All We Are is Sheets in the Wind

It's funny how some mundane things strike a chord while other, more socially significant, things may not.
Yesterday, I needed to paint over the drywall repair that "Paco" did on Tuesday. Unlike "Paco", I wanted to make sure I didn't make a mess, so I went searching for something to use as a drop cloth.
Wifey keeps a stack of rags in the laundry room that includes old towels, worn out sheets, old t-shirts, etc. In her stack of rags, I found what I needed, an old sheet. But it wasn't just an old nondescript white sheet. It was a queen-size, floral print sheet that I remembered sleeping under for many years.
As I unfolded it, my mind raced back to the many times I unfolded it and spread it on our bed. That, in turn, reminded me of all the bedrooms in all the houses we've lived in since that sheet was purchased, probably 20 years ago. I actually felt a little guilty about spreading it on the floor. It seemed disrespectful - like using "Old Glory" for a drop cloth.
I was extra cautious with my painting so that I didn't drip anything on it. When I finished, I folded it neatly and tucked it back in the stack of rags. Rest well, old friend. You've earned it.

Paco, the Messycan

The drywall contractor who did the original work on our house didn't like our builder. Likewise, our builder didn't like the drywall contractor. Consequently, when we told the builder that some of the drywall tape was coming loose where the roof trusses create a seam along the top of the stem wall, he couldn't get ahold of the original drywall guy to come fix it. After several weeks of waiting, Paco, a different drywall contractor, showed up yesterday to fix it. I'm glad I was home to clean up after Paco. He said, "Dees may be a leetle messy", and it was.
First, he brought in his step ladder. The ladder had so much dried paint and plaster on it that chunks were falling off with each movement. The same went for his pants and his shoes.
Next, as he tore off all the old tape, dry paint and drywall mud came with it. Flakes of paint and plaster were dropping all over the place. I followed along behind him with the vacuum and cleaned up as much as I could.
Then he unrolled long strips of seam material and cut them to length.
Next, he mixed up a batch of mud (on the front porch, thankfully) and spread a layer on both sides of the seam. As he spread on the mud, he set the long strips of seam material on top of it.
Once that was finished, he started over again, spreading a layer of mud over the seam material and feathering the edges.
He waited about 20 minutes after that step before spraying on texture from aerosol cans. I am still finding tiny little drops of texture material on the floor and furniture.
This morning, I took our year-old cans of left over interior paint to the hardware store and had them shake them up for me. I came back home and painted over the ceiling half of the new surface. That was fairly easy. It was white on white and it didn't matter if I slopped a little over onto the wall. I realized however that my 5 foot step ladder will not work for the rest of the project as the wall portion will require much more careful painting since it's a different color.
So, that's where I am right now. I'm researching the cost of a 10' step ladder while the ceiling paint dries. Lowe's and Home Depot both have some for $160-$200. Oh well. We needed to get a 10-footer sooner or later anyway since that's the only way to reach the smoke detectors mounted near the peak of the 14-foot ceiling. Sheesh. It's always something.

The Mayor and I are Just Like THAT.

I've just about had it with middle-of-the-night train whistles. In fact, I think train whistles should be banned 24/7 from all crossings already protected by cross-arms/lights/bells. If a stop sign is sufficient warning to prevent me from pulling out in front of a loaded semi going 65 MPH, why must cross-ams, lights, and bells be supplemented with a 20-second, 113db, blast from a train whistle to prevent me from driving around the cross-arms and into the path of a 15 MPH freight? It makes no sense. But isn't it typical? We subject everybody within a 2-mile radius of every crossing to whistle noise because some moron might deliberately drive around the cross-arm and collide with a train!
Train whistles at crossings are an outdated and unnecessary holdover from the days when none of the crossings were equipped with safety equipment. Heck, with the proliferation of cell phones and 2-way radio technology, they probably aren't necessary to signal startups and backups anymore.
Anyway, I went before the city council last night to urge them to impose a nighttime whistle ban at the crossings near my neighborhood. I was invited to speak by the city manager, who also lives near the crossings. He feels the same way I do, but felt like his motives might be suspect if he were to make the appeal.
I got there about 15 minutes before the meeting started and sat nervously going over my notes. About 5 minutes before the meeting started, I saw the city manager and went over to say, "hi". He asked if I had already "signed up to speak". I didn't know what he was talking about. He said there is a clipboard outside council chambers that people who want to address the council are supposed to sign. I went outside and found the clipboard on a shelf that is normally strewn with tourist brochures, realtor cards, newspapers, etc. The sign up sheet was there, but there was nothing to write on it with. As I was looking around for a pen, someone handed me one with a big plastic flower taped to it. I wondered if it was the "official" sign up pen, or if this person was "Chuckles the Clown."
I signed up, went back inside, and took my seat just as the mayor called the meeting to order. He started off by asking everyone to join in a politically correct prayer substitute "moment of silence" - which lasted about 20-seconds. Next, we all stood up and said the Pledge of Allegiance together. It felt really awkward. I haven't said the Pledge of Allegiance in a long long time. Then we got down to business.
The mayor announced that three people signed up to speak to the council. He went on to "remind" us that we each have 3 minutes to make our comments, "and he'd be keeping track of the time". THREE MINUTES?!! Nobody told me I had to limit my comments to 3 minutes! I had no idea how long my comments would take. 'Talk about panic! I thought about what I should eliminate from my speech to make sure he didn't cut me off before I covered the real important stuff.
The first speaker wanted to present a couple of awards. That took about 6 minutes. (I guess the time keeper can be distracted by pats on the back.) The second speaker was concerned about infrastructure. I thought she raced through her presentation to get it all said in 3 minutes... just like I was going to do. Then, it was my turn.
I walked up to the podium and started. I skipped my opening humorous commentary on city hall and went right to the issue. I got it all said, pretty much in the order I had planned, and thanked the council for the opportunity to bring the issue before them.
The mayor thanked me, then turned to the city manager (my cohort) and asked if he had time to pursue the matter. The city manager said, "Yes I do, mayor."
BINGO!
Let's review how politics works:
First you make it difficult for anyone who isn't already "in the know" to get their appeal before the council. (Sign up sheet amongst the clutter. No pen).
Next, you throw up an arbitrary road block or two (3-minute limit).
But that only applies to anyone who doesn't already have an accomplice on the inside.
For the rest of us, the seasoned lobbyists, the fix is already in. We just start the ball rolling and the rest is as good as done.
So that's how politics works, boys and girls: Remember, it's not what you know, it's who you know.

"I canno' take it any longer, Cap'n!"

I can't believe how low my tolerance is for high temperatures! It got up to 88 degrees yesterday and I was miserable. If a central air conditioner salesman had stopped by with an offer to install one for the price of a small country, I probably would have said, "What are you waiting for?!!"
On average, we have less than two weeks with temperatures above 75 degrees all year, so I should be able to tough it out. Shouldn't I? Fooey! I want my air conditioned! I want my water softened, and I want my lawn automatically sprinkled! Gee, am I spoiled, or what?!

Tangled Webs

As Sir Walter Scott so aptly stated: "Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive."

I just got off the phone with the police officer who responded to my noise complaint last week AND the animal control officer who responded to my dog poo complaint the previous week. NEITHER ONE ISSUED THE NEIGHBOR A CITATION. Her claim that, because of my reports, she's struggling to pay $160 in fines turns out to be a complete fabrication. She must crazier than I thought.

The animal control officer said they do have records of previous violations against the family and a note in the file about their lack of cooperation, but she didn't write them a ticket.

The police officer said he stopped by three times since the night of the noise complaint to speak with Mrs. Nutjob but she was never home. So, obviously HE didn't write a ticket.

One of the "good" neighbors stopped by this morning and asked me if I knew anything about a car that has been parked, facing the wrong direction, in front of Mrs. Nutjob's house for the past month or so. I said that I didn't know anything about it and I hadn't paid any attention to it. An or so hour later, a squad car pulled up and the officer left a ticket on the windshield. 'Guess who's gonna get blamed for that one!!

My soulmate thinks the universe is trying to teach me something about dealing with crazy people or control issues or assertiveness or I don't know what. I think the universe is just messin' with me, again. A pox on thee, universe!

Dreams Really Do Come True

I found a nasty note from our neighbor on our front porch this morning. She said that I am the reason her son MOVED OUT!! Yippee!! Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hal-leeee-luuu-jaaaah! According to Mrs. Nutjob: Her son has been so stressed out worrying about me calling the cops or animal control that he couldn't take it any more.
That's funny, he didn't seem too stressed out last Saturday night when the dogs were running around the neighborhood while he and his buddies were having an under-age beer party in the driveway (mom had left town on Thursday morning and didn't come home until Sunday night). In truth, I think something else entirely is at work. It just so happened that the dad, who moved out 9 months ago, showed up unexpectedly Sunday morning. When he got out of his car he saw the beer cans and the door that had been left open all night on the son's van. He took one of the beer cans, closed the van's door, and went inside. I don't know what happened after he went inside. The next day however, I noticed the son's van parked around the corner from our house and out of sight of his mom. The son's girlfriend got out and walked around the corner to the say something to the mother. A few minutes later, the mother backed out of their driveway and roared out of the neighborhood without even glancing at the van, or her son, as she drove past. As soon as she left, the son pulled the van around the corner and into their driveway. He and the girlfriend went inside for a few minutes, then came out and drove away. A few minutes after that, the mother came home. The son hasn't been around since. Does anyone else think maybe the dad attacked the mom for letting the kid have a beer party, so she blew up at the kid, and he decided to bail out? Who knows... and WHO CARES?!! I just hope he doesn't reconsider and move back.
She also blamed me for being fined $160. But she didn't say what the fine was for. I'm going to speak with the police officer who responded to my noise complaint last week and the animal control officer who came out a couple of weeks ago to warn her about letting their dogs crap in my yard. I didn't get the impression from either officer that they intended to write a citation on the first call. So, I wonder if she PO'd one of them enough to result in the fine. If it came from the animal control officer, I hope she has deep pockets, 'cause the dogs still aren't under control and I won't stop reporting them until they are. It amazes me why she hasn't figured out that leashes only work when they're attached to the dogs (all three of them). 'Dumb bunny.

Three Things to Think About

The following was forwarded to me a couple of months ago. I think it's pretty good. That's why I'm sharing it with you now. 'Sorry for the delay.

Three Things to think about:
1. COWS
2. THE CONSTITUTION
3. THE TEN COMMANDMENTS

COWS - Is it just me, or does anyone else find it amazing that our government can track a cow born in Canada almost three years ago, right to the stall where she sleeps in the state of Washington and they tracked her calves to their stalls? But they are unable to locate 11 million illegal aliens wandering around our country. Maybe we should give them all a cow.

THE CONSTITUTION - They keep talking about drafting a Constitution for Iraq. Why don't we just give them ours? It was written by a lot of really smart guys, it's worked for over 200 years and we're not using it anymore.

TEN COMMANDMENTS The real reason that we can't have the Ten Commandments in a courthouse........You cannot post "Thou Shalt Not Steal," "Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery" and "Thou Shall Not Lie" in a building full of lawyers, judges and politicians -- it creates a hostile work environment.

Deadwood Dirt

I just (expletive deleted) watched the (expletive deleted) entire first (expletive deleted) season {all 12 (expletive deleted)episodes} of Deadwood on (expletive deleted)DV (expletive deleted)D. Whew!
At first, I thought the language was just plain disgusting and unnecessary to the plot. But as the episodes wore on, I came to believe that creator/writer/producer, David Milch, was using language as part of the scenery. It was supposed to be disgusting, vile, filthy, and without redemption - just like Milch's portrayal of Deadwood and its early inhabitants. If my great-grandfather had been a Deadwood pioneer, I would not be pleased with Mr. Milch's depiction of him.
So, I was somewhat surprised to read all the glowing reviews of Deadwood on the IMDB web site. Even people to claimed to be current residents or descendants of "Deadwoodians" talked about how great the performances were and how finally someone told the truth about the old west. Baloney.
I think the guy who played Seth Bullock was about as one-dimensional as an actor can get. He always had the same expression on his face. He looked like a deranged young Jack Nicholson with John Wayne's swagger. Jeez! Even the real Seth bullock probably smiled once or twice in the course of a day.
The same goes for Calamity Jane. I think I've seen high school girls do a better job of acting butch.
Ian McShane, as Al Swearengen, was a villian's villian. If only his part could have parted with the profanity long enough to let him add another dimension to the character.
My favorite character was Jewel, the crippled cleanup lady in Al Swearengen's saloon/casino/brothel. Jewel was played by Geri Jewel, a lady who really is suffering from cerebral palsy. Her character never gave up thinking life was worth living and worth enjoying.
I thought about checking out the second season episodes. Then I saw that I'd be number 24 in the queue. So, I'll settle for what I saw and leave it at that. I'd call it a great premise buried beneath a pile of profanity as deep as the muck in main street.

Crossroads

I feel I'm at a crossroads in my life right now. I got here by having too much time on my hands since I retired. I feel like I've been sitting at the intersection for more than two years and I need to move before I'm run down.
One road would lead me back to the workforce, almost any workforce, where I would need to be somewhere doing something besides hanging around the house.
The other road would lead me toward activism of another sort. I see now why so many geezers get a reputation for being cantankerous. When you have lots of time to watch the world go by, you see plenty of things to get "cantankerous" about. So it follows, some of that leisure time can be used to step up to the plate and let the world know how you feel about it. For example:
This week, I volunteered to assist a group called Semiahmoo Peninsula Citizens for Public Safety. It's a grass roots organization represented on both sides of the border from Surrey, B.C. to Birch Bay, WA. It's purpose is to alert local, county, state, and federal authorities to the danger of transporting hazardous material by rail, through population centers, along an unstable shoreline. The objective is to force the railroad to relocate the line through rural areas approximately one mile inland. Not only does the relocation make sense in terms of safety, but it would open miles of shoreline to development or public use. So far, I've written to our mayor and each city council member, our Congressman, both Senators and the Federal Railway Administration. I still need to compose a letter to the Editor to drum up more public support.
I also wrote to the FAA this week regarding low flying aircraft over populated areas, specifically, my neighborhood. A simple restriction to maintain runway heading until leaving 800 feet AGL would alleviate the problem as it would ensure aircraft are at least 1,000 feet above populated areas as required in the FAR's.
I enjoy being cantankerous. It's a lot easier than going somewhere to work every day. But I'm not so naive as to think any of my efforts will have positive outcomes. If that's the case, why am I wasting my time?
So here I sit, watching the world go by, feeling cantankerous, and feeling left behind.

Wal-Mart Wars

My appreciation for those opposing Wal-Mart just went up a notch.
According to a study done by Penn State agricultural economists (printed in the August edition of Discover Magazine), "Food stamp usage DOUBLES in Pennsylvania counties with new Wal-Mart stores. Low wages and the collapse of mom-and-pop local business networks are to blame."
Prior to today, I didn't have a problem with Wal-Mart. In fact, I thought they epitomized several ideals of American capitalism: Competition, innovation, expansion (risk), selection, and service.
I thought, "What's not to like?" So what if mom-and-pop can't compete? The two or three jobs they provide in their little family-owned shoe store will be replaced by 50 or 60 jobs in a Wal-Mart and the shoes will cost 30% less! Everybody wins!
But it's not that simple, is it.
I got to thinking about my new friend, 80-year old Murray Goff, and his family-owned clothing store where I live. Murray runs the store, along with his wife, his son and his daughter-in-law. He knows a lot about the clothes he sells and he uses that knowledge when helping customers. Murray sells a lot of Pendleton clothes, made in America, along with some that are probably made in Indonesia. He buys local advertising from the local paper. He hires local plumbers and local electricians when repairs were needed. If Wal-Mart put him out of business, there would definitely be a ripple effect. Some would say it was more than a ripple - more like a tsunami.
Maybe I'm just romanticising, but I don't want to see more mom-and-pop stores replaced with Wal-Marts across the country.
I won't shop at Wal-Mart any more.

Hokey Smokes, Bullwinkle!

I realize that very few readers remember Rocky, the flying squirrel, saying "Hokey Smokes" to Bullwinkle J. Moose, but it seemed like an appropriate exclamation for the following story:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/13556129/

I had no idea! Maybe that's a good thing. If it was on a collision course with Earth, I'd probably be better off not knowing.