http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uXSf46Fmtek

The Eagles were popular back when I was. We old birds still have it… heh… Well, actually, they still are… and still do… Notice how the young folks in the audience know the words, sing along, and get into the groove…

So if you have spare time on your hands or get too bored elsewhere, come on over to check out the droppings on Eric’s back deck…

On the other hand, Roomie is the antithesis of that, as she usually has trouble getting to sleep and will waken at the drop of a tissue three houses away. She tosses and turns, kicks and bucks, thrashing the night away, in and out of bed until she can’t stand it any longer and just gets up and stays up. She might be described as a light or shallow sleeper.

On several occasions my good Welsh blogging friend, Liz, has made reference to rough sleepers. I understand the words rough and sleeper, so initially I thought I knew what she was talking about — someone like Roomie who kicks and thrashes about in a very rough manner. But that was nonsensical when used in Liz’s context. Yet again, Liz often weaves fantastical mysteries for her American readers by writing about such things as fish pie, Mumbles, beans on toast, titchy spaces, portakabins, dithering, and… well, you get the picture. English is the native tongue for both of us, but my American version is not nearly so rich as Liz’s Welsh slant on it. I have not heard her voice, but I can imagine that it has that same richness and melodic quality that we love to listen to.

According to dictionary.com, a rough sleeper is an informal UK phrase used to refer to “a homeless person; a person living on the streets.” So, if you’re reading Liz spinning her stories about George, her often misbehaving pup, and her charming life in Swansea, Wales, if she mentions a rough sleeper, she is really referring to what we know in the States as a street person or homeless person. As for titchy, I have not a clue…

4. Three bad habits… are difficult to sift out of the many that I have. Hmmm… I guess number one would be eating patterns — no breakfast, lunch on the fly or not at all, gigantic dinner followed by too many late night snacks. Secondly, though I quit a while back, I am and will always be a smoker. Every hour, every day, I want a cigarette. It’s like being an alcoholic — there is no such thing as being over it. It’s forever just one hour, one day at a time. And in third place… I don’t know… I’m torn between picking my nose while driving and farting out loud when there’s nobody around.

5. Five places I’ve lived… if you call it living. Pittsburgh PA, Richmond IN, Meridian MS, Knoxville TN, NYC (briefly) and currently Franklin TN, which is suburban Nashville. That’s six and there are more, but this question is boring.

6. Five jobs I’ve had… ran the gamut from clerk in a department store, to pin setter in a bowling alley, engineer in a major industrial plant, middle-management position for a  Fortune 50 company, and currently business owner/entrepreneur. There are several more. Perhaps one of these days I’ll find something I can do…

Now here is where I balk. I played the game. I gave it my all. And I sincerely hope that Pagan is not too terribly embarrassed or disappointed. Or sorry that she picked me. But rather than tag folks and have them stalking me for all eternity with revenge in their hearts, I will leave it for you, dear readers, to honor Pagan with a visit to her blog . If you are among the first three to read these words (I can assure you that you are), then take it upon yourself to respond as if I had tagged you myownself. Honor system, now, boys and girls…

Just as I was beginning to think I had safely hidden from all the remaining memes, here comes another one. It is not yet clear what I did to deserve this, but my new found friend, Pagan Sphinx (doncha just love that name), has whapped me upside the head with a tag. I s’pose she is working off her anger from being dragged into it herownself. Or maybe she was having a bad hair day. Or maybe I really did do something wrong that raised her ire — but I certainly don’t know what that might be. Whatever the case, I am but putty in her hands. So with that bullshit out of the way, here goes…

1. Ten years ago I was… several years younger than I am now.

2. Five things on today’s To Do list… will probably not get done. The list includes taking the dog out before I go to work, going to a customer’s site to investigate a problem that I already do not not know how to solve, returning to the office and installing hard drive upgrades in two notebook systems, call Roomie a couple of times to see if she’s OK (still recovering from hysterectomy 2-1/2 weeks ago), a visit to Waffle House and/or Donut Den, cursing spiraling gas prices and the beneficiaries of those excessive oil company profits (think Bush and Cheney for starters), and then in the afternoon I will…

3. Things I’d do if I were a billionaire… do not include working my ass off as I now do. Some things that first come to mind include paying off everything and telling all my creditors to go to hell, taking care of my extended family’s needs, including getting my Mom out of the nursing home and into a place of her own with full-time paid round the clock help. Significant donations to my alma maters, University of Tennessee and University of Pittsburgh, and setting up a major research foundation for stem cell research (go to hell, George W. Bush!). I think a new house on one level (bad knee) would be in order, something like the California contemporary that I designed and built several years ago, the one my ex stole from me. Whatever billions are left, I would turn over management of to my good friend and customer, who I believe to be one of the brightest financial advisors in the land. Then, I would have me some fun… maybe even buy that shetland pony that Santa never brought me…

… Join us again tomorrow, same time, same station, for Part Deux, the exciting conclusion of this mind expanding post …

Thanks to Jackie Sue and her cousin Big Tex for holding the lantern while I found this.

Like all of you, my email Inbox is rife with unwanted spam messages trying to interest me in everything from V1ag.r.a, spelled in a variety of creative ways, to mail order drugs from Guatemala at pennies on the dollar compared to US prescription costs, death benefit and burial insurance on my puppy, every kind of get rich scam you can think of, mortgage and debt consolidation, and of course, the gazillion different ways to grab my hard earned dollars for penis enhancement. [My mama-in-law has actually replied to some of those, to let those poor misinformed people know that she is a female and does not have a penis that needs enhancing. Heh…]

Also, like many of you, I take precautions to keep the buggers out of my Inbox, using a variety of filters at the mail server level and on computers running my favored mail client, Thunderbird. But those spam bastards are clever, always coming up with new ways to get through, by, under, over, or around any defenses put in their path. As if finding ever new ways to bug the living shit out of me will finally make me break down and click the link and reveal my credit card number to them so they can sign me up for the best opportunity in decades to grab some beach-front property on a little known but fast developing resort island in the Caribbean. As if… Right…

Occasionally one of those rogue messages does land in my Inbox where I can blow it away or dissect it to my heart’s content. I just love to see the little buggers squirm and squeal when scalpel is applied to their soft tissues. So last week I had retreived my mail and was scanning over it when this subject line caught my eye:

Average Gain is 302 Inches!!!

On closer examination… you guessed it… it turned out to be a penis enhancement scam. But 302 inches? That’s over 25 feet! I wonder if they supply a hose reel that straps around your waist…