nobody asked…

OK, I’ve decided. In my next life as a human I want fat, wide feet so I can buy cheap shoes at discount stores, like the rest of you do.

Why, you ask? Daddy wore a 10 A, sometimes AA. Mom wore an 8 AAAA with a AAAAAA heel, when she could find them. My brother wears a 10 A. I actually got the fat foot in the family, a 9-1/2 B. Have you ever tried to find A or B widths? When you can find them, or find a store that will special order them for you, do you have any idea what those narrow sumbitches cost? Gimme some $30 shoes that fit nicely, feel good, and look decent…

Nope, my amazing dearth of productivity in this thicket of nugatory weeds is not excused for any valid reason, like grading papers and preparing grade reports for students, which JohnB claims. Nor for reasons of holiday travel like MaryB. [Note to self: Hey, Self, I never noticed it before, but wonder if they are related, JohnB and MaryB. Hmmmm… Maybe they’ve been holding out on us?]

Unlike Tamarika, I do not have a rich vein of nuggets to draw from and recycle with as much relevance today as they had then. Jeremy’s excuse is that he has closed shop and moved to new digs where he is gangbang blogging with a renegade band of fellow academic sociologists.

I have no plausible excuse to offer as does Elsie, The Entertainer, who has been physically and emotionally dedicated to preparation and execution of a Thanksgiving feast for a cast of thousands … well dozens, anyway. Em is corporeally and spiritually dedicated to the proper raising and care of his teenage progeny, as well he should be, even though it interferes from time to time with his posting. But, when he finds time to write, it is worth the wait and always provides a richness that I can but envy.

Nope. I have searched far and wide for a good excuse to hide behind during this period of productive paucity. All I can come up with is that I am seasonally sated and terminally arse-lazy. This too shall pass … well, the sated part, at least…

A century before G. W. Bush unknowingly introduced us to new words he unwittingly made-up, words like misunderestimated and misuninformed, a far more astute (astuter?) dude made this observation:

If you don’t read the newspaper you are uninformed, if you do read the newspaper you are misinformed. — Mark Twain

Were he around today, Twain would have a field day with the blunders of the incompetent, indifferent, and misuniformed Dubya and his administration.

[A nod of the Big Orange GO VOLS cap to my friend Phil, who reads and comments here occasionally.]

“Hey, Sergeant, what say we break for lunch? NOW!“

Let’s hear your best alternate caption to replace mine.

Many of us will spend more time than usual on the porcelain throne today. Maybe that’s why the Friday after Thanksgiving is so widely observed as a holiday, so we can stay close to the water closet. Yesterday’s feeding orgy is paid for with today’s gastric and digestive ailments. Some may suffer … did you ever hear of anyone enjoying? … the green apple quick step, a.k.a., ahemmmm … diarrhea. Others may become bound up in the throes of constipation.

It has been said that the web has answers for everything. In support of that premise, there is a web-site dedicated to the latter, and probably has links for the former. Are you ready for this? Let’s Talk Constipation dot com.

If you are one of the millions of afflicted Americans, take your laptop or plenty of reading material into the little privacy space to occupy your time and mind during your visits. And happy shi… er, uh, sitting…

[The more I tried to write, the more deja vu moments I experienced. I had had those thoughts and written those words before. Looking back, I discovered my Thanksgiving post from November 24, 2005, and quickly understood there was no way I could say it better now. So here it is again…]

Thanksgiving…my favorite holiday. Why, you ask? Let me count the ways.

I awoke this morning with devout thanksgiving for my friends, the old and the new.
– Ralph Waldo Emerson

It is a time for seeing and visiting with friends and family, including some that you may not see but once per year. To balance the one or two that you would just as soon not see at all, there is always that favorite uncle or nutty cousin or old Mrs. What’s-Her-Name from one block over, the one who brings a plate of the most scrumptious fudge you’re ever eaten. This year for the first time, I add a new dimension to that circle of special friends — those who walk with me through the blogosphere. Family and friends…most definitely one of the reasons Thanksgiving is special.

Thanksgiving is a typically American holiday. … The lavish meal is a symbol of the fact that abundant consumption is the result and reward of production. — Ayn Rand

At least according to legend and tradition, the original Thanksgiving was a time for the early settlers to gather at the end of the fall harvest, prior to the onset of the harsh winter to follow, to celebrate a successful growing, hunting, and fishing season with a lavish meal and revelry. Then it was more a community event than the familial gathering to which it later evolved. Yes, on this, Ayn Rand was correct.

On Thanksgiving Day all over America, families sit down to dinner at the same moment — halftime.
– Anon

For a football junkie like moi, Thanksgiving weekend is OD waiting to happen. Making sure you have a firm grip on the remote, put on Macy’s Parade in the morning to appease the kids and the non-gridiron crowd, then settle in for 4 days and nights of wall-to-wall action. During a halftime later in the day you can show how helpful you are by running the turkey carcass out to the trash can.

Perhaps by the time I recycle this piece next year my research will have discovered some thoughtful or humorous quotes appropriate to the following thoughts on why Thanksgiving is special.

+ For most of us, Thanksgiving is the only time of the year that we take a 4-day holiday. That is so much more rejuvenating than a normal weekend or an isolated day off in the middle of the week.

+ No gifts to select, buy, wrap, give, exchange. No pressure. No stress. Good!

+ Thanksgiving does not have the heavy Christian underpinnings of Christmas. As a result, there is little if any controversy by factions of varying faiths and religious affiliations. The fundamentalist bickering that has developed around Christmas has darkened the real message of hope and peace and new beginnings that defined what Christmas was supposed to be about. Thanksgiving brings that peace.

To all who come by here regularly and to those who got lost and ended up here by mistake, I send wishes for a most healthy, safe, and enjoyable Thanksgiving day and weekend…

A worthwhile and still timely rerun of this November 23, 2006, post. The ‘toon is from our Israeli friend Yaak at Dry Bones Blog.

Survived game in Knoxville… barely! It was heart attack city for a while…

Made trek home without event… until…

In last 30 or so miles car started stuttering and sputtering… intermittently…

Monday morning, drove it slowly, stuttering and sputtering, to dealer..

Computer sez bad throttle position sensor… whatever the hell that is…

Not in stock… overnight express… ready by Wednesday… maybe…

Having 90,000 mile service done while in there…

Cost: all I have plus all I can borrow plus 50%… and first-born male child…

Meantime, rental car… hate it…

Titans lost to Denver on Monday Night Football…

Odd, depressing dream involving old corpse draped in terrycloth…

Houseful of holiday guests coming and I’m broke and driving a turkey…

All in all, it was a great weekend and a most shitty Monday…

Maybe Tuesday will be better…

Sitting here in the early morn, high atop the Holiday Inn in Lenoir City, TN, about to start scraping the barnacles in preparation for the UT-Vanderbilt football game, I realize that this week I have not blogged much, am terribly delinquent in emailing, and have gotten way behind schedule with life in general. Got to put in some extra effort to remedy that quickly. Promise…

On the bright side, I visited last night with an old and dear friend, UT classmate, fellow engineer at the same company for many years, and his wife. Phil and Carol were the perfect hosts and it was a wonderful evening. Phil grilled some pieces of dead cows to perfection while I had a serious conversation with him and Jack Daniels. We spent hours playing the What ever happened to…? game. There is a tremendously satisfying feeling to rekindling old friendships. Thank you Phil and Carol for an evening not to be forgotten…

For a list of all the ways technology has failed to improve the quality of life, please press three. — Alice Kahn

A compendium of my knowledge of Islamic religion and culture would hide nicely under the period at the end of this sentence. Having said that, I saw something yesterday that commanded my attention, caused me to put my right index finger upside my dimpled chin, and hum Hmmmmm… loudly enough to cause other diners at Waffle House to look up from their search for the face of Jesus in their hashbrowns.

Walking across the parking lot was a young couple that appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent. He was clad in normal American attire, while she was sheathed in a full-length Abaya with a Tesettür veil, flapping around in the light breeze that was stirring, partially covering her face. And they were smoking. Both of them. I had never thought about it before, and looking back on it now, it may be no different than seeing a Catholic or Jewish or aetheist woman puff on a cigarette. It’s just that I do not recall ever before seeing a Muslim woman smoking.

Are there moral strictures in Islam that apply to social conduct such as smoking, alcohol consumption, dancing face to face, eating Big Macs, and other taken-for-granted aspects of Western culture? Like so much of what we hear about about Islam here in the West, are the rules different for men and women? What would Allah think?

To those who read and commented on my previous post and then had the gall to go ahead and have fun without me while I was huffing and puffing … up yours. And to those who did so while lifting a bottle, glass, or skin of your favorite adult beverage in my direction … bless you. And here is my weekend report card:

• Food Disposer removed and reinstalled correctly. No leaks. CHECK
• Store Manager du jour for the Food Disposer vendor quickly agreed his people had blown this one and credited my credit card with the full amount of installation charges. Thanks to Roomie for filling the role of Chief Sweet-talking Negotiator while I stood just off-stage ranting and yelling obscenities. CHECK
• Shelf in walk-in-closet re-installed with new wall anchors and clips. CHECK
• Closet contents sorted through and put back. CHECK
• Tennessee Vols won handily over Arkansas Hogs. CHECK, CHECK,CHECK
• Alabama lost to Missippi State. CHECK …heh…
• Titans lost to Jacksonville Jagwires. REALITY CHECK
• Lightbulbs over stove replaced. Again. Damn Chinese quality. CHECK
• Drink enough wine to collapse in bed early and sleep it off. CHECK
• Get up this morning in time to go to butt doctor for consult on upcoming colonoscopy, which I am doing under protest, and only because Katie Couric told me I should. CHECK

Tired, exhausted from the weekend of work? Of course. But that is attended by a feeling of accomplishment when I stand back and gaze with quiet admiration at my handiwork. And is both sweetened and embittered by the football results of the weekend. Now to get to work and make enough to pay for my last-minute, spur of the moment trip to Knoxville next weekend to cheer on my Vols as they hold off the invading hordes of intellectuals from Vanderbilt.

I do not suffer from insanity. I enjoy every minute of it. — Bumper sticker

When I saw this bumper sticker earlier this week, I laughed out loud, whipped out my ever-present 3×5 card and trusty Pentel, and scribbled it down. Little did I realize that this was an omen, not just another laughable one liner.

This turned into the week from hell … and it ain’t over yet, my friends. Starting out bright eyed and bushy tailed on Monday morning, it looked like a much easier week than I’ve had recently. This was good. Body and mind and spirit were bent and cracked from weeks of constant abuse. However, the easy feeling did not last. A long list of customers, some of whom I have not heard from in months, all decided that I did not have enough to do this week. So they all called. At once. All wanting help. Now.

OK. Been here and done this before. I can handle it. Of course, little did I know what monsters lurked in the dark corners of the week ahead. On Tuesday, the lights over the cook stove blew. Both of them. Again. I had replaced the odd-ball bulbs about a month ago. Damn Chinese quality control, or lack thereof. So I pulled one out to take with me to be sure I got the right odd-ball bulb.

Wednesday’s work went to hell in the proverbial hand-basket. (Note to self: What is a damn hand-basket?) Then I came home to find that the great new food disposer I had purchased along with installation, had been done by a flunk-out from Bubba’s College of Food Disposer Installation and Repair. After I got the two leaking plumbing joints to quit doing so, I looked and realized the disposer itself was hanging at about a 15 degree angle from the bottom of the sink. Two more trips by the installer, numerous phone calls, several broken promises, and multiple mini-strokes later, the angle of the dangle has come down to between 5 and 10 degrees and only one small leak remains.

As soon as the duel with pistols negotiation with the big box retailer is finished, I will chronicle this entire sordid event here. As of this morning, it is not resolved, and the work to fix it falls on … ta-daaaaaa … you guessed it.

In the middle of my Friday workday, Roomie calls for the 7th time to give me an update on her phone wars with the big box retailer and the installer. That’s when she also laughed and said, “Now don’t have a heart attack or stoke, but…” Now friends, it does not matter what words follow that phrase, but one thing you can be damn sure of is that the message ain’t gonna be good!

After she told me that the top shelf on my side of the walk-in closet had come crashing down, dumping all that was on it and all my shirts and slacks and jackets hanging from it onto the floor, I could not laugh. I could not cry. I could not even curse. All I could do was say, “OK”, and stare out the car window as I saw my entire weekend vanish into chores I did not want to do.

All I wanted was a little time to watch and enjoy some football. Maybe next year.

Y’all have a good weekend and raise a cold one to poor ol’ Winston, stuck under the kitchen sink or on a ladder in the closet. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to make a quick trip to Home Depot, my religious institution of choice.