I enjoy the services of a pretty good police force. They generally do a pretty good job of things here and treat the locals with a respect. For what it's worth, response time is incredible.
I feel pretty content having these guys police my town. They do a pretty good job of reflecting the values of the community.
The town one down towards the city has a different set of problems and their force is a little different. Our officers sometimes refer to them as 'the Border Patrol' because that town serves as a buffer to the north end of the city. They have a reputation of being a little tougher.
When I say that local cops serve local needs I guess the analogy I can make is when Lefty and I go on a road trip together. If we are in New York City and are passing through Times Square and the call of nature hits it is not a very good idea to pull up to the curb, hop out and pump the bilges on the sidewalk. If a member of New York's Finest happens to be driving by he's going to stop, blow his whistle and throw a couple of penalty markers. Jail is a pretty good possibility.
On the other hand, if Lefty and I are on the side of Route PA 86.4 somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Potter County and a sheriff's deputy passes us then most likely he won't bother to bat an eyelash. Most likely he did the same thing about thirty minutes earlier. It's no big deal.
A Federal police force would do very little and would even be a detriment to society when you think about it. It would turn into a massive federal boondoggle and do little but to upset local customs.
For one thing there would be no way to keep an eye on things from a local level. Getting rid of a poor officer would take (probably literally) an act of congress. Complaints of a substandard cop would likely be next to impossible to lodge. You'd likely he mailed a form to fill out and send it that some government employee would toss into the wastebasket.
Local customs would fall by the wayside. An example of this would be the farmer that had fields on both side of a county road. He drives his tractor across the street to get to his lower 40.
While technically illegal, none of the locals really care and he's been doing this for decades. Most likely the Feds would put the kibosh on that sort of thing and try and make us all behave in the same way.
An officer that grew up in Philly and was assigned to Mayberry would go crazy inside a month and a cop from Mayberry assigned to Philly would be stomped in an instant.
Nobody would benefit and the whole thing would be just one more expensive federal debacle that we simply can't afford.
This is nothing more than a knee jerk reaction on the part of the president over the plain and simple fact that a pair of men involved in illegal activity decided to resist arrest, fought with police officers and lost.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Up a bit early
Another day another dollar.
I haven't had soft boiled eggs in years and it sounds pretty good to me this morning. We'll see what happens.
It's overcast as I sit here looking out over the backyard and I can't help but wonder where the deer are now. They tripped the lights an hour or so ago and I know they're out there but the timing seems odd.
Last night when the young man dropped by for a few minutes I looked at him and we went back to back near a mirror. He's got only about an inch to go and he'll be my height. He's 12 and growing like a weed.
I have printer box from an HP printer this year for my annual Piccolo gets ripped off night out. The box is full of some pretty nasty fish garbage I have been holding on to in a plastic pail for this purpose. It's been bagged up and is in the printer box awaiting whoever steals it to open it and retch.
I do something like this every Christmas time for a couple of decades and it has never failed that someone takes the bait. Last year it was a huge generator box full of scrap steel and garbage. It was in the bed of my pickup and whoever stole it probably got a herniated disc or three as it weighed a ton.
I wonder who is going to end up opening this box. It's an HP printer box and likely the guy that steals it will have no use for it and will try and sell it as unopened. Maybe some business owner will get stuck with it. Who knows?
I guess I'll try parking at the mall today or this evening and see what happens.
Yesterday I pulled up alongside a parked police cruiser. When the cop, whom I know vaguely, opened the window I smiled.
"Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday, is over and we enter another Yuletide which is the season of expectations, disappointment, anger, frustration, fights over parking places, domestic violence, drunken stupidity and other bad things as we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. Policemen all over this great nation of ours all privately wish they had a month's vacation saved and rue going to the beach last summer with their families because they wish they had the time off now. Stay safe, be careful, and when you drive through my neighborhood on 3 January I want to see the 'Thank God it's over' look on your face."
He looked almost confused for a second while he digested what I had said to him and then looked at me with understanding.
"Thank you," he said.
I drove off thinking for the 3945th time that being a cop over Christmastime is a job I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
I haven't had soft boiled eggs in years and it sounds pretty good to me this morning. We'll see what happens.
It's overcast as I sit here looking out over the backyard and I can't help but wonder where the deer are now. They tripped the lights an hour or so ago and I know they're out there but the timing seems odd.
Last night when the young man dropped by for a few minutes I looked at him and we went back to back near a mirror. He's got only about an inch to go and he'll be my height. He's 12 and growing like a weed.
I have printer box from an HP printer this year for my annual Piccolo gets ripped off night out. The box is full of some pretty nasty fish garbage I have been holding on to in a plastic pail for this purpose. It's been bagged up and is in the printer box awaiting whoever steals it to open it and retch.
I do something like this every Christmas time for a couple of decades and it has never failed that someone takes the bait. Last year it was a huge generator box full of scrap steel and garbage. It was in the bed of my pickup and whoever stole it probably got a herniated disc or three as it weighed a ton.
I wonder who is going to end up opening this box. It's an HP printer box and likely the guy that steals it will have no use for it and will try and sell it as unopened. Maybe some business owner will get stuck with it. Who knows?
I guess I'll try parking at the mall today or this evening and see what happens.
Yesterday I pulled up alongside a parked police cruiser. When the cop, whom I know vaguely, opened the window I smiled.
"Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday, is over and we enter another Yuletide which is the season of expectations, disappointment, anger, frustration, fights over parking places, domestic violence, drunken stupidity and other bad things as we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. Policemen all over this great nation of ours all privately wish they had a month's vacation saved and rue going to the beach last summer with their families because they wish they had the time off now. Stay safe, be careful, and when you drive through my neighborhood on 3 January I want to see the 'Thank God it's over' look on your face."
He looked almost confused for a second while he digested what I had said to him and then looked at me with understanding.
"Thank you," he said.
I drove off thinking for the 3945th time that being a cop over Christmastime is a job I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
So the Michael Brown riots are settling down
and Ferguson is most likely getting ready to sweep up the ashes.
The last two major outbursts from the black community involving the death of a young black male have been guys that were doing nothing wrong, right?
Treyvon Martin was simply walking down the street with an armload of books on his way to read to a blind friend that was working on his degree in engineering. Suddenly George Zimmerman got out of a pickup wearing the full regalia of a Klansman and while shouting racial epithets gunned down poor little Treyvon in cold blood, right?
Michael Brown was wheeling a cart of meals on wheels to make sure the elderly got a decent meal when out of nowhere a police officer drove up and shot the poor man down execution style, right?
How about 'no'. That's not what happened.
Let's get to the facts of both of these two.
Martin beat Zimmerman half senseless Zimmerman decided he didn't like getting beaten up and shot Martin in what was ruled in a court of law a case of self-defense.
True enough, the incident was a case of assholes colliding but Martin started the violence. Had he quit while he was ahead he'd be alive now.
Michael Brown robbed a place, charged a cop, beat him up and tried to take the officer's gun, possibly to shoot him with it.
Certainly Brown didn't think that this kind of thing was going to end well, yet he did it anyway.
Of course, Sharpton, Jackson and the usual gang got behind these two thugs and started playing them to be heroes and babbling on and on about social justice and the usual crap that goes along with it.
What I want to know is when the usual gang of race baiters are going to get behind someone that ISN'T some kind of thug.
When are they going to find some young girl that was refused entrance into a private school because she wasn't white? When are they going to find some innocent young man that was pulled out of a car and beaten simply for being the wrong color?
I recall vividly when James Meredith entered the University of Mississippi back in '62. The NAACP was solidly behind him because he was exercising his rights. So were an awful lot of whites.
I remember my dad supported Meredith getting into college.
Meredith was an Air Force veteran with a clean record and good character. He also had guts enough to see what he was facing and did it anyway. He was not a thug by any stretch of the imagination. He was a clean, civilized human being and deserved to be enrolled in U. Miss.
Perhaps the reason Sharpton and Jesse are supporting thugs now is because there is a shortage of decent blacks being denied their rights and they are hard up to keep trouble brewing. I don't know, but that's what it looks like to me.
Quite frankly I am getting pretty fed up with the race baiters getting behind two-bit thugs and trying to convince the rest of us that thuggery is acceptable behavior and should be permitted to be left unchecked.
I generally go by the reasonable man theory and judge things by what I think a reasonable man would do.
I most likely would not have chased Treyvon Martin around at close range like Zimmerman did. Still, had Martin beat me up I would likely have defended myself with whatever means I had. This includes the use of deadly force.
Had I been in Darren Wilson's shoe having been charged at, beaten and having my assailant try to take my gun (and possibly shoot me with it) I would have resorted to the necessary force needed to stop the attack.
Both instances are reasonable. People have the right to self-defense. All people. Nobody should be victims of thuggery and they have every right not to be victimized.
I wonder if the supporters of Martin and Brown know how stupid they look supporting these two thugs. By doing so they are simply condoning thuggish behavior.
Then again, maybe it is because they don't have an interest in it. They're not the victims of these thugs and neither are their loved ones.
I wonder how they'd be acting if they were the ones defending themselves? How about if the person that was attacked was your son or daughter? You can bet the farm there that the attitudes would take a fast U-turn.
It's time for these so-called community leaders to stop backing thugs and other losers. It serves no purpose at all but to make them look stupid.
Then again, maybe they can't afford to stop backing losers that get into trouble because not many winners do. Without anyone to back and stir things up they won't be making any money and they'll have to get real jobs and become useful.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Monday, December 1, 2014
The Great Humarock Beach Submarine Race
.
(In CinemaScope and Technicolor)
Before the world knew what postpartum depression was we used to simply say that a woman was being a bitch. After my youngest sister was born my mother started being a bitch and we didn't know why.
All the rest of us wanted to do was stay away from her.
It was early one Saturday afternoon when I approached my father and said to him, "Hey, Dad. The Navy is having a submarine race between Minot's Ledge and the Cape Cod Canal. I'm going to Humarock Beach to watch it."
"Where did you hear about this?" he asked.
"On the Navy shortwave," I replied and I detected a flicker of his eyebrow. He knew what the deal was. He reached up and ran his finger down the side of his nose and I knew the message was received. It was an excuse to get out ot the house.
I had a surplus shortwave receiver that had come out of a Navy airplane. A friend had built a power supply for it and the then fairly modern WW2 rig was an excellent receiver. The previous winter during a storm for a couple of nights we had monitored a mayday from a ship and listened as the Coasties came to the rescue with pumps. It had been touch and go but the ship and all hands had been saved.
"Let's go," said Dad. "I'll go with you."
This actually meant Dad would drop me off at the bottom of the hill. I would walk to Damon's point. He'd get a six-pack and meet me there and we'd go fishing. I had a couple rods hidden under the pier there.
Mom came busting in on that one and decreed the whole family would go to the beach and see the submarine race.
We were screwed.
So we packed up the whole safari and headed to the beach. When we arrived about four of my mother's friends were there along with one of the husbands.
Mom, true to form told all of her friends about the scheduled submarine race and they got excited. There was only one husband there, Tom Murphy. Tom and my dad were friends.
Tom actually went by 'Murphy' to everyone, even his wife called him that. Murphy had told me to just call him 'Murphy' the past spring as I guess he thought I wasn't a little kid any more. If nobody was around that would rat me out I called him by his last name. If there was a rat around he was Mr. Murphy.
I didn't have to tell him, he knew the deal.
Murphy came up to Dad and asked him "What's this submarine race business?" His tone of voice made it clear he thought it was a crock.
Dad quietly told Murphy we had been busted trying to get out of the house. Murphy seemed quite amused.
I had brought binoculars as I figured I would brass this one out as much as possible. Murphy reached over and took them from me and looked at my dad. "So we give them a submarine race," he said. "What's the big deal?"
He took the binoculars and went to the womenfolk and looked back at me. "What time does it start, Pic?" he asked. He was scanning the empty ocean with the binoculars.
"Thirteen thirty," I replied. I knew military time would make things sound official as well as confuse the women.
'It's fourteen ten now," he said. "Likely it will be a couple more minutes...wait. I see something! There!" He pointed.
It was a fairly calm day and out in the water there were a few 'slicks' which were calm spots. He pointed at one. "There!"
Shirley Lispcombe saw the slick and pointed at it and started talking about it to the women. Another calm spot appeared to the right of the first one and Shirley pointed at it. "They're right there."
Shirley was an idiot that thought she knew everything about everything and was a self appointed take charge kind of person. She was also the most easily fooled of the group. She started pointing to the next little slick and told the women that they had moved along.
"Are these the nuclear powered subs we heard about?" asked Katie, who was Murphy's wife.
"I think these are a couple leftovers from the war they're taking to scrap," I replied.
"If they were nukes they'd be going a lot faster than that," Dad added. "
"I heard one of them was the U-357 that they kept at Portsmouth after they surrendered off the coast of New Hampshire," added Murphy. "I saw something in the paper."
All of this was hooey but it added to the credibility of the story.
Shirley was getting all worked up and was firmly in charge. She was running her mouth calling the race at 100 mph. My mother seemed confused. She didn't seem to know what she wasn't seeing and went over to Shirley who explained carefully to Mom. Mom seemed to understand but looked a shade dubious.
Lois Smith, who everyone called 'Lois Lane' because she looked like Superman's Lois Lane came up. She hated that nickname which, of course, cemented it among the guys. She asked how Dad and Murphy knew about submarines.
Dad spoke first. He instinctively knew Murphy needed a second or two to conjure something up. He knew Murphy had been in Korea and would think something up.
"When I was checking out in B-29s in Mississippi we did a lot of training flights over the Gulf of Mexico. We were always on the alert for U-boats," he said.
Murphy said that when he was in Korea he met a couple of Marine scouts that had been trained in submarine evacuation.
Neither of these were lies but neither of them admitted to having any real training, either. It was a pair of pretty slick smooth stories.
Murphy returned the binos to me and stood beside my father and I. He looked out at the ocean and kept a serious look on my face as did Dad. It was at this time the two men imparted a life lesson to me. It was the value of keeping a straight face while everyone around them made fools of themselves.
By now the women were excited and pointing at an empty ocean and if anyone with any authority had come by and seen them the five of them would have been carted off straight to the booby hatch.
Other people came up and asked what was going on and it was explained to them there was a submarine race going on and they joined and the crowd grew and grew. There were almost 100 people there and they returned back to their families and the entire thing started working its way down the beach.
You could see people pointing and hear mothers calling their kids to come and watch the submarines.
Murphy and Dad seemed somewhat amused and then they both cringed. Murphy's face turned briefly to a look of horror. He turned to me and quietly said, "Not one single word to anyone about this."
I nodded and Dad said to Murphy, "He knows."
I knew if word got out that it was a hoax there would be hell to play. None of us would ever hear the end of it. Ever.
Then Murphy quietly said he had to pee. My dad said he did, too. I said, "Me three." All three of us had been laughing so hard inside that we were ready to wet out pants.
There were no facilities on the beach so without a single word we walked down to the water and waded in up over out waists and peed in our swimsuits and then swam a few strokes to hide what we were doing. Afterwards we returned to our posts and looked down the beach as the spectators of the non-existent race worked their way down.
After the excitement was over we hung around a while until Mom was ready to go home and we packed up and left. All the way home Mom commented on how exciting the day was. Dad kept a straight face and said he was glad everyone had a good time.
For years afterwards every time I saw the women together one of them would often bring up the submarine race and how exciting it had been.
The only people I ever told were my aunt and uncle because I knew they would keep their mouths shut and not tell anyone. Forty years later if the cat ever got out of the bag I'd STILL catch holy hell.
Murphy and Dad are off the hook. They are buried near each other in Marshfield Hills cemetery which I find fitting. Those two characters were a pair I learned a lot from. They also enjoyed a good jug together once in a while.
When my mother passed about an hour before the funeral I swung by Dad's grave and looked at his and Murphy's and said aloud, "Hey, you two! Party's over. Mom's on the way!"
I, however, am still alive as are a couple of the women that were there and as long as one of them is and I am I think I am still in danger. Most of the women had Irish blood and the Irish do not forget. I'm still in danger.
The thing that reminded me of this story is that my aunt has Alzheimer's and I visited her the other day. She didn't recognize me but I sat down and chatted with her. I told her I was her sister's oldest son and started telling her funny stories about the family and we laughed.
When I told her this story it broke a dam and suddenly she called me by name and started asking about my brothers and sisters.
She certainly wasn't 100% but an awful lot of things seemed to come back to her for at least a few minutes. It's funny what laughter will do.
My aunt addressed me by name and started asking about my brothers and sisters and a lot of other things. It was amazing watching her punch her way out of the fog. Her eyes sparkled.
I wrote and posted this here to let my cousins know the story that broke the ice during my recent visit to her.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
(In CinemaScope and Technicolor)
Before the world knew what postpartum depression was we used to simply say that a woman was being a bitch. After my youngest sister was born my mother started being a bitch and we didn't know why.
All the rest of us wanted to do was stay away from her.
It was early one Saturday afternoon when I approached my father and said to him, "Hey, Dad. The Navy is having a submarine race between Minot's Ledge and the Cape Cod Canal. I'm going to Humarock Beach to watch it."
"Where did you hear about this?" he asked.
"On the Navy shortwave," I replied and I detected a flicker of his eyebrow. He knew what the deal was. He reached up and ran his finger down the side of his nose and I knew the message was received. It was an excuse to get out ot the house.
I had a surplus shortwave receiver that had come out of a Navy airplane. A friend had built a power supply for it and the then fairly modern WW2 rig was an excellent receiver. The previous winter during a storm for a couple of nights we had monitored a mayday from a ship and listened as the Coasties came to the rescue with pumps. It had been touch and go but the ship and all hands had been saved.
"Let's go," said Dad. "I'll go with you."
This actually meant Dad would drop me off at the bottom of the hill. I would walk to Damon's point. He'd get a six-pack and meet me there and we'd go fishing. I had a couple rods hidden under the pier there.
Mom came busting in on that one and decreed the whole family would go to the beach and see the submarine race.
We were screwed.
So we packed up the whole safari and headed to the beach. When we arrived about four of my mother's friends were there along with one of the husbands.
Mom, true to form told all of her friends about the scheduled submarine race and they got excited. There was only one husband there, Tom Murphy. Tom and my dad were friends.
Tom actually went by 'Murphy' to everyone, even his wife called him that. Murphy had told me to just call him 'Murphy' the past spring as I guess he thought I wasn't a little kid any more. If nobody was around that would rat me out I called him by his last name. If there was a rat around he was Mr. Murphy.
I didn't have to tell him, he knew the deal.
Murphy came up to Dad and asked him "What's this submarine race business?" His tone of voice made it clear he thought it was a crock.
Dad quietly told Murphy we had been busted trying to get out of the house. Murphy seemed quite amused.
I had brought binoculars as I figured I would brass this one out as much as possible. Murphy reached over and took them from me and looked at my dad. "So we give them a submarine race," he said. "What's the big deal?"
He took the binoculars and went to the womenfolk and looked back at me. "What time does it start, Pic?" he asked. He was scanning the empty ocean with the binoculars.
"Thirteen thirty," I replied. I knew military time would make things sound official as well as confuse the women.
'It's fourteen ten now," he said. "Likely it will be a couple more minutes...wait. I see something! There!" He pointed.
It was a fairly calm day and out in the water there were a few 'slicks' which were calm spots. He pointed at one. "There!"
Shirley Lispcombe saw the slick and pointed at it and started talking about it to the women. Another calm spot appeared to the right of the first one and Shirley pointed at it. "They're right there."
Shirley was an idiot that thought she knew everything about everything and was a self appointed take charge kind of person. She was also the most easily fooled of the group. She started pointing to the next little slick and told the women that they had moved along.
"Are these the nuclear powered subs we heard about?" asked Katie, who was Murphy's wife.
"I think these are a couple leftovers from the war they're taking to scrap," I replied.
"If they were nukes they'd be going a lot faster than that," Dad added. "
"I heard one of them was the U-357 that they kept at Portsmouth after they surrendered off the coast of New Hampshire," added Murphy. "I saw something in the paper."
All of this was hooey but it added to the credibility of the story.
Shirley was getting all worked up and was firmly in charge. She was running her mouth calling the race at 100 mph. My mother seemed confused. She didn't seem to know what she wasn't seeing and went over to Shirley who explained carefully to Mom. Mom seemed to understand but looked a shade dubious.
Lois Smith, who everyone called 'Lois Lane' because she looked like Superman's Lois Lane came up. She hated that nickname which, of course, cemented it among the guys. She asked how Dad and Murphy knew about submarines.
Dad spoke first. He instinctively knew Murphy needed a second or two to conjure something up. He knew Murphy had been in Korea and would think something up.
"When I was checking out in B-29s in Mississippi we did a lot of training flights over the Gulf of Mexico. We were always on the alert for U-boats," he said.
Murphy said that when he was in Korea he met a couple of Marine scouts that had been trained in submarine evacuation.
Neither of these were lies but neither of them admitted to having any real training, either. It was a pair of pretty slick smooth stories.
Murphy returned the binos to me and stood beside my father and I. He looked out at the ocean and kept a serious look on my face as did Dad. It was at this time the two men imparted a life lesson to me. It was the value of keeping a straight face while everyone around them made fools of themselves.
By now the women were excited and pointing at an empty ocean and if anyone with any authority had come by and seen them the five of them would have been carted off straight to the booby hatch.
Other people came up and asked what was going on and it was explained to them there was a submarine race going on and they joined and the crowd grew and grew. There were almost 100 people there and they returned back to their families and the entire thing started working its way down the beach.
You could see people pointing and hear mothers calling their kids to come and watch the submarines.
Murphy and Dad seemed somewhat amused and then they both cringed. Murphy's face turned briefly to a look of horror. He turned to me and quietly said, "Not one single word to anyone about this."
I nodded and Dad said to Murphy, "He knows."
I knew if word got out that it was a hoax there would be hell to play. None of us would ever hear the end of it. Ever.
Then Murphy quietly said he had to pee. My dad said he did, too. I said, "Me three." All three of us had been laughing so hard inside that we were ready to wet out pants.
There were no facilities on the beach so without a single word we walked down to the water and waded in up over out waists and peed in our swimsuits and then swam a few strokes to hide what we were doing. Afterwards we returned to our posts and looked down the beach as the spectators of the non-existent race worked their way down.
After the excitement was over we hung around a while until Mom was ready to go home and we packed up and left. All the way home Mom commented on how exciting the day was. Dad kept a straight face and said he was glad everyone had a good time.
For years afterwards every time I saw the women together one of them would often bring up the submarine race and how exciting it had been.
The only people I ever told were my aunt and uncle because I knew they would keep their mouths shut and not tell anyone. Forty years later if the cat ever got out of the bag I'd STILL catch holy hell.
Murphy and Dad are off the hook. They are buried near each other in Marshfield Hills cemetery which I find fitting. Those two characters were a pair I learned a lot from. They also enjoyed a good jug together once in a while.
When my mother passed about an hour before the funeral I swung by Dad's grave and looked at his and Murphy's and said aloud, "Hey, you two! Party's over. Mom's on the way!"
I, however, am still alive as are a couple of the women that were there and as long as one of them is and I am I think I am still in danger. Most of the women had Irish blood and the Irish do not forget. I'm still in danger.
The thing that reminded me of this story is that my aunt has Alzheimer's and I visited her the other day. She didn't recognize me but I sat down and chatted with her. I told her I was her sister's oldest son and started telling her funny stories about the family and we laughed.
When I told her this story it broke a dam and suddenly she called me by name and started asking about my brothers and sisters.
She certainly wasn't 100% but an awful lot of things seemed to come back to her for at least a few minutes. It's funny what laughter will do.
My aunt addressed me by name and started asking about my brothers and sisters and a lot of other things. It was amazing watching her punch her way out of the fog. Her eyes sparkled.
I wrote and posted this here to let my cousins know the story that broke the ice during my recent visit to her.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Piccolo makes a Dunkin' run in Massachusetts.
While visiting relatives with an infant I am an early riser which actually sucks. I got up and decided to make a run for coffee and a couple of doughnuts and snag a cup of joe for my nephew. His wife doesn't drink it or I would have gotten her one, too.
I ghosted to Dunkin' Donuts and parked and left the engine running as the Tacoma was still as cold as hell. I figured maybe it would warm up a bit for the ride home.
As I got into line someone came in behind me and said someone left their truck running and was wasting precious gasoline.
"That's me," I said. "Thank you for your concern. I'll probably need that gas to get to Logan to go to Japan later on today.'
"Why are you going to Japan?" she asked.
"Because I grew up there and speak fluent Japanese. I applied for a job and just got hired there," I replied.
"What are you going to do there?" she asked.
"I am going to be a harpooner on the Yamasaki Maru," I replied. "We're going after sperm whales."
The woman in front of me was sharp enough to see what I was doing. She turned and smirked.
The woman that had griped about me leaving my truck running
went off on me as I had expected she would and carried on about saving the natural resources and so on and so on and so on and so forth.
"Tell you what," I interrupted. "If you stop giving me a bad time over using a pint of gas to warm up my truck, I'll email the Japanese I'm not coming and we'll give the whales a break. Either that or start talking into the cab of my truck. The hot air you spew should heat the cab nicely and we can save the gas. Sound like a deal?"
She gave me a dirty look and said nothing which I found to be a pretty good deal.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Saturday, November 29, 2014
This is not going to end well.
I just saw a blurb about a woman that got injured in the Ferguson rioting. She says she wasn't looting and maybe she wasn't. Giving her the benefit of the doubt I'll say she wasn't.
Still, what was she doing out there in the first place? If she had half a lick of sense she would know that taking place in a riot isn't a safe place to be.
Let's take a look at Michael Brown for a minute. What was he thinking to begin with?
When you rob a store, charge a cop and try and disarm him you have to know that no matter what, it isn't going to end well.
Certainly we can expect that much sense out of a human being. There are simply courses of action that are not going to end well.
Riots seldom end well, either. Generally someone ends up dying, maybe even several people. A large number get injured. Unless you are a rioter going out knowing good and well you stand a good chance of getting a hickory shampoo and are good with that it makes sense to stay inside.
That is, of course, unless you are in a building the rioters have lit up and then it is a smart choice to leave and find another safe haven.
Personally I think that having a riot over someone that got killed while injuring a cop is something that won't end well. The rioters have burned down their own neighborhoods and in many instances have put themselves out of work. Their neighborhood is now a pile of smoking ashes and to tell the truth about it, nobody else really cares. It ain't their neighborhood.
It ain't my neighborhood. I'm sleeping in a comfortable bed in my neighborhood so I couldn't care less if rioters are sleeping in an ash pile.
When I'm hungry I can go to the supermarket and fill my shelves. There's a supermarket there.
Betcha there isn't one in the area of Ferguson that got trashed.
The truth is the people in Ferguson trashed their own neighborhoods. Now let them live with it.
It's a nice way to honor a guy that didn''t stop to think how something wouuld end and decided to rob someplace and charge down some poor cop.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Friday, November 28, 2014
was told to call an old classmate at 8 am and I did.
Of course, it seemed early but then I realized that old man are generally early risers.
Gone are the days of sleeping until noon.
We had a nice chat.
Yesterday I did dinner at me niece's and had a good time and slept there overnight, rising early and leaving before anyone woke as is my habit. I like to get out of the way as much as I can. I think it is appreciated. I'll drop by again this afternoon.
I'm back on line with Windows 7 in an old Panasonic Toughbook CF-29 that was given to me. Thanks to a friend. I had someone help me get it on Windows 7 which the machine is supposed to not be able to run.
It seems to be doing well, though. I had to dig out a bunch of drivers from other programs but it's running. I have to see how to activate the speaker and I'll be good to go.
Thanksgiving is a time I like and truth is I loathe Christmas and I suppose I'll be grouchy as hell in a few weeks.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Gone are the days of sleeping until noon.
We had a nice chat.
Yesterday I did dinner at me niece's and had a good time and slept there overnight, rising early and leaving before anyone woke as is my habit. I like to get out of the way as much as I can. I think it is appreciated. I'll drop by again this afternoon.
I'm back on line with Windows 7 in an old Panasonic Toughbook CF-29 that was given to me. Thanks to a friend. I had someone help me get it on Windows 7 which the machine is supposed to not be able to run.
It seems to be doing well, though. I had to dig out a bunch of drivers from other programs but it's running. I have to see how to activate the speaker and I'll be good to go.
Thanksgiving is a time I like and truth is I loathe Christmas and I suppose I'll be grouchy as hell in a few weeks.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Thursday, November 27, 2014
I get along quite well with my ex-wife.
She can be pretty funny at times. Someone asked her how she and I happen to know each other and she replied that she was the first of my six ex-wives. Of course this means that people that don't know me very well will ask me if I've really been married six times and I will likely reply that I have been married seven times because I am married now.
This is one of the tricks I learned in life. Admit to anything unless it is somewhat depraved. If it is, then I declare my innocence and then confess to something that is truly depraved.
I have been married twice but let us not let facts spoil a good story.
"Seven times?" they will ask me increulously.
"Well, that's if you count number four," I'll likely reply.
"I don't even know the name to number four because I first laid eyes on her when I woke up next to her in a parked rental car in a Las Vegas wedding chapel parking lot."
"Huh?"
"I was partying in Vegas and my runnin' pard and I got seperated and I got pretty fried. When I woke up it was with a showgirl I'd picked up somewhere. I was sick as hell and when I came to I noticed a piece of paper on the dashboard. It was a wedding decree and my name was on it. I looked at the girl and checked my wallet and noticed it was empty so I emptied her purse. She had a wad of cash so I figure she must have rolled me. I grabbed about half of it and went back into the wedding chapel and gave the guy $200 to make the wedding go away. I never heard from anyone so I guess it didn't get registered so I was off the hook on that one."
Now the look of shock comes. "You woke up in Las Vegas married to someone and you don't even know her name?"
"Hey, you know how it is. Whaddya want? I was partyin'. So I got a little toasted.She was hot. So what?"
"Didn't she wonder what was going on when she came to?"
"Nah. When I came back after I left the wedding chapel she as up and about. Standin' next to the car putting her clothes back on. I made a U-turn and went somewhere looking for greasy eggs and stuff so I could puke and feel better. After breakfast I was walking back to the car and she walked right past me and didn't recognize me so I figured I'd never hear about it again which I didn't."
If they are foolish enough to believe this kind of thing then you have just started something that is interesting to watch. It is so outrageous it will get around and fast. It won't be long before it gets back to you.
A few years back I was shopping with my niece and her two kids and I ran into someone that recognized me from high school and I had a ball when she asked me what I had done since high school.
I explained to her that I had done time for a murder I didn't commit but was exhonorated by DNA testing and when I got out a couple of years ago I decided to get married and have a family and here's my wife and two daughters and pointed to the niece and kids.
If course, my niece knows how I am and simply held out the baby and said how good a father I was.
After the old classmate left the niece kicked me in the shin and left it sore for months and complained to her mom who is my sister. She got no sympathy, though. She thought it was as funny as I did.
It got back to me a while late when a high school reunion was announced. It had gotten back to someone and I was asked if I was going to bring my family.
I guess something is wrong with me but the truth is it's a lot of fun just keeping them guessing.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
here ya go.
Today I think I will face the blade and scrape the fungus off of my face.
It's been a few days and I am getting close to that hatchet murderer look that serves me so well in my driver's license photo.
In fact, I think I will do that right now as I have nothing better to do and this post can wait a few minutes.
It waited and I am now clean shaven which is a pretty good deal, I suppose. Still, it will mean my face feels cold when I go outside to get something done which I have to do soon. Still, I feel a little cleaner and that's a good thing.
I used to use throwaway razors for years until recently and then I went back into my youth and dug out an old safety razor I had burrowed away in a hole somewhere. I grabbed a pack of Wilkenson Sword blades and started using it recently.
I actually used to use a straight razor years ago but after a while it got to be a nuisance keeping it sharp so I started using throwaways and did that for years. My recent change to an Old School safety razor was a no-event as relearning the skill took about two strokes. I guess it was like riding a bicycle.
I know that this sounds like a little dopey thing but to a sailor his day generally consists of a string of dopey little things.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Ferguson riot.
And, as usual, the race baiters are up in arms over the shooting of someone that got shot while attacking someone.
I could see being upset if the Micheal Brown, Jr had been shot for no reason but he simply attacked a cop who defended himself. A grand jury found the policeman had committed no wrongdoing.
While I suppose a lot of people are upset over the rioting, I suppose that one thing holds true.
We'll survive the riots. What the republic can't survive is a biased grand jury. We can survive a few riots but we can't survive a biased judicial system.
Throwing an innocent to the wolves to avoid trouble is the wrong move. We judge based on the facts of the case and not because some mob wants things to go a certain way.
I would like to thank the grand jury for doing what it did to hold up the values of the judicial system and calling it the way they saw it.
That took guts and character.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
I could see being upset if the Micheal Brown, Jr had been shot for no reason but he simply attacked a cop who defended himself. A grand jury found the policeman had committed no wrongdoing.
While I suppose a lot of people are upset over the rioting, I suppose that one thing holds true.
We'll survive the riots. What the republic can't survive is a biased grand jury. We can survive a few riots but we can't survive a biased judicial system.
Throwing an innocent to the wolves to avoid trouble is the wrong move. We judge based on the facts of the case and not because some mob wants things to go a certain way.
I would like to thank the grand jury for doing what it did to hold up the values of the judicial system and calling it the way they saw it.
That took guts and character.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Monday, November 24, 2014
Here I am now trying to grind out another post
with my space bar acting up. It's miserable. I have to really whack it in the center or else mywordsgetstrungtogetherlikethis.
I hate stuff like this because sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. If it was out and out busted I could rely on it.
Many moons ago I had a radial arm saw that would stop and go and it didn't take long for me to decide that the frustration of it starting and stopping at odd times was out and out dangerous. I finally lost my temper with it and destroyed it. It is now part of the backfill of a church museum in Alaska now unless they dug it up for some odd reason.
I guess I can retrain myself to whack the space bar but it's going to take a while.
Update: It must have been something stuck under the spacebar because now it works like it is supposed to. Go figure.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Sunday, November 23, 2014
A Old School trip to the dump.
Which begins at home when you wake up on a Saturday morning and decide to clean the garage up a bit and take the last week or so's worth of accumulated trash and haul it off. You stuff all of the trash into either the bed of our pickup or the trunk of the family car and it's off to the dump you go.
It's 9:30 am.
To the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, dump. Sung to the tune of the William Tell Overture.
You arrive, back up, unload, and look around a bit. Then you empty your trash.
The place is a little smelly but your eye has caught a coil of what looks to be pretty good rope and you remember you were headed to the hardware store for a coil of rope about that size to use to tie down a couple of shees of plywood to your roof rack or use on the upcoming tree surgery.
As you pick up the rope you notice a ceramic jug someone likely threw out by accident. It'll look good on the front porch. You snag that one.
Just then John Dalster comes in with his trash and two kids. John empties his trash while his kids start running around checking things out and being kids. It's been a month since you've run into John and he's always fun to chat with. He sees you looks at the treasures you've accumulated and grins. THe pair of you mosey over to his pickup and he hands you a cold one out of the cooler in his pickup. It's a little early but what the hell.
Dave Thomas arrives and John hands him a beer and Dave lets you know about what the clowns at City Hall are up to and you make a note to call and register an opinion with the alderman.
John's kids return from their running around with a couple treasures and throw them into the back of the pickup. As they do you see Sarah Wither drive up. She's almost 80 now and pretty spry and a real trip. She buried her husband about fifteen years ago and seems to have weathered widowhood well. She often acts cranky but is hilarious and a pretty good person to get to know. Besides knowing just about everything about everybody she dropped by with a casserolle every night when your wife was in the hospital.
You cringe in a way because you just know that Sarah is just going to say something outrageous and you don't want to bust up and offend her. Sarah quickly dumps her trash and walks over uninvited to John's truch and helps herself to a beer and comments that John is still drinking that cheap Pabst Blue Ribbon and ought to upgrade.
John grins and says he has been drinking PBR for twenty years.
Sarah spots a flower pot with a chip in it and scarfs that up and comments that if nobody helped themselves to goodies at the dump the place would have been filled up twenty years ago. Everyone chuckles. You look at the stuff in your truck, notice what John's kids have recovered and realize her statement has merit. A lot of stuff IS leaving.
Sarah lets you know that the family three down from you is having hard times and you make a note of that. He's a pretty good carpenter and you had planned on redoing your bathroom next month. A quick mental check says you can afford to start the project next weekend and although you had planned on doing it yourself, you realize you ought to get a little help. You make a mental note to drop by his place on the way home. It won't put the guy's kids through college but ought to feed them for a week or so. You know anything helps.
Dave Thomas says he'll drop off some venison. He know the family will appreciate it.
Dave Thomas turns to you and asks to borrow your chain saw and you agree to it. Every time Dave borrows something he returns it in better shape than it was when you gave it to him. Unlike Louie Swindell who practiclly destroyed your lawn mower a couple years back and just stuffed it back in your garage. Louie had a lot of gall getting upset when you refused to lend it to him the following weekend. Actually it is your fault in a way. Sarah had warned you Louie was like that.
John mentions that he's looking for a brand new used car for his wife. Nobody has any ideas but everyone offers to keep their ears open. He's computer illiterate and you and Sarah make a mental note to check Craigslist.
You look at your watch, finish your now warm beer and take your leave, arriving home a little after noon.
It's been a profitable morning.
Of course, if you have moved to, say, North Carolina from New Jersey you just can't figure out why the locals live that way. My advice to you is to stay in New Jersey until you figure it out. Once you do you'll probably find yourself accepted a lot faster if you do figure it out and decide that is what you want. If you don't want it, don't move there.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
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