Write Something Stupid

Write something stupid. What a great phrase. You see, if you could hear me say those three words out loud I could give them at least two different meanings. It’s either for me to write something that IS stupid. Or I could be calling MYSELF stupid. In either case that is exactly what we have here today. A stupid writer writing something stupid. Stupid is as stupid does, Forrest. We all know that groups are sometimes named. A murder of crows, a pride of elephants and so on. When I worked for big radio I would refer to a group of salespeople as a stupid of salespeople. This probably explains why I no longer work in radio. And why salespeople don’t send me Christmas cards. I commit stupid on average at least five times a day. But my brother in law took the stupid crown away from me for a while the other day. We will call him Mickey because that is his name. He lives with the long suffering wife’s sister who should be a saint by now. Mickey is the most generous person I know. The guy would literally give you the proverbial shirt off his back. So when his wife, due for immediate canonization upon her passing, mentioned she was about to call a relative, Mickey leaped to the portable phone and quickly dialed the number for her. I told you he was a helpful guy. Except in this case it didn’t work out so well. Recently Mickey bought new cordless phones. In his haste and unfamiliarity with the technology Mickey dialed 911. Then, when they answered Mickey committed his second stupid of the moment. He hung up without saying a word. You have to admire the diligence of 911. They called back immediately. Of course Mickey wanted nothing to do with the phone at this time. His wife (you are now seeing why she is a candidate for sainthood) was left to answer. The dispatcher informed her that the Pennsylvania State police were on the way. She assured them that all was well and explained what her well meaning but technologically challenged husband had done. The dispatcher was not entirely convinced and suggested that it would be best if the Staties came over and had a look see. Using a tool known best to wives the world round she made her case to the dispatcher. “STUPID, STUPID, STUPID” she roared at Mickey. “Now the State Police are coming.” I can envision the 911 dispatcher trying not to wet themselves. The promised visit from the long arm of the law was called off. It’s now been strongly suggested that Mickey refrain from dialing. I could be wrong.

Dead. Your dead?

Having attended many St. Patrick’s day parades in Scranton in my day, I have seen my fair share of the inexplicable behavior that results from the consumption of too much alcohol. Hell I’ve seen that sort of behavior at office Christmas parties and backyard barbeques for that matter. There is nothing like a shot or two of Ye Olde Stumpblower to set the inhibitions aside and get to the real feelings inside.
A songwriter name of James McMurty said it quite nicely in a song called Too long in the wasteland. “Whiskey don’t make liars, it just makes fools.”
Of course history has long chronicled the rich, powerful and successful who had a close and personal association with John Barleycorn. Winston Churchill (his friends called him “Winny.” No wonder he drank) has been chronicled as being pickled from the moment he got up in the morning until he staggered into bed. But he never shamed the British Empire by trying to blow a dead opossum.
There is a school yard insult about having oral sex with a dead dog but in polite society one never does that sort of thing.
Opossum are generally disgusting even while living. I trapped one once in an effort to catch a squirrel that was trying to make his home in our home, something which infuriated the long suffering wife. The havahart® live trap snared the critter instead, which smelled like it was dead, made hissing noises at me with bared teeth when I tried to free it and was not a happy experience overall for either of us.
So knowing how unpleasant contact of any kind with a living opossum while sober is, I have to just admire the level of intoxication that Donald Wolfe displayed when he allegedly tried to resuscitate a dead opossum with the breath of life.
The story, which was widely reported, had Donny being observed giving mouth-to-mouth to a long dead opossum which was road killed on the side of a highway in Punxsutawney Pa. Witnesses including a State Trooper saw him conducting a “séance” with the dead critter and the law enforcement officer is quoted as saying “He did have his mouth in the area of the animal's mouth...I guess." I think it was a noble attempt on the part of the trooper to save a shred of dignity for Don that he “guessed.”
It may be just coincidence that this occurred in the home of the most famous groundhog in the world. Sure. That’s it. Coincidence.
“Phill….is dat youse, buddy. Oh Phillll…what de hell happened to you? Oh my gawd. Phillll! C’mere little buddy. I’ll (hic) save youse. Phil!. Breath for me pal!!”
I could be wrong.

I'm Dickens, He's Fenster

Did you ever have one of those perfect days? You get out of bed in a good mood. You shave yourself without opening a vein. The breakfast is made without setting the house on fire or dropping it on the floor. On the way out the door the birds are singing a merry tune, the sun is warm on your face and the car starts on the first try. It’s the perfect day. Yesterday was the anti-day of that for me. 180 degrees reversed, like the creepy episode of Star Trek where everyone had an evil twin. Sometimes you have days where you can do anything. Yesterday was the day that I once and for all decided that I can do almost nothing. It’s another home handyman disaster story, folks. It started last fall where I decided to shut down my studio above the garage for the winter. Too much other work on the other jobs. So I drained the toilet, opened the faucets and shut the water off. Turned the heater off and forgot all about it. Yesterday I decided to turn it back on. I carefully (heh) looked over the plumbing. Then turned the water back on. The shut off is in my basement. Studio is a minutes’ walk away. Took my time. Was greeted at the door of the studio by “Agnes” the remake. Sprinted to the house. Fell partway there and knocked the wind and what little sense I had out of me. I shut off the water and returned to the scene of the crime. Expensive microphones were floating around. A pipe that was perfect when I checked it now was clearly not. So I went to the hardware store and they sold me a plastic fitting to fix it. Would probably have worked if I didn’t snap it in half. Now comes the real bad idea. I got the propane torch out, blew the cobwebs off it. The little bastard would only stay lit if I held the barbeque lighter to it. Awkward. Burned myself. Set the plastic drain pipe for the sink on fire. Threw everything into the trash. I was scared to call the plumber. The last time he charged me the 401 k and a quart of blood. A colleague “knew a guy” and he actually showed up, did the fix and charged less than the travel time of the last bandit. I remarked to him about how inept I was. His comment? “Some people are good at some things, and not others.” I thanked him for his well meant condescension and decided then and there that I would stick to what I know how to do well. Naps. Lunch. Dialing 911.

Snow Job

Some random thoughts about the recent snow. The weather forecasting business must suck. When they are wrong and they are wrong more than they are right, they get kidded unmercifully about getting paid to be wrong. When they are right they are the messenger you want to shoot. After a couple of swings and misses over the past winter they nailed it last week and we got crushed. It seemed on Thursday that they had missed again but by Friday when it had snowed constantly for 48 hours we were in deep do-do. In fact the do-do was so deep that the U.S. P. S. said “Uncle” instead of "Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these courageous couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.” To be fair that is not even their motto. Some Greek guy coined it. Probably doesn’t even snow in Greece. So schools were called off both Thursday and Friday and cruising the blogosphere I see people hating the “snow school” announcements on the TV and the radio. I was in radio for more years than I choose to mention and trust me, reading school closings is worse than listening to someone read school closings. In this day and age with you kids and your fancy email and texts it does seem as useful as mammary glands on a bull. But the one year we eschewed the tedious reading and asked anxious kids and parents to go to the web site, the ratings went down. And back on the air the closings went. Other rantings on the internet were hating on the plow guys. In some posts that I read violence was suggested after the plow went through and buried the freshly shoveled driveway or sidewalk. I myself wondered at the timing when I unburied my mail box for the third time (a futile effort – see above) to return to the warm and cozy house only to see my work undone by the big yellow truck. Two things to remember here. First: The road must be cleared. The mailman might come! And secondly it’s basic physics. The snow on the road when pushed off the road must go somewhere. Chances are it’s going on the side adjacent from whence it came. Physics don’t know it’s your driveway/sidewalk/mailbox. Physics does what physics does. Get over it. Suggestion: Wait it out. Shovel once – later. Lastly a shot across the bow of the annoying neighbors kid who spent this summer noisily clearing a hillside yards from my at home office to make a snowboarding area. I work from home. I’ve not seen it used. Once. What a waste. I could be wrong.

Change the channel, please

Watching local TV has always been a guilty pleasure of mine. I guess it began when I was a young sprout growing up in the granite fields of Vermont when television was something of a novelty. Our first set was a converted oscilloscope that had a green circular screen the size of a tea cup saucer. I may be exaggerating. I think it was smaller. The first TV newscast I saw originated from Poland Springs Maine. You may have enjoyed the water. Channel 8 WMTW got the “MTW” because at the time they had their transmitter site on top of Mount Washington where one of the highest winds on earth ever was measured. The guys who ran the gear lived on the mountain for most of the winter as the way up or down was pretty much impassable. One of them gave a weather forecast from the mountain. Wore a bow tie, a white shirt with a pocket protector full of pens and pencils. He looked into the one black and white camera and with a strong down east accent talked about the wind and snow on the mountain. Thinking about it today it makes backyard weather forecasting seem pale by comparison. It was crude at best but it was innovative for the time. Now we have Doppler this and weather map that but I miss the geeky engineer from on top of the mountain. He is, I am sure long gone to the engineers home in the sky and a few years ago WMTW’s transmitter site burned to the ground and they moved to a less inhospitable place. Like all media, local TV is being pummeled by the World Wide Web. ABC news recently announced cutbacks of 1,400 and the ones left will not only report the news but will be camera operators (think flip video cams) soundmen, editors and producers. The local TV news operations will no doubt follow suit. When a good percentage of video is being shot by ordinary people (how much skill does it take to point the phone cam at a house fire?) the days of a three person crew doing it are numbered. I hope it doesn’t stop them from showing “local color.” The best thing about a live shot on the news is the people waving and grinning like ninnies at the camera. The stand-up reporter could be talking about a bus wreck that killed 40 and idiots in the background will be waving at Ma. Second best thing: the eyewitless interview. Where do they find these people? With both eyes on one side of their head and occasional teeth they are clearly not of this earth. I could be wrong.

Big Brother is NOT watchting

One of the cheap thrills in my life is checking the police blotter in the newspaper. There is always an interesting story or three like the guy who was asking women to sign his member and I don’t mean jacket but that’s not what I am curious about here.
More than a month ago a big hairy deal was made about the multitude of surveillance cameras installed in and around downtown Wilkes-Barre. $2 million worth of gear. Over 50 cameras and a 24 hour a day, seven day a week staff of people including some law enforcement types are watching them. One of the tools is a huge five foot by five foot monitor that will enable the view of Public Square to be in 3-D, just like the movie Avatar. No doubt there are quite a few blue creatures on the square along with other assorted monsters. That actually sounds like kind of a fun job, spying on people for living. The job description: Voyeurs wanted. Must bring own 3-D glasses.
The system, while only partially complete now, will eventually control 150 cameras. A smug statement said that while some will be extremely visible, some will be hidden so as to not alert the evil doers of their presence. Hidden surveillance cameras, what a concept.
Here’s my question. These 50 snooping cameras and the attendant voyeurs have been on the job for a month and a half. Why hasn’t any crime been stopped? The list of cars being broken into and purse snatchings goes on unabated in the police blotter. Wouldn’t it make sense that at least ONE crime in that time frame may have been seen? One perpetrator brought to justice? None that I have seen and I have been looking at least as hard as the ones who are tasked with the job.
Possibly the “powers that be” do not want the success of the $2 million dollar toy that gobbles up $232,000 a year in staffing charges to be publicized. Yeah, that’s it. Politicians don’t want to blow their own horn. And this breaking news: a dark planet will crash into the sun in 3…2…1..Hmmm. Never gonna happen.
Or maybe (black helicopter theory warning) all the cameras are just decoys, like the state trooper car that used to sit on I-81 near Scranton with a dummy in the driver’s seat. You could buy a lot of decoys for a few thousand bucks, right? Rig up the press demo with the rented big screens . Then what happens to the rest of the dough?
Am I suggesting that Luzerne County Politically connected might do something….what’s the word? WRONG? Perish the thought. Big brother is watching. Maybe.

Sense-us

I haven’t gotten my census form yet. This really worries me for a number of reasons. First of all a lot of people I know (Well one actually) have gotten theirs. Why have I been left out? I don’t mean to go all existential here, but if I am not counted by the U.S. Gumm-mint, do I really exist? If I fall in the woods and no one hears, do I make a sound? So there is that problem. The other thing nagging me is that if I do not get it in the mail which costs the U.S. Gumm-mint 49 cents, then I will no doubt be visited by a census taker which costs $47. So please mail me one soon? Save money and possibly a census taker. You see if you do dispatch a census worker to my neck of the woods you have to beware. Not from me, you understand. Even though the Rising compound is far back in the woods and we no longer get visited by Jehovah’s witnesses after the “Incident” we mean no one any harm. Pay no attention to the killer attacking Red Squirrels, their bite is worse than their bark. Not the case for my demented neighbor. We know that he is stupid and mean but I am also 100% certain he is armed. You will recognize his driveway by the animal skulls (Cue ”Dueling Banjos” from the movie Deliverance) scattered there. That and the “Kill ‘em all, let God sort them out” bumper sticker on his pick-up truck. Good luck.

I peeked at the census form on-line. Most of the 10 questions seem to make sense. Some of them do not. Some seem just downright nosy. And some, like my neighbor, are just plain dumb as rocks stoo-pit.

The Gum-mint needs to know if I own my home or not? Nosy.

They need my name? They are supposed to count heads. Period. Nosy.

Why does the Gumm-mint need my phone number? Nosy

Questions eight and nine have to do with race. Number eight asks if you are “Hispanic, Latino or Spanish.” Question nine wants to know what you are with a long list of possibilities from “White” to “Samoan”. First of all should those questions be combined? And secondly what if I claim to be “American?” (Thanks to Rush Limbaugh). Dumb

But the capper-question seven wants my age on April 1, 2010 and then asks for my birth date including year. Now I am no rocket scientist but…if you know how old I am on 4/1/2010 a quick calculation can give you my birth year. And why does the Gumm-mint what my Birth date? Are they gonna send me a card?