So far I haven't been arrested for it.

Friday Morning in the Summer.

2011-08-13T10:32:00.002-04:00

There was all this screaming behind our home this morning. Like a herd of children turned loose with a bowl of sugar cereal and some redpunch. It dissipated into the morning stillness over the soccer fields behind our deck and a misty morning serenity slowly returned. Except for one kid. That kid was really having a great time enjoying its freedom. Repeated intervals of screaming, whoops and hollers caused me to mosey out on the balcony to have a look. Bubba the parrot slept out there last night. Because of the great weather we had allowed the doors to remain open and the cats were roaming in and out at will during the evening hours while we slept. The cats decided to follow me out. I greeted Bubba and he answered me "Hello, Stick em up." The parrot spotted the kitten, "Stop it." he scolded the cat. I sipped some coffee and directed my gaze toward the sounds.

There is a church across the athletic fields, the Community Rec Center has an athletic field there too. But that is not where this maniac kid was. It was in the little park the community constructed. They have swings and junk over there I think and that is where the kid was. Now the one kid was in full stride Whooping and Screaming over and over and over. Maybe it was a summer camp outing. It is a beautiful day, a Friday and just perfect to let the little bastards blow off some steam and get their energy levels depleted a little. This kid was still going strong. Now and then one of the other kids screams would join this one noisy kid's voice but they were mostly quiet. As I looked across the dry grass the small group of kids and two or three adults came into view under the trees in the community area. They seemed as if it was a summer school program or a church group, we have a LOT of that here, out to take in the scene and get a breath of fresh air. The children were following one adult who was moving away from the forested area and getting closer to the open soccer fields. Another adult was bringing up the rear and herding the reluctant children along when I saw The Hyper Kid. THK was running concentric circles around the adult leading the group he darted in and out of the cluster of children as a comet orbiting a solar system. This kid was on it.

It became evident that the shouts that accompanied THK were not attempts at harmony but actually protests and shrieks of dismay as he swooped in to harass any stragglers from the pack of kids. THK was determined to attack one child per circuit as a rogue asteroid might do to communications satellites. They were standing at the edge of the field when the lead adult grabbed THK. He took him by the shoulders and rotated THK around to face the goal net far across the fields. The adult pointed, THK looked off into the distance and sighted the white support and the net it held. The adult pointed, let go and THK took off running across the two adjacent soccer fields toward the farthest net. The two adults cheered and they encouraged the other children to raise their voices too. THK was streaking past the center line screaming the whole time "AAAAHHHHHHAAAAAHHHHHH". He was past the first field in no time. The group yelled for him to go faster. He went faster. THK was really flying now. They yelled more. I could hear them, "Yay Hyper Kid!" He reached the goal net but he didn't stop, THK circled the goal box at full speed and volume and came running back. The cheering continued as lead adult moved to intercept THK before he got back to the group. THK showed no signs of fatigue in the legs or vocal cords. As he almost reached the assembled pack of humans, the lead adult, now twenty feet in front of the group of children, huddled together for safety, started making a circular motion with his arm as if he were twirling a lasso. THK knew exactly what to do. He rounded the guy and headed off to the other end of the field again, still screaming and now waving both arms above his head and yelling like some kind of demented shaved monkey, shrieking in full gallop attacking a pile of bananas. The other kids hopped and cheered as THK swerved from their direction.

THK made another round trip between the goals. He began to tire. His arms drooped below his shoulders. His shrieks became less frequent. It almost seemed that his speed was slightly diminished. The third trip began to have the desired effect. Both adults were trying to spur THK to continue but he was definitely running out of fuel. At the end of his fourth orbit THK flopped to the ground in front of the assembled group, arched his back and with one huge scream and a spasm of his arms and legs he lay spread eagle on the grass facing the sky. The group, sensing the end, turned in unison and slowly moved away.

So parents, please give your kid his medicine in the summer too. Even if it is Friday and even if it's the other parents weekend.

Welcome Desi

2011-07-05T17:59:00.002-04:00

It has been an eventful time since we got home from Mexico. Poor Siamese got sicker and sicker. Sammy is gone now but we have a new member of our family. Desi is the new Siamese King. He is quite a handful. He knows no bounds and we hope to keep it that way. He is chewing on scattered papers, learning about how claws affect human skin and stacks of post-its as I try to type this.

photo C.L.C.

Desi may be a furry, cat, nudist. So far this kitten has slipped off and ditched two collars somewhere in the house. We have no idea where they are and he isn't telling. The missing collars coincided with his entry to the lower level where thousands of boxes, piles and storage bins attract the most surreptitious of instincts in a kitten. Desi also has developed a propensity for cream cheese. Just nuke a cinnamon bagel and he comes running. The cat wants a schmear! His affinity with cream cheese somehow also extends to yogurt. He seems to prefer blueberry over strawberry. The vet assured us that only about fifty percent of cats are truly lactose intolerant but, a fetid stench frequently emits from the vicinity of the base of his tail. The bombays appear to be most prone to opening when Desi is just about to fall asleep, which he chooses to do on the nearest available lap.

Lucy has learned to deflect his frequent savage attacks. Our nearly 20 pound Main Coon places her gigantic paw on his forehead as he tries to lever his two and a half pound body, claws extended, reach her. These sparring matches appear comical because of the difference in size and slightly resemble the Stooges. Woub Woub Woub, nyuk nyuk nyuk.

Ah fair retail.

2011-04-14T19:32:00.003-04:00

Goal Deluxe Sander Tree Beers

Won sap pun a tine dare washer ladle gull culled Goal Deluxe zoo leave din dissenter offer lodge forced widow mutter sander fodder.

Ones window ladle gull and/or pear rents swear aweigh, dare hop penned topaz buy tree beers -- ham other beer, ha dotty beer, inner ladle bay be beer.

Sea ingot dough row pin, bay be beer win tinfoil ode buys modern fodder. Dot repairs wondered true Goal Deluxe souse: day eight parch; day satin cheers; sand atlas day fellow slip into tree bids.

Wend Goal Deluxe inner mud rend fodder god hum, daze awe sun thin whirrs rung.

"Sum bodice bin neat tender parch," sad Goal Deluxe, "an day aided awl! Handsome bodice bins it ten end dough's cheers!"

Gong Hindu turbid run, Goal Deluxe led otters cream: "Sum bodice bin slipping inner bids anthers till dare!"

Herring hearse cream, dot repair sleep tout ha bet innate Goal Deluxe sander pear rents sup.

Ream embark ids: Led slipping beers lye.

Can't read it? Drag the "?" to the the "*"

Goal Deluxe Sander Tree Beers

(Goldielocks and the Three Bears)

Won sap pun a tine dare washer ladle gull culled Goal Deluxe zoo leave din dissenter offer lodge forced widow mutter sander fodder.
(Once upon a time there was a little girl called Goldielocks who lived in the center of a large forest with her mother and father.)

Ones window ladle gull and/or pear rents swear aweigh, dare hop penned topaz buy tree beers -- ham other beer, ha dotty beer, inner ladle bay be beer.
(Once when the little girl and her parents were away, there happened to pass by three bears -- a mother bear, a daddy bear and a little baby bear.)

Sea ingot dough row pin, bay be beer win tinfoil ode buys modern fodder. Dot repairs wondered true Goal Deluxe souse: day eight parch; day satin cheers; sand atlas day fellow slip into tree bids.
(Seeing the door open, baby bear went in followed by his mother and father. The three bears wandered through Goldielock's house: they ate porridge, they sat in chairs, and at last they fell asleep into three beds.)

Wend Goal Deluxe inner mud rend fodder god hum, daze awe sun thin whirrs rung.
(When Goldielocks and her mother and father got home, they saw something was wrong.)

"Sum bodice bin neat tender parch," sad Goal Deluxe, "an day aided awl! Handsome bodice bins it ten end doughs cheers!"
("Some body's been eating the porridge," said Goldielocks, and they ate it all! And somebody's been sitting in those chairs!")

Gong Hindu turbid run, Goal Deluxe led otters cream: "Sum bodice bin slipping inner bids anthers till dare!"
(Going into her bedroom, Godlielocks let out a scream: "Somebody's been sleeping in the beds and they're still there!")

Herring hearse cream, dot repair sleep tout ha bet innate Goal Deluxe sander pear rents sup.
(Hearing her scream, the three bears lept out of bed and ate Goldielocks and her parents up.)

Ream embark ids: Led slipping beers lye.
(Remember kids: Let sleeping bears lie.)****

Revenge of Kulkukan

2011-02-27T13:51:00.000-05:00

We were slightly attacked yesterday. Our aimless wandering led us deep into the Tulum Pueblo. In retrospect it may not have been a good idea rubbernecking around in a bright red, shiny Ford "Party." We were not that far from a major highway and several huge, new, modern developments in that area.

There is a New Orleans looking cemetery back there. It is made of natural stone and cinder blocks and painted bright colors. At first it gave the appearance of an amusement park or some kind of morbid storybook land instead of a repose for the remains of the dearly departed.

We thought everything was cool and that the locals were totally used to gringos cruising their turf. That's when I suddenly understood exactly where we were. We were in the hood. I had an immediate comprehesion like the feeling the captain of the Titanic had when he first saw the Iceburg. We shouldn't be right here, right now.

As we passed by two little Mayan kids standing in front of a squalid hovel, one of the little bastards chucked a rock into the side of our car. He must have been trying to break a window but it hit the metal with quite a loud bang and put a little dent below the back door handle. I took off at a high rate of speed but P wanted to stay and fight. First, it would be almost impossible to catch an 11 year old kid in his own neighborhood and what are you gonna do even if you did? Besides all that, our vehicle would become a stationary target and they might be able to take better aim at the glass.

Yankis go home! The descendants of the noble, savage, Mayans are increasingly angry at having their butts kicked by successive invaders over the last 750 years and are starting to attempt a political comeback. The Olmec tried to make a go of a civilization, they were conquered brutally by the Mayans who eventually fell to the Aztecs through political attrition. The Spanish came here and destroyed the fragile Aztec coalition in about 6 months. Now the Americans and the Canadians are kicking the economic hell out of the Mexican natives by buying up all the beachfront property and making their own ancient town much too expensive for them to inhabit. They have launched a feeble attempt to organise and are now trying to fight back. They even had a hero. This guy is an aging Che Guevara, Malcolm X type who looks disturbingly like Kim Jong-il without the hair dye. He appeared at rallies incognito then suddenly dons a wrestling mask and starts inciting the crowd. He has lightened up a lot in the last five years and rumor has it that the former revolutionary now makes a pretty good living running special classes instructing maids how to create whimisical towel animals in the new beachfront resorts.

Anyway, one of the little turds hit us with a rock.

Mexican Car do-over

2011-02-06T12:54:00.002-05:00

The car deal at the Playa Ford dealer fell through. It wasn't our fault. We checked with the Mexicans who were with us. Nobody asked for a deposit, nobody wanted to go "Write it up" or anything like that. They sold it out from under P and she was Furious about it. Making P feel powerless is not a good idea.

Immediately after the debacle at Playa Ford L took us up to Cancun. We went to the auto dealer row. It was just like Playa, the only place with a Usado section was Ford. P found a little car she liked and negotiated a deal.

P was now determined to have a car. She was on the phone to the states. Credit union, credit card company and some other places. Armed with information, L and K we returned to Cancun on Monday. They had saved the car for us and had even moved it toward the back of the lot away from the street. Now we are pretty used to Mexico but the rate of the sale was maddening! Okay P decided to use a card rather than use an electronic transfer. Good thing. As soon as they had taken the card to the cajero, returned to have P sign the form, schlepped the signed form back to the Cajero (who may have been safely sequestered in a bunker deep in the rabbit warren of offices and storerooms), they came back with an official receipt. That was when they informed us that P could not legally licence the car! P's ears got red, L started talking at a very high rate of speed and the three ladies were all waving their arms and pointing at the paper. They somehow reached a "legal" solution about how to transfer the ownership of the car to P. That solution involves her getting an FM3 visa! That solved, we asked for "la placas papel" or a "permito temporado" so we could drive home. Not quite yet. We had to come back at 5:00 just to get a receipt! So here we were in Cancun, around 11:30am with 5 hours to kill. Had she used a wire transfer it could have taken up to a week.

Bring on the Hotel Zone. We decided to go get some lunch. Where to go? Margaritaville of course. We had our cheeseburgers in paradise and a $5 milk shake (Pulp Fiction and Jimmy Buffett are strange combination but, It's Mexico) it was too early after eating to return to Ford so Costco was our next stop. P was shopping, L put on her glamorus sunglasses, found a couch display and took a nap. K and I enjoyed racing office chairs that somebody had thoughtfully left in the isle.

By some miracle the papers were ready when we returned to the dealer and they are, may, possibly, perhaps, maybe, going to deliver it, with placas, insurance and tenencia (that may or may not mean tax sticker) to the condo on Thursday. The sales lady has a FaceBook page with photos. No kidding.

The contrast to buying a car, or any business transaction, in Mexico to a similar one in the states is just astounding. It is almost as if they are designed to make it difficult to spend large amounts of money. 61 people have to sign, initial and stamp lots of forms and carbon (actual carbon paper) copies.

So today the locksmith (another story) is coming by, the maid will be here and the FM3 professional form wrangler is coming with the realtor. I am going to work on my tan by the pool until they all get here.

This is more like it!!! Happy day!

Mexican Car

2011-01-23T10:12:00.001-05:00

Wednesday was a terribly humbling experience. We are trying to buy a car. The dealers at Chevy, Nissan, Honda, Toyota, Dodge, and VW do not even sell used cars here. They only sell new. P was employed by a major international auto manufacturer so she has some experience in the business and we could easily get a new one. But for a new car to sit unused 7 months of the year would be extravagant and beyond our means. We are looking for usado or semi-nuevo. So we made the rounds with a chartered taxista acting as our guide and translator. Nobody here sells used cars? The Dodge guys talked so fast and with a different type of syntax that I didn't understand one, single, word, of what they were saying. Not one word mind you. Maybe I need some Spanish lessons!!! Only the Ford dealer has a used car lot. The Sales Lady there is a real stereotype. She was wearing way too much makeup. Her tight jeans and 5" platform sandals totally accentuated her ample J-Low, ba-donk-a-donk. To counterbalance the rearward thrust of that derriere she had shoved her boobies way up under her throat and each button across her bosom strained against the pressure. Even with glasses on I avoided getting directly in front of her. If one of those buttons gave way a fellow could easily lose an eye. She did the entire car salesman act. She winked at me and at our Taxi pilot/guide while grinning broadly to display teeth whitened by a home bleaching kit. She made sure she bent way over to write on her desk and show us her two outstanding features as well as those of the several cars that she had to sell. She even allowed P to examine her computer screen. That was it. P somehow picked out a nice little car just by looking at a 6 page list of numbers on a screen.

We needed to check out some of the used car lots in the edjio (hood) too. So we pressed on with our intrepid taxista. Out away from the tourist area we went. These cars were very used and very expensive! It seems they were the kind of dealers who have the Buy Here, Pay Here kind of car lots. The cars were way overpriced and they were terrible. Pat was a little interested in a vintage VW Bug. I got her away from it by saying that a snake was in it.

Back to the Ford store, Hootchie Mama offered to have two cars sent down from Cancun. The one car Pat really liked the look of (inventory numbers) arrived quickly. It is actually very nice. They were servicing it yesterday. We have an appointment to test drive it Saturday at 11am. Pat is working out the intricacies of a wire transfer of fundage!

When we returned for our test drive appointment they had sold the car! P is now on a mission!

Incident in Playacar

2010-12-30T22:24:00.002-05:00

At about 7:37 this morning we were catching up on the news. FOX is all we can get in Mexico so it's only one side of everything. I was enjoying some delicious, nutritious, breakfast pastries in the kitchen and looking at FaceBook. P was sipping her coffee con crema on the couch and commenting on a story about a ski lift collapse in Maine. The doors to the three balconies and the warm Caribbean breeze was gently flowing through the condo whisking away all remnants of our unseasonably cold weather from the last few days.

Suddenly P let out a shriek and leaped to her feet. A micro second later a combination of sounds assaulted the morning still of our tropical retreat. The bedroom door, caught by the breeze, had slammed shut on the last 1 1/2 inch of a Siamese cat's tail. He spun his wheels to free himself but left a sizable hunk of fur remaining in the door. Siamese has retreated under the bed to recoup his dignity and to adjust to what I believe to be a permanent crook in his rearmost appendage.

How to go away for the winter.

2010-11-12T15:16:00.001-05:00

Set your dates. This could involve several factors. Airfare, occupancy, relatives, doctor appointments or weather. Last year we spent more on changes than on the actual cost of a flight.

Start tanning. Get a decent base to ward off the effects of the tropical sun. El Sol is very strong in the tropics. It is totally unbelievable how many people we see with debilitating sunburns. They can't be thinking too clearly. Why spend a few thousand bucks and get crispy on the first day. Fake Bake!

Figure out how to get to the airport. lately the easiest and cheapest has been to rent a car one way, leave it at PHL and return the same way. This year it is a little different. We need to find a rent a car near Amish Country. We might have rented a horse and buggy easier. We found good rates at a regional airport near our home. But they aren't open on Saturday. The two day rental is still cheaper than other places so we took that. Asking your friends for a ride means that you will eventually have to return the favor. Letting your kids know where you are going means they might show up and join you. So, rent a car.

Airline tickets, were easy this year because we used frequent flyer miles. That was a great deal. We always check how much for an upgrade. The first class seats were exactly the same amount of miles as coach! Great deal from US Airways. Except the cats cost $125, each cat, each way.

To get from CUN to the condo, we decided to rent another car. By the time we would haul all our luggage (including a George Foreman Patio Grill), cats, Christmas lights, chocolate vodka and other crap to an overpriced airport taxi, private shuttle or (our usual) ADO bus it is easier and less expensive to just rent a car. We have learned to wave down a porter to carry our stuff through customs and out to the curb. We won't need to mess around with taxis once we get to the condo. We can use the car to go to the grocery, Home Depot, Sam's Club, restaurants and all the other running around we will need to do. We rented a Mexican car for a week for around $200. Once our supplies are laid in we can sit back, hunker down and start to enjoy the weather. Simple as that.

Feliz Navidad and Ano Nuevo amigos.

Waiting for Mexico

2010-10-22T15:25:00.001-04:00

Right now that is how many days we have left in the United States this year.

The leaves are starting to turn and fall.

The water lines are blown out and the pink antifreeze is ready to be injected into the camper pipes.

Our Migration instinct is full on now! We are restless and fidgety, it is too late in the year to actually start anything new except Christmas Shopping.

The Hawaiian shirt with Santa Claus has suddenly reappeared after a 2 year hiatus in the moving crate. The cat travel containers are on display so the livestock doesn't freak. That was the big deal last year, flying into Cancun with two cats was a learning experience to say the least. But we did figure it out on the way home. Just assume the attitude of the guy on the commercials. You know, that guy. He is the most interesting man in the world. Just start giving orders and they all think you know what you are doing and give you more service than you request. Also a 50 peso note can't hurt.

We are getting way better with this trip. Forget trying to haul anything around by yourself. That will be especially true this year because we are taking a George Foreman Grill with us. Brand new, in the box, patio style, stand up, grease reducing, electric grill for the condo. We found it on sale and they are totally missing in our section of Mexico. So we had to buy it. Aduana has a policy of allowing 10 times the amount of stuff into the country at Christmas. We are bringing it. And the cats. And the netbook. And my Medicine. Good thing we are sitting in the front.

I love first class. The service starts at the curb. The baggage handlers treat you different as soon as they see your first class designation. We will have a completely (short) line to check in. No extra fee for our foreman grill. Our luggage and our grill will get festooned with a sticker designating it as Special.

We don't even have to sit and wait out there in the main concourse with the other people. We will hide in the first class lounge. They actually come and get you and surreptitiously escort you to the airplane. We will be chugging our first cocktail behind the privacy curtain while other passengers are jockeying for position and trying to cram their crap into the overheads in the back. Up front we will have plenty of warm towels and snacks served in little baskets about once an hour. Our private potty is still fresh after 3 hours and there is never a line to use it. The best part about first is the seats. They are 30% larger and recline flat. NICE!

The service doesn't stop once you arrive. We will walk off the plane as three or five cabin monkeys block the rest of the 287 passengers jostling for their stuff in the overhead. Our luggage comes off before everybody else. Stay thirsty my friend. Travel heavy.

Next, How to go to Playa the easy way.

Zopilote

2010-10-01T00:45:00.000-04:00

Traveling west across the Yucatan Peninsula in a rented Jeep with the top off. This car had TOURIST written on it in big red letters. It might have said AVIS but it is essentially the same thing. We chose to take the Cuota or toll road because of the lack of decisions and fewer obstacles. We were frequently amazed at the appearance of a person pedaling a three wheeled vehicle (two wheels in front) along the shoulder seemingly in the total middle of nowhere. I have since looked at maps and Google Earth and there is nothing there.

So here we were heading across the scrubby 20 foot tall forest at about 120. In American that's about 72. We had the road pretty much to ourselves. In the distance ahead we could see moving objects in the curb lane. Whatever it was seemed to be hopping back and forth across that half of the highway. As we approached the scene it became evident that the animals directly in our path were birds. Big birds. They were having a feast on some kind of road kill.

P was looking off into the distance at this vulture buffet as I moved over to the passing lane to avoid the mess. We were still about a half mile away when one of these primitive bastards decided to take flight. The biggest one hopped a few times toward us, flapped his 6 foot wingspan once, twice and began veering into our lane. The other creatures had stopped eating to watch their giant friend take off. WHAM. We clobbered him. He rolled across the windshield and blew up and over the jeep. She ducked, I already had my head down by the steering wheel. We were both trying to avoid the red shower of blood and guts. The whooshing sound of feathers blowing the wrong way and screeching claws like chalk on a slate assaulted our ears as the bird tumbled by only inches over our heads. She turned to watch the carnage on the road behind us while I looked in the mirrors. The other birds wasted no time splitting into two groups. They were feeding on our boy before he even stopped rolling.

One wiper was a little bent. That's it, one bent wiper arm. One recycled vulture. We were not covered by the half digested offal upon which they had been feeding or the resulting excrement which should have been exponentially worse than any seagull guano. No mist of ultra fine blood particles resultant from our high speed collision on our clothes, up our noses, on our teeth and RayBan sunglasses. Easy Peasy. All done. A clean get away. Just keep going, pressing on across the flat limestone based gnarled jungle towards the site of the meteor impact that instantly assassinated all the dominant species on the planet millions of years ago and toward a big, frozen drink with fresh fruit and a cherry enjoyed under the thatched roof of a Mexican beach bar.

Assateague Island

2010-09-13T23:08:00.002-04:00

We finally made it back to Assateague. The bugs weren't too bad at all. Our friends arrived shortly after we got there. After a nice night we were up and at the beach early. After a perfect sunny day we all decided to head for dinner and a walk on the O.C. MD boards. The next day we watched a couple set up a brand new, teeny tiny pop up.

The rangers were very specific during the check in process at the campground office. No booze at all (except in a motorhome) or coolers outside. They also had prominently displayed on the bulletin board in the office, horrifying photos of several little girls with sweet pink ribbons in their hair. The girls had been bitten by horses. Each horse tooth mark was dripping blood. It is amazing how well horse bites show up on the freshly sunburned skin of a 12 year old girl.

Several snapshots in full color were also posted of a horse, dead or dying. He had been hit by a car. Very strange how only the whites of a horse eye showed after being clobbered to death by an automobile. Posted directly next to each other the photos are otherwise unrelated. The mother of the kids who were brutally attacked did not run down the pony. The volunteers actually seemed surprised at the question. "What?" I needed to repeat. "Is this the horse that bit these girls?" I pointed at the carcass of the two tone animal. He needed an X in the pupils to look more bizarre.

On the third day we saw 3 horses across the street, at the tiny pop up site . The horse trio was a burglary crew. One just ate grass and distracted the people. While the other one opened coolers and feasted on the contents. The third watched out for Mr. Ranger.

The owners of the pop up were going berserk. The guy went into the camper and tried to scare off the horses. The dude somehow felt protected by a gossamer layer of nylon mesh screening. He rattled, waved and shouted at the marauders without effect.

The horse spotted the cooler and went to town.

Dude was freaking! So was the lady.

He sent her to get the car and run down the four legged beast.

He indicated for her to gun the motor and smash that foul demon from hell. That is appropriate punishment for licking ice and munching a few carrots out of a cooler.

They finally moved away, mission accomplished!

Thank goodness for the mechanized infantry.

So What!

2010-09-08T10:08:00.003-04:00

Burn the Koran! Whatever you do, don't offend the poor peaceful Muslims. They are protected under the law for some reason or the other. Let's be totally politically correct here.

Maybe they are actually really nice people. Kind to women and children and tolerant of all nationalities and other religions. That punishment of 90 lashes and stoning is very fine for a woman who has shown her face in public. The bitch asked for it. Don't you agree that we should protect the muslims, allow them to burn symbols of the USA and encourage freedom of expression?

This is the kind of advertising that was prevalent during WWII. We are fighting a war right? The enemy is "Them" right? So what if we offend somebody. We should be killing them, with kindness maybe? Not. FTW.

This is America. We are the most powerful country in the world. Ever. We are allowed to offend anybody we want to. We can take over countries and give them back. We shouldn't get pushed around. Go ahead and burn any symbol you want, you are an American. Burning draft cards was a temporary sensation. The bra burning thing was great too. They burned all kinds of books and even set fire to all those ugly witches in Massachusetts. Personally I am totally relieved that epidemic was stopped in it's tracks before those nasty Salem Witches could take off and start breeding all over the place.

We should stop acting like such pussies right away. All we need to do is blow the living daylights out of any location we even suspect may be harboring terrorists, rebels or whatever. The people running away from the bad guys would be a dead give away. They know that we won't blow up a school. That becomes a good place to use as headquarters. Bullshit. Reagan parked an aircraft carrier offshore and dropped a few bombs in Omar Kadafi's back yard. That shut him up for 25 years. That kind of negotiating works.

I know how to win this war; Build a great big electric plant. Start broadcasting TV, hook all the kids up to Wii and iPods. Park everybody in front of a great big TV set and turn on Real World, Jersey Shore and Gerry Springer. Crank up the air in the homes and make it intolerable to go outside. Fill the youth of that country with sugary drinks, carbohydrates and give away free cigarettes. Be aware of all the pictures you see from the middle east. No wonder these people are angry. Of course they are pissed off, they live in terrible conditions! Dust all over the place, no ice, definitely no martinis and you can probably forget all about limes or olives. How about a supermarket, nice cool shower and a FEMA trailer from Louisiana left over from Katrina?

Supply them with Ramen noodles, Easy Mac and white bread. They NEED McDonalds too. How about some plumbing? They would go for an actual toilet upon which they could sit. A few Corvettes spread out to the natives who become narcs wouldn't hurt either. After a few months of advertising we could escalate to total warfare. Bring in NASCAR, Coors light and maybe a golf course here and there. Pick up the trash, bulldoze the hovels we see on TV.

Resistance is futile, you will be assimilated.

Pitching a tent

2010-08-23T00:46:00.000-04:00

Have you seen the new Cialis commercial? It starts out pretty normal but quickly turns into an old fashioned, heavy duty, acid trip. Not that cosmetic junk that just kind of made soft glows around the edges of things and rainbows over headlights and street lamps. Or the product of incomplete synthesis hastily made in some basement washtub desperate dealers would try to pass off as mescaline. Whoever created this commercial must have found an old stash of sugar cubes or Orange Sunshine Microdots. Now, I have no personal experience with any illegal substances but my friend did a mess of that stuff, all the time, and told me about it.

Everything goes all surreal right after the guy lays eyes on the widely grinning female. The voice over is hawking the pill. "When the moment is right..." croons the announcer in soothing, confident, dulcet tones, "you can be ready." That's when the visual fun starts. The video becomes slightly cartoonish. It isn't too weird as to be completely like a claymation movie but enough that you can tell it's not real.

The background then begins to all shift and smoothly slide around. A cabin appears then sort of unfolds and dissolves into the suddenly absorbent ground. In its place is... a tent. Get it? The guy is pitching a tent! The tent pole is plainly visible where the door of the little house was only seconds before. As the breeze slightly parts the entrance of the tent more things get melty and begin growing from and retreating into the lush green strands of the surface. Bridges appear and arch spans a sparking stream which is obviously flowing uphill. Trees and grass blossom and grow before our eyes as the happy couple walk hand in hand over the hobbit terrain out of the frame and directly to the twin bathtubs which have become the trade scene for this product.

Why are they in separate tubs? Is the message here that boner pills should be mixed with some four-way window pane? Why does she look so happy, thankful and relieved 12 seconds before anything goes on? Why the bath? Maybe she looks like a glazed donut considering the powerful psychedelic properties of this new wonder drug and needs to rinse.

Stranded at home?

2010-08-13T23:36:00.000-04:00

The motorhome is at the hospital. We bought the extended warranty and plan to use it. This traumatic action is prompted by the refrigerator recall. So, as long as we are taking it back to the dealer we might as well get the rest of our little problems fixed at the same time.

The effect of not having a place to get out of the sun, eat lunch or just watch a little TV while at camp has had a terrible effect on me. Only one place to live? No diesel powered 3 TV man cave? Camp has become a really great place to get away. The maintenance there is about zero. Every once in a while I spray the gravel with round up to murder anything that might be sprouting. It is fun to gather a few sticks which have fallen from the trees and burn them in the fire pit our friends gave us. Once a week or so somebody has to walk around to pull the lever which drains the holding tanks into the stinky slinky RV sewer.

The Red Castor Bean plant is starting to erupt into a very wild looking piece of vegetation. They are having a nice party Saturday and another one on Labor Day.
Maybe even a showing of Rocky Horror on the fence between the indoor pool and the tennis court. Who knows, we might even watch RHPS from our own golf cart.

Basically nothing is happening. Yet...

Your approved!

2010-07-26T11:42:00.005-04:00

Out on the highway we saw a big sign over a used car lot. It said "Your approved." Now let's not be snobby but come on, that is just wrong. The word "your" and the "you're" are different words. "Your" is an adjective that describes something relating to you. "You're" is a contraction of "you" and "are." It is not that complicated. I think that a sign printer should at least have a grammar checker on a laptop or a basic working knowledge of our language.

And... how about all the other stupid stuff in our language. It seems that a lot of it is creeping into general usage. Some of it works and some of it sounds weird. The overhead announcement at Wally World said "Wearing our jeans, you will be representing." Uh, representing what? That was it, just "representing." What is that? Since when does the Colonel "do" chicken? "Do" as a verb meant something else in starting the 60's. "Virtual" had another, different meaning too but I don't remember what it was. "Actually" is now all over the place. The guys on "This Old House" use it in every other sentence. "Soul Patch" is pretty unusual. My dad had a different word for that little beard right beneath your lip. If anybody uses "axe" in place of "ask" I either hang up or turn away. I am afraid to type more about that, it may be illegal. "Unibrow" is discriptive. "Ba dunk a dunk" seems to be a long way to go for "butt." I like "application" but using "yo" at the end of a sentence, not so much. More incidences of "or", "our" and "are" transpositions have begun to show up. Nobody seems to know how to spell on any internet forum. The word "definitely" gets butchered all the time. "Too", "two" and "to" is also often abused.

Our library here in town featured an opportunity to have your photo taken and travel document application printed for free. Somebody had removed the letter "p" and differently spaced their marquee sign. It now read "ass port night, we take photos." Yesterday I was in a men's room and saw that somebody had altered an obscenity written on the wall. We are in Amish Country so it shouldn't have been too surprising. They had carefully converted the word "F**K" to "BOOK." How about that?

Let's not even discuss prepositions. They are bad things to end sentences with.

We can skip apostrophe abuse too.

No story, just pictures.

2010-07-18T23:02:00.000-04:00

Anybody know where we were camping?

Pirate, caught me they did.

2010-07-07T18:06:00.001-04:00

My Internet Service Provider sent me a letter yesterday. It seems that they are in communication with FOX Searchlight Films. I have been busted attempting to download the movie "Avatar." This action has apparently caused an international reaction.

I did follow a link like... THIS.

My feeble attempt at using a subterfuge of technology was futile. I did get a bunch of files and some kind of information but it wasn't Avatar. I wanted it to be Avatar but no, it would not play. Like in the movie "The Fly" where Jeff Goldblum was all over the place, Avatar was too. So I just forgot all about it.

But that big giant iMac didn't forget about it. It ratted me out. That must be why the screen comes to life in the middle of the night. Some Steve Jobs software fingered your friend and humble narrator. It let them know I am a (attempted) Pirate. The built in camera is pointing directly toward the bathroom I use! It led them right to our little town. File sharing! And 3:45 am peeing! They have a FBI task force for it now you know (not peeing). Oh the shame, disgrace (file sharing).

On the news the other day they showed a couple who were Russian Spies! They had been here for like 20 years, living, breeding and spying on all of us. Did they leave their spy ISP addy on a server someplace too? Do they have to get up in the middle of the night to take a squirt? FOX nailed them too I bet. How about Bin Laden? I bet he surfs the net and downloads lots of camel pictures or something. He has bad kidneys right? He must pee like a race camel all over the place. They could probably just follow his DNA in the sewer and find him. Where is a real life CSI counterpart? Go get him (Bin Laden).

Oh hell, can Terrorists read this? It's okay, as a Pirate, Ready for them I am. Closing the bathroom door I will be.

Out of fuel?

2010-06-26T08:51:00.001-04:00

We took off from Tennessee around noon heading north east. Every surface inside the camper is sticky and the potty needs a break from all the work it got from the little grand kids. We bypassed Nashville and got on the Western Kentucky Parkway. Now, she kept on saying that we should refuel. The little voice in my head was saying stuff like, "Don't be such a pussy." "We still have a hundred miles left in that tank." And "We can get much better prices a little farther down the road." So I kept going. The Low Fuel light was blinking intermittently but the gage read almost a quarter tank.

We turned off the W.K. toward a big diesel sign. At the top of the exit ramp the steering suddenly required a great deal of effort and the coach was not responding to desperate, repeated jabs of very firm pressure on the accelerator pedal. Luckily the fuel station was all downhill. We coasted about two thousand feet, right to the one diesel pump and rolled to a stop without applying the brakes.

We filled the tank. It took 86 gallons to top off our supposed 100 gallon fuel tank. But the engine would not restart. We read the manual and re-primed the fuel pump but to no avail. Calling several road service guys yielded advice to use ether to start the engine. The Quickee Mart sold starting fluid. Stuck at the pumps in Central City Kentucky would be a bad place for a Yankee to start huffing my way an Ether Binge. We also have ice, lime twists, vermouth, Ketel One and a cocktail shaker. But I resisted the urge to shake up a Bone Dry martini.

So we waited for road service because I couldn't find the air intake into which I would squirt the starting fluid. When the guy did show up he lifted the bed to examine the Cummins diesel under the bed and began to slightly dismantle the fuel pump. He kind of resembled Jed Clampet's poorer, less sophisticated, relative. The road service vehicle was a 18 year old dark blue Lincoln Town Car with black interior. They had all the windows open despite the brutal heat and 100% humidity. His bride/cousin waited in the passenger seat while we searched for the air filter. There was fuel at the pump evidenced by the copious amount of liquid released when he twisted a bolt on the fuel pump. Proof that our priming efforts were successful. This dude pressed his greasy, fuel soaked hand, up under his nose and sniffed his fingers like an eighth grader after his first make out trip to home base. He took another big whiff then waved his hand at me, "This kerosene?" I turned my head away and assured him that the pump said diesel fuel and had a gigantic nozzle, way too huge to fit in a car tank. After he looked carefully at the pump he muttered something about "ul tra looow sul fur smells fun knee." This guy was like a Wine Expert only for Diesel fuel! We began our collective search for the air filter anew. We discovered it under a screwed on panel and saw the air intake is up on the roof at the back of the coach. "Thars where I haf ta go." He instantly scampered up the ladder to the roof, squirted the starting fluid down the air scoop (who knew) and the thing roared to life. His picket fence grin flashed broadly "Thar she goes. Runnin' now." We were quickly on the road again. This guy was that good!

Trying to make up for the 4 hours we lost in the fuel station we pressed on into the night. Kentucky and West Virginia had lousy road marking and visibility was greatly diminished by sheets of driving rain and huge, blinding lightning flashes. We drove on to about 1:30 or 2:30 am depending on which time zone's jurisdiction we were. We slept at a truck stop just south of Cincinnati among 200 big rigs. P said she would never be able to get to sleep because they ran their engines all night. She was unconscious in 4 seconds!

We have a lot of cleaning and maintenance to do when we get back.

Armadillos and Cat Turds

2010-06-15T15:39:00.005-04:00

Our trip home through the outer regions of the civilized word was destined for trouble from the start. There was a part of Georgia we passed through that was very hilly. That road was so steep they had thoughtfully provided a place for slower drivers to pull off and allow braver people to pass. We also drove by HUGE confederate flags flying over single wides elevated on stacked cinderblocks. There were hundreds of Armadillos lying lifeless by the side of the road. We saw at least 50 Florida Citrus Centers, Plantation Peach Outlets and Big Daddy's Fireworks tents.

After the gigantic hill we approached an intersection. It was not a right angle crossing but shaped more like an "X." Having just gone about 100 miles at 25 miles an hour the stop sign really didn't register. P lifted her foot and squirmed in her chair. "Stop..., stop sign..., STOP!" Oh hell, that's me... she's talking to me. So I jammed on the brakes. All kinds of stuff began moving around in the back of the coach. Beer cans were rolling in the fridge, pet food sliding, parrot wings flapping, waterbowls sloshing over.

This is the sudden stop I was worrying about. Maybe I should just remove my foot and hurtle right on through the 4 way stop? How bad could it be? We have out of state licence plates. The flat grassy intersection was deserted. I was seriously considering ignoring the stop signs completely. P was bracing for some kind of disaster. Her shoulders were up and she had a very firm grip on both arms of her seat. She was struggling against inertia by bracing both her feet on the floor of the coach. Just then a very distracting thing happened. A cat rapidly came toward the front of the coach accompanied by a strong obnoxious odor. He was sort of leaping as he desperately tried to control his trajectory. He bounced off the CD player with all fours then landed against the windshield in a crouch as we screeched to a stop. Siamese had a funny look on his face and his posture was not the best. It soon became obvious that the cat had been in the catbox during the panic braking. Poor little guy was hanging a rope just prior to the application of the brakes which caused his immediate, untimely, ejection from his sandy commode. One little log was still dangling from his chocolate starfish. He was cowering against the glass with a pained expression on his cat face and scuffing his butt from one side of the coach to the other while leaving a pathetic, spotty, beige, turd particle smudged, putrid, skid mark across the top of the dashboard.

"Pull over", she said.

Made it!

2010-05-31T21:45:00.006-04:00

Here we are in Ponciana. A suburb of Kissimmee Florida. It is raining like a bastard. The campground is full and the hotel rooms are completely sold out. It has rained like this almost everyday. The guy camped next to us muttered something about a "water leak" and is now mysteriously gone.We have learned to get up early to get our sunburn out of the way before noon. Our campsite (116) is almost as far away from the pool and bar area as possible. Why do we worry about getting soaked after getting right out of the water? We do. The rain also limits our menu choices. Cooking a steak over a gas grill under the cloth awning is ill advised.

We only had two incidents on our way down here. Our fueling stop was at a Flying J. They have a special island for motorhome diesel. It is cheaper because it has no extra road use tax. We were in that lane. The pump malfunctioned. The guy behind me was impatient because that was the lane that he wanted to use to dump his poop tank. He was furious at me. He impatiently tapped his Sperry Topsiders and put his hands on the hips of his neatly pressed chinos as he hissed something about how long of a process this was becoming. Who cares. He is way overdressed for turd herding anyway.

We were hurtling down 95 about 63 mph just south of Daytona when all of a suden, out of nowhere we were suddenly jolted from our hypnotic driving trance and assaulted by a horrendously loud, eardrum rattleing, insanely high-pitched, almost hypersonic, wailing sound. Like a carbon monoxide detector gone mad or Satan's own teakettle furiously boiling and wailing for relief from the flames. Imagine a silent dog whistle for a 27 foot tall mutt. "What is that?" P leaned forward and looked up. "WINDSHIELD!" Screeeeeeeeeeee I know the prisoner dolphins in Sea World heard it. She gestured up at the corner of the gigantic glass panel in front of her. Screeeeeeeeeeee "IT'S LOOSE AGAIN." Oh hell now what do we do? A sign appeared over the interstate. Rest area 1 mile. We pull in to the rest stop, get the ladder out of the storage and duct tape the windshield. That's it. We drove the rest of the way in comfort. We have an appointment to have it fixed when we leave here. There are a bunch of love bugs stuck to the part of the tape that blew back and exposed the adhesive to the insect world.

American Automobile Association

2010-05-18T10:23:00.005-04:00

We are still getting ready to drive to Florida. Even though Disney didn't work out we are still going. It is a nice time of year and after all we have been home for almost 6 weeks. In a row!

This expedition requires a lot of getting ready. Preparation for this trip has divided itself into several sets of tasks.

Food is a biggie. We are not towing an extra vehicle behind us. That means that we would need to have about a week's worth of food. We have stocked up on PB and J, pop tarts, microwave popcorn, rice krispy treats and hamburger helper. Maybe a few steaks, pork chops, burgers and hot dogs for healthy meals.

Pets are another necessity. The parrot cage is all set up. The cat box fits perfectly under it. That should keep all the animal poop mostly in one place given no sudden stops or reckless driving maneuvers. Livestock food is stored under the bathroom sink. Which category is that?

TV is the other biggie. The DVD VCR is all installed. It works the flat panel over the drivers seat, the 13 inch in the back bedroom and the great big dinosaur 29 inch outside, in the patio storage area under the floor. There is no satellite receiver to go with the dish mounted on the roof. The TV switch board is still kind of a mystery but hopefully we will decipher the functions of those little push buttons when we get wherever we are going. Most campgrounds have cable available up so that means we get to run yet another wire from the back of the coach. Along with the sewer hose, electric cord, special white drinking water hose we will now have a TV cable to deal with. With the TV outside we will be able to enjoy the great outdoors while enjoying our healthy red meat dinner.

We have 100 gallons of diesel but the propane is getting low. There is construction along part of our route. The propane distributor is on a section of road that will allow us (me) to avoid the construction zone and driving on the skinny lane diversion. The mirrors have already been repaired several times. We will get refilled on that other road for sure.

The route selection process is very tedious. There are lots of route mapping web pages. The one from Bing maps looks good but it's 38 pages long. We sat in the Diner yesterday where P suggested AAA. Great idea, they have all kinds of travel stuff, we paid already and it might be fun trying to figure out where the office may be. Our GPS took us right to the AAA office. They had 30 parking spaces, well marked and wide open. Hey that's a break, we should be able to great service. In and Out, nobody here. We walk in, exchange greetings with the nice lady at the counter and take a number as directed. As we stroll to the back of the office the lady calls us over and asks how can she be of service. She pulls map after map from her well stocked drawer, hands us a few large paperback TourBooks, CampBook and a pamphlet about Road Service options from AAA. Armed with all this literature in a slick AAA plastic bag we got back in the van, started our GPS and headed home.

Wait... GPS! We need maps why? No wonder they were not busy and so well stocked. I'll let you know how this goes.

Screwed by THE Mouse

2010-05-07T14:03:00.006-04:00

We are getting ready to drive the camper to Florida. I made reservations at Walt Disney World Resort from Playa. It really was a great deal. After shopping for different dates when the park attendance was low we found low rates. We got; 6 nights in the Walt Disney World Campground at a deluxe campsite, 6 day Park Hopper tickets with 2 quick serve meals and two snacks apiece for each of those 6 days and a Disney version of a Bubba Keg. On top of all that they promised a $500 cash card to use inside the park. We could buy meals, booze, t-shirts or rent a Segway and ride around! The invoice showed all this listed for $1200. Now that's a good deal.

The next morning I checked the reservations to show P the great deal I got from Disney World web site. But they were different! I called (from Mexico) to get the facts about that. The guy at Disney Reservations told me that in order to receive the $500 cash card we had to reserve 6 days in the park. It was the same price as the package I ordered from last night so I readily agreed. About 10 minutes later the second confirmation e-mail was delivered.

Of course it was not to be. Somewhere between Mexico and Philly they decided I was getting too good of a deal and they sent Tinkerbells friend Turd-kerbell to see me. That's right, the Shit Fairy visited my little section of Disney reservation land. Those dirty bastards changed my reservations. So I called up and talked to Moniquea or somebody. She insisted that I had made reservations for a cabin and denied that the guy who guaranteed me a $500 cash card even existed, no less talked to me. even if he did promise me a half a grand he "Was just talking."

Okay stay calm, I tried not to go all New Jersey on her and just hung up. I looked on line at my Verizon Wireless bill. There was a 16 minute call to Disney! Right in my e-mail were the two (2) confirmation receipts. So I looked on line to see who would be the person to best handle this Cluster Fuck of Confusion. I wrote a very polite letter to Meg Crofton, President of Walt Disney World Resort and mailed it to her office. I had a copy of the phone bill, a copy of the legal paper I use for a phone log, printouts of each confirmation and the invoice showing exactly what I was getting ripped off.

Three days later some Goofy (get it?) bitch calls me. She is calling from Meg Crofton's office and wants me to explain the problem to her. "Don't you have my letter?" She did have it and she assured me that her reading skills were above average. "I want you to honor this reservation." She launched into a detailed oratory of her extensive knowledge of the inner workings of Disney's reservation system. She said that the guy I (never) talked to "didn't have the authority to offer" me a great deal like that and he only dealt with dining reservations. So she knew who promised me the package!!!! Here comes the Jersey.. "So what." She sucked air, "Excuse me?" I explained that "He offered it to me and I bought it and now I want it and, I have a receipt." She went off again, her lilting voice repeating her memorized operation policy and saying some other wild crap about the offer never should have been extended to guests of the campground and the grass is green and the sky is blue and fish swim and... That's when she got it, "Cancel."

She asked "What?"

"You heard me." And just then, through no fault of my own, the one phrase I had been consciously trying to avoid came rolling out of my mouth, "Fuggetaboudit."

"You want to cancel your reservation? For only $1467.09 more you could have everything you wanted except for the gift card."

The flood gates opened, it was all down hill from here. "Okay, you don't read too good, now you got trouble hearing too? We . are . not . coming. Gimme back my money."

She was shocked "You want to cancel?

"Hey are you stoopit?" I sounded like Rocky Balboa to myself now, "Look Muffie, We . are . not . comin', got that?"

She indicated that this time my message had gotten through. She seemed amazed. It was completely out of her paradigm that somebody would blow off DisneyWorld. Do they often more than double the price of a vacation and get away with it?

I didn't tell her to get f#^(ed or anything like that, she had a six hundred dollar deposit and i want it back.

SNORK

2010-05-03T13:23:00.003-04:00

Here is the snorkel trip report from Feb 11, 2010. The day started with a pickup from OXXO. They pulled up in a big bus. There were 4 people on the bus. We made it 6. That was the entire crowd, 6 people. We got to the marina quickly. One guy got off the bus and greeted our host. Pepe said Hi to everybody but he remembered us from last year! We got hugs and the super deluxe Mexican hand slap greeting. Pepe made sure everybody filled out our forms and drank a drink. Good start at 10:00 am. Pepe kept handing everyone drinks all day long. He was non-stop. Even if you didn't order one they kept coming. So okay now it was time for everybody to get on the boat. He was herding us. We walked out to the Pier onto a very nice tri-maran. As we exited the harbor Pepe told us it was okay to start enjoying our special trip option. They drove us around a bit and gave us our flippers and snorks. I guess our boat must have had something special about it because we attracted so much attention. Four other boats with scuba divers came up next to us and waved. Also 2 or 3 wave runner parades came by and one flotilla of little speed boats followed their leader right past us. Most people seemed to be very interested in the make and model of our boat because they smiled and waved to us and inspected the vessel very closely, but others just kept their eyes straight ahead.

After our crew dropped the anchor we all put on our vests, masks and fins. We looked really funny wearing that stuff out of the water. Soon after we got in Pepe started yelling to come to his location. He grabbed the camera from me and took off swimming fast. We followed him closer to the reef. He had spotted a sea turtle! Hopefully the pictures will turn out. (They didn't) The weather was a little cloudy so the color of the water was only just beautiful. Spotting the turtle made up for that. We saw an big angel fish too. Lots of Jacks and millions of those yellow and blue fish were around all the time. Pepe had a bottle of fish food he was dispensing. He even caught a fish with his hand and held it above the water for a second or two, Just long enough for a picture.

Okay enough snork. Pepe wanted to know if anybody wanted to ride the spinnaker. They thrash you all around violently til you fall about 20 feet back into the Caribbean. Nobody wanted to do that. The captain got on the radio to make sure our lunch would be ready. We pulled up at a lonely spot where a grill and table with tablecloth was awaiting us. There was something special about that deserted spot too. Our chef and his two assistants had prepared an impressive feast for the 6 of us. Hamburgers, hot dogs, ribs, chicken and two kinds of tacos. They had pasta salad, lettuce, tomatoes, salsa and some Mexican condiments on the side. We hung around on that beach for about 2 hours. I also think there was something interesting in the sand because during all that time about 8 people came by. They were really staring hard at the sand even though we waved at them.

That is when they ran out of rum and started feeding me vodka.

UPDATE
February 2011

Experience is a great teacher. This time our new underwater camera went directly to the hands of Pepe. He was gracious enough to snap a bunch of photos, some of which are posted here.

Please comment!

Cured!

2010-04-29T23:19:00.011-04:00

The absolute best way to get to The Hospital of University of Pennsylvania (HUP) from Lancaster is by Amtrak. It is deceptively expensive however. Parking at the Lancaster train station is $5. The half of a 3 X 5 card taped to the parking meter post says, if you plan to park there for more than 3 hours it will behove you to find the dude in the shed and pay him. The Lancaster, PA Amtrak station is under construction and there are about 8 little sheds with dudes in them. Careful inspection reveals only one with an electric wire running to it. That is where I went. The guy inside was only visible from the bridge of his nose to the baseball cap. Kind of like the neighbor on Tool Time, or a superhero, Parking Lot Man! Or a super villain. Mysterious Dent In My Car Man! I don't know, but his voice is familiar, "Its five bucks, for the day." Who is that? "You over there?" the eyes glanced toward my car. After I assured him I was between the lines, I took the receipt and headed for the train. The ticket agent inside asked for an photo ID and $36? But people buy tickets on the train. "They don't need an ID. They are already on the train." Stephen Wright! The guy in the shack sounds just like the comedian. I know now where Stephen Wright spends his time off, in the shed at the corner of the parking lot in the Lancaster, PA Amtrak station.

I had a good time waiting in the station. Everybody was texting or calling somebody and looking at the schedules until the train comes. This one is an express, we make one stop at Paoli and we are soon gliding though the badlands of north Philly on our way to 30th Street Station. Perfect timing, the $2 University City bus is waiting right outside and I was crossing Spruce Street 9 minutes before my appointment with the guy who sliced 3 levels of cancer riddled lymph nodes out of my neck. No waiting in a crowd for the elevator to take us to the 5th floor. Only an hour and a half on the plastic chairs to get the anti-histamine and numb stuff blown up my nose holes in a little room. The Dr. breezes in about 35 minutes later, glances at my chart, clicks some stuff off on the computer and says "We call this a cure." He might have said more. I do remember saying thanks. He was matter of fact. I was no longer interesting to him. Cured. Dismissed.

Apparently I came back because here I am. Cured? No cancer? Ha Ha HA. How about that? It feels weird. Not bad weird but nice. Better than graduation or a divorce. Kind of a tattoo that nobody can ever see. Like when you have a real good lawyer who gets the charges dropped or when a cop pulls over the guy driving right behind you. It's like the Sound a bullet makes when it goes right by, close. There is no other sound like that in the world. That is exactly what the Doctor said Buzzzwwwwrrrrssssh.

Trapped

2010-04-22T09:22:00.004-04:00

The cats have fleas. At least Siamese has fleas. We are not able to burrow all the way down through the fur to check Maine Coon's skin. We will assume that they both have them.

Off to Soriana supermarket to get some flea killer. We found beer, roasted chickens, cat food (but no litter), olives stuffed with cheese or anchovies or tuna. Where is the pet stuff? When we did find the pet isle. They have all kinds of dog stuff but they act as if having a gato for a mascota is kind of foolish, having an inside cat is very silly and worrying about it having fleas is bordering on insane. The cat supplies take up about the same amount of shelf space as bird seed and fish food combined. P looked on the bottom shelf under the leashes, rawhide chewies and dog bones and found the flea powder. Flea, by the way is "pulga." She found the flea shampoo and the flea powder. Talco antipulgas y antigarrapatas. We brought it back home.

The instructions on the can of powder prompted a flurry of activity among the English speakers here at the condo. The instructions on the flea powder direct us to... evitando los ohos (eyes), oidos (ears) and el hocio. What the hell is a el hocio anyway? Now we don't just run to the phrase book right off. It's way more fun to holler out off the balcony "Hey what is a hocio?" That always prompts a response from somebody. They usually say "A WHAT!?" "Hocio." "Hocio?" we repeat back and forth. The next group process is trying to decode the meaning of the word by context. After we all decided we didn't know that word, we finally looked it up. It means "Snout or Muzzle." Go figure, don't get the flea powder on their snout. Duh.

Okay, this morning it was time to clobber Maine Coon with the toxic powder. So I took her out on the back balcony. The one overlooking the street. I had some cotton shorts on. That's all, but they have pockets so I was decent enough at 7:45 on a warm Sunday morning to just jump out there and powder the cat and come right back in. Did you ever hear a sound that registers way back in your lizard brain but all the stuff going on around you kind of forces that important noise out of your stream of consciousness? That is exactly the kind of sound the sliding glass door made as I locked myself out on the balcony with a recently powdered 19 pound cat. I peered inside the apartment. I could see P. She was way off in the kitchen at the counter, checking her e-mail and having a cup of coffee. Tap, Tap, Tap, on the door with the flea powder container. Maine Coon was shaking and rubbing against the railings. A cloud of flea powder drifted by. Some of it got on my Hocio! Tap, tap, tap, tap! WTF? P didn't move. Bang, bang, bang. She sort of turned her head a little, or was it only wishful thinking on my part. Maine Coon joined me in wanting back inside. Meow! Boom! Boom! Boom! Would the glass break? Can the people getting in their cars below see up my shorts? I got away from the edge and smiled sheepishly to the family down there on the street. They had been alerted by my frantic scrabbling and Maine Coon's helpful wailing. "Hola, buenas dias." MEOW! P was suddenly at the door laughing as she let me in. She was looking past me. Who is she talking to down there? Our neighbor was returning from his walk. Maine Coon and I retreated inside as P exchanged environmental information with our perambulating friend. "Nice day huh?" "It's a warm one."

From March 7, 2010

Lawn guys

2010-04-16T22:11:00.002-04:00

New lawn guys came the other day. They showed up early and got right to doing weird stuff. I was parked in the driveway in the camper because there is so much stuff going on in the house. Son and company are working like crazy. They are keeping the business open and remodeling all at the same time. No small task. Anyway the kitchen is piled high with stuff from the shop and there is one big, immovable tote in there. So no kitchen.

From what I understand new tenant had to wage a chemical battle (sorry) against Fuzzy Fridge Syndrome. The shower has therefore become a recovery area for some plastic vegetable drawers from the bottom of my Super deluxe, high capacity, Kenmore, which are were obviously casualties of that battle. So no shower.

Even if the couch were accessible it would be impossible to see the TV due to a pile of boxes golf clubs and snowboards, so no TV, couch, or living room.

I’ll just stay in the camper, in the driveway. The one neighbor seemed very interested. But the lawn guys didn’t seem to notice. They arrived and un-hitched their trailer full of stuff. Right across the driveway, directly in front of the motorhome. I had another cup of coffee and watched the start of Cheaters. The one guy started raking around the bushes. Truck Man drove away leaving him to rake all by himself. Truck Man returned with a little uncovered load of coffee colored mulch. Truck Man now began to trim bushes. He was very enthusiastic about the shrubbery, which he truncated by hand with those long bladed chop chop things, rather than a gas powered trimmer, which his partner indicated with a shrug that he did have in his possession. The raker guy was re-raking the areas around the shrubs to collect the trimmings. Truck Man had somehow evolved into a hybrid of Edward Scissorhands and Freddy Krueger and suddenly attacked the center of a 6-foot tall hedge along the driveway.

“Whoa Cowboy! Take it easy there will ya.” I admonished as he continued to mutilate the middle of the hedge. This guy was chopping a hole right in the through the bushes. Rake man sheepishly began picking up severed limbs with bare hands.

“I am supposed to make it so you can walk through.” He looked at me with a totally blank stare. Must-Cut-Hemlocks. I could read his mind.

“Not the middle of the hedge genius, how about right there? See the sidewalk? They walk through there.”

Truck Man had chopped a BIG hole in the hedge 4 feet from the sidewalk! Maybe he didn’t see the concrete path just 2 steps away? And he was still chopping!

“Stop it.” He still wanted to discuss it further but I just pointed with an upturned palm and turned away. Raking guy had come around to my side and was standing there shaking his head and sheepishly trying to hide the severed branches. I had these hemlocks professionally pruned last spring. They had been coming along pretty good up to now but I think they are goners.

Sick?

2010-04-14T21:25:00.000-04:00

Sick? No, can't be. I really don't remember the last time I had a cold. Trying to remember what it's like is kind of weird. Not that I haven't been ill during that period of time. But this is the first snotty, coughing, sneezing, wheezing, just let's stop here a minute and sit down, kind of of a cold in at least 6 or 7 years. We had to go to Chedurai today. I have been waking up in coughing and full blast nose blowing mode for the last few days. Usually a few cups of full caffeine Mexican coffee brewed with our super deluxe bottled water has done the trick and we have been off and running in no time. Not today.

Not that there were not magnificent occurrences today. There were. The condo buildings are arraigned in sort of a wedge formation. The four buildings surround our pool and palapa. A little alley bisects the rectangle of our lot. It leads from the street to the pool and separates buildings B and C. There and on the corners of each building is where the sewer runs. Rather than use a round manhole the builder has utilized these square lid things that cover a collection box where the sewer pipe changes pitch or direction. And that is where about 8 or 9 of us gathered this morning, when the exterminator showed up, to witness Cucaracha Carnage. They were gigantic, red, winged bastards which scurried willy nilly when he applied the poison. It was quite a sight. The Insectador went from one box to the next on his murderous rounds followed by a small crowd of maniacally grinning North Americans carrying their morning coffee or cocktail while enjoying the sociability and witnessing the macabre scene unfolding inside the roaches private, fresh, hell.

The next fantastic thing was the return of the water guy. He is now trained to bring our 20L jug of water up the steps and carry it into the laundry room. That is the coolest thing ever for 22 pesos, about $1.82usd or $2 with tip.

Anyway, we need more coffee. So we went to the supermarket, and I almost had to just sit down and take a nap right there. The realization came to me in a moment of clarity, I am sick. Hey, this is Mexico, they have all kinds of over the counter medicines. Where is the pharmacy department? The guy at the supermarket drug store rattled off some rapid fire Mexican gibberish as I coughed and thumped my chest pantomiming plague. Blah hoogie aloogn humma druwo boohaha grip? Yeah, that's a word I know, grip, except they spell it with an e at the end. He reaches way over the counter toward my knees and grabs a bottle of Latin American NyQuil from my side of the display. Esta? No, anti-biotico, por favor. Ah! Si. he is off behind the counter like a shot, searching the rows of shelves for a specific box. Aqui, senor, he points to the box he retrieved, obviously pleased with himself and his diagnosis, Bristol-Myers Squibb. That's a good sign. Ampicilina. Ah ha, Ampicilin! Here we go. Let's see if it works. I feel like hell.

from March 10 2010

2010-04-12T00:50:00.002-04:00

Republican Party Reptiles

2010-04-11T23:12:00.001-04:00

What I'd really like is a new label. And I'm sure there are a lot of people who feel the same way. We are the Republican Party Reptiles. We look like Republicans, and think like conservatives, but we drive a lot faster and keep vibrators and baby oil and a video camera behind the stack of sweaters on the bedroom closet shelf. I think our agenda is clear. We are opposed to: government spending, Kennedy kids, seat-belt laws, being a pussy about nuclear power, busing our children anywhere other than Yale, trailer courts near our vacation homes, Gary Hart, all tiny Third World countries that don't have banking secrecy laws, aerobics, the U.N., taxation without tax loopholes, and jewelry on men. We are in favor of: guns, drugs, fast cars, free love (if our wives don't find out), a sound dollar, cleaner environment (poor people should cut it out with the graffiti), a strong military with spiffy uniforms, Nastassia Kinski, Star Wars (and anything else that scares the Russkis), and a firm stand on the Middle East (raze buildings, burn crops, plow the earth with salt, and sell the population into bondage).

There are thousands of people in America who feel this way, especially after three or four drinks. If all of us would unite and work together, we could give this country... well, a real bad hangover.

P. J. O'Rourke

Jaffrey, New Hampshire 1986

Benefit

2010-04-10T00:17:00.007-04:00

We went to a benefit for Doctors Without Airfare or something. We were sitting at a table on a low Caribbean boardwalk along the beach watching the band. A couple came up and leaned near us. They were still down on the beach. He was flashing money all over the place and fumbling around in his pockets. She had Chinese eyes and was pretty stiff. You know, her knees were totally locked and she had one of those store window mannequin grins pasted on her face. This attracted my attention totally. Banged up drunk and about $1500 US floating around. Hello! He went off to buy another round. She staggered over to a beach chair and collapsed. That left their pathetic pile of plastic shopping bags, broken sea shells and empty bottles all alone. Not too far from my right foot. Interesting huh? Before I could devise a cunning plan the dude staggered back. He stood for a moment pondering through a fruity Margarita haze about what was missing from his new home base there in my little section of boardwalk. He gazed blearily up at me, blinking because the sun was at my back, wondering where his besotted lady friend was. The band had been joined by "Barefoot Skinny." The guitar player slid his way to the third chorus of Folsom Prison in a very thick Spanish accent. "...yest tooo wach hieem dieee..." My mind wondered to thoughts of whether the RF energy of those speakers would affect Skinnys pacemaker visibly protruding beneath the skin exposed by his unbuttoned oxford shirt. I glared down resentfully at the drunk guy before gesturing toward his girlfriend who was by now lying on her side burying a pathetic pile of pink vomit with sand beside her tan plastic lounge chair. He shrugged at me and staggered over to her, collapsing in the lounger next to hers for a little nap. While he slept she alternated building a 3 foot high pink barf castle and tending to her shredded, bloody shins with sand covered fingers.

I like it here.

Lunch in Playa del Carmen

2010-04-08T08:13:00.011-04:00

We went on a quest for a lampshade yesterday. Our Neighbors gave us a ride to the Mega. Mega had none. We walked to Wal-Mart. None there either. Trying to walk all the way to Chederaui was futile. We ended up at a restaurant on Avenida Juarez having lunch.

The circus is in town. We were eating our lunch at El Sarape on Juarez. A clapped out, faded, rusty circus vehicle drove past us out on the street. It was a small flatbed truck with a cage on the back. Closer inspection revealed a pair of gigantic scruffy tigers lying on their sides napping down the main street of town like nothing. I shouted "Tigre!" and bolted to my feet for a better view. The mexican customers and the waiters went on full alert.

But they didn't look toward the street where I was pointing but rather started checking back towards the banos and under the tables. Like maybe a 500 pound tiger had somehow slipped into the restaurant unnoticed by the guys out front and was lurking in wait for somebody to take a leak. I repeated "Tigre, Tigre, mire!" waving my arm towards the open wall of the restaurant and the street. Two waiters saw the truck and repeated "Tigre, circus." to the other waiters, busboys and cooks to calm them and confirm I was not a total lunatic and that it was still okay to go pee. Few minutes later very nasty looking Hispanic half clown walked by. This guy was wearing big, chartreuse clown shoes which sort of flashed as he heel-toed down the 2 foot wide park strip they use for a median barrier and the standard horizontal striped shirt, high waisted pants with suspenders. His only other concession to clowndom was his hair. He had two bleached out yellow pig-tails up on the top of his head. It gave the appearance of a demented big shoe human with giraffe fuzz horns. The rest of his hair was either short or slicked down.

Toward the end of our meal another circus truck rolled by. This one was filled with long tailed monkeys about the size of fifth graders. These were particularly nasty little bastards. One glance revealed they were hardened by years of imprisonment and looking to extract revenge on our species. A few of them were scowling and reaching out though the cage frantically scrabbling clawing the air trying to reach the people on the street while the others were frantically searching the floor of their mobile monkey cell for a previously undiscovered piece of excrement to hurl at an unsuspecting pedestrian as the cage rolled by on the street. I refrained from any outburst but did alert P. Of course she cried out "Monkey!" at the sight of this freshly visible reeking atrocity. Her outburst prompted another sudden search of the premises for any wayward monkey that might have been under the tables, hanging from the rafters beneath the thatched roof, hiding behind a counter or of course, hunkered down near the bathrooms.

We had a nice lunch and forgot all about the lampshade.

3 march, 2010