Existing In BFE

I'm back from a week in Northlandia.  We'll start up again in a week or so.  Either next Monday or the one after that. Who knows?

My dad in a group college basketball team photo.  He is the one kneeling, second from left in front row.   Soon he would be whisked off to war and join the Greatest Generation.

The great things about kids is life is so open, new and, as the picture above shows, challenging.  The great things about adults is we are no longer kids.   When you become one it is so much better than just a driver's licence.  You get to do all the things you have ever dreamed of watching your parents.  And then it suddenly dawns on us.  We want to be kids again.  There is a meme floating around, "Don't grow up, it's a trap." This picture is a reminder that as kids we always need some support from the older folks.  And we older folks need to remember that our job is never ever really over.  

Whizzbang, aka Dumbstruck the Wonder Pup went to the dog park in St. Pete last week.  She had a jolly good time.  She was the smallest in her little pack and was extremely submissive but enjoyed all the butt sniffing.    But it was that damn big dog that elicited gasps from the humans when it tried to do the nasty with Whizz.  I saved her and moved down to the other side of the park.  

Okay, so I'm kind of posting this week and will take next week off.  Plans changed and, guess what?, I'm in Northlandia for a week.  Soaking up some cold, ice and snow.  I'll be taking a break at the end of this week so you guys can find something else to do over your morning coffee.  As usual, play nice and be kind.  ++++++++++ I have felt the sting and joy of winter.  I am happy.  ++++++++++   Norah gave me a handmade Valentine's card. Worth a million bucks. ++++++++++ Speaking of Northlandia, I have arrived.   ++++++++++ That new Lincoln commercial with McConaughey playing pool is the most pretentious pile of shit I've ever seen.  I have thereby decreed that commercials that make me sick will translate into absolutely zero possibility of buying that product.  Of course, Lincoln you are safe since I couldn't afford you in a 10 lifetimes. Same with that stupid witness protection thing...

I read Golden Boy by Abigail Tarttelin awhile ago and even now am unable to really get a grip on it, being from a small Midwestern village.  The golden boy, Alex, is intersexual.  What is intersexuality?   I didn't know either.  In the old days they referred to it as hermaphrodites.  Simply put, it is a condition whereas the person has been born without XX (boy) or XY (girl) chromosomes.  Yikes!  Both male and female, yet neither.  Feel free to look it up, and it certainly is fascinating, but I'm going to deal with the book rather than the condition.   Alex is a 15 year old high school boy, who is pictured as popular and normal in every way.  He is a good soccer player and teammate, studious, smart, and wanted by all the girls.  He is a bit slight, more pretty than handsome and adored by his mom, dad and little brother. And yet he and his folks, and just a small hand full of people, know that...

Piggybacking yesterday's post, this one was first placed on Existing In BFE on July 21, 2008.  Before he was accepting awards for Best Tech Rep he was jamming beer cans up chicken asses. This is Chef Tim, breathlessly calling Rachel Ray on one phone and Tyson Chicken on the other to talk up a new recipe involving chicken and beer. It ain't exactly French cuisine and you'll likely not see it on the menu at the Pierre Gagnaire or the Chez Panisse , but perfect for BFE . Beer-Butt Chicken Recipe Take one chicken and jam an open can of beer up its ass. Cook on the grill for an hour or hour and a half.   Eat.

It isn't every day you can do a world wide web shout out to a buddy.  So it is with great pleasure that I get to do exactly that today.  I'll make it brief and I'll try not to get too sappy.  First off, some context.  About a dozen or so years ago while a new citizen of North Henderson I sauntered over to chat with my neighbor who was mowing his lawn.  That kind of stuff tends to be excruciating for me - I'm neither clever, have no gab, and tend to be awkward in the small talk arena.  Anyway, it went well enough I guess and he later invited me over to his garage for a beer.  I went, and thankfully he overlooked my introversion and other flaws.  We have since ridden bikes together, opened and downed quite a few brews, savored the aroma of cheap and expensive cigars and talked of all things - both great and small.  His name is Tim Stage.  Neighbor Tim.   Most of us fall into our careers by accident.  It's a good story but ...

Fog along my early morning walk.  Taken with an iPhone camera.

An old sailor's song sung when taking off on a long voyage.  The things you get with this blog, and we have kept the subscription rates steady for the past decade. \ ++++++++++ “There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.” ~ Patrick Rothfuss ++++++++++ January 21, 1960 Stan Musial insists the Cardinals cut his salary from $100,000 to $80,000, believing the team overpaid him in 1957 and 1958, and the reduced salary should be a reflection of his poor production for the team last season. The Card’s 39-year-old All-Star first baseman batted .255 with 14 home runs and 44 RBIs in the 115 games he played in last season. Stan the Man ++++++++++ Action shots of Whizzbang, aka Dumbstruck the Wonder Pup, at class.  We practice almost daily and I fear she has peaked at "sit".  Two more weeks to go and they are far more anxiety inducing for me than her.  No oth...

A picture was on a wall at the Mary Davis Home the day I interviewed until my last day of work. It was Carl Sandburg's Fog. The fog comes  on little cat feet. It sits looking  over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.