Movie Night, The Avengers

Nude Drifter

Honest, for many, many years I thought the line was 'Nude drifters off to see the world'.

Andy Williams

You Smell That?

Dog shit is what I usually smell when I open the bathroom window while taking a shower. That's because I let the dogs out on that side of the house and I never clean up their mess. This morning though, when I opened the window, the aroma of my neighbor mowing his lawn came wafting through. Funny thing about smells, they can transport you back to an earlier time much like a favorite song. The smell of the cut grass brought me right back to my childhood home on Ravinia Drive. In my mind I could plainly see my dad mowing our large lawn. I reminisced about sunny Saturday mornings, the smell of the two stroke engine, and the sound of my dad cursing as he ran over one of our toys with the mower. Another smell that reminds me of my dad is fresh cut pine lumber. Once in a while I will wander into a place that has a stack of pine lumber, and I immediately remember being in I.N.R. Beaty Lumber Company with my dad on a Saturday morning. It's nice that these smells can bring my dad back into my life. As for the smell of that dog crap outside the window, that just reminds me of dog crap.

It must be good. Look at the line.

"You want Chinese?"
"Ewww no, not tonight."
"Pizza?"
"No, I want to go out to eat."
"Burgers at that gay bar that's always empty on Monday, but has the really cheap drinks?"
"Naw, I get too drunk there. How about middle eastern food at Pita Paradise?"
So it was decided that we would go to Pita Paradise for dinner. Yes it sounds cheesy, but the food is pretty good. The only thing I don't like about Pita Paradise is that the owner is always trying to up-sell you, and we usually end up spending twice as much as we expected. Anyway, halfway to Pita Paradise we pass this Mexican restaurant. The parking lot is jammed full, and people are standing around outside holding Margaritas waiting to be seated.
"Hey, I forgot about that place. Let's go to the Mexican place for dinner." Mark suggested.
At that point I didn't care, I was hungry.
"Okay, fine."

So Mark whipped the car around and into the parking lot. This place was very busy, but we managed to get a table relatively fast. Mark ordered a half price Margarita, and I ordered a Corona to drink while we waited for our food. Okay, two things here. First, why is the plate always hot in a Mexican restaurant? Secondly, why do we always get fooled into going to places that seem cool because they have long lines, and everybody else is going there? I cannot honestly tell you why this place was packed on a Monday night. The food sucked. It was not even mediocre Mexican fare. My taco dinner came on a very hot plate with a huge pile of inedible rice, thin runny refried beans, and two burned tacos stuffed with mystery meat. And that was the big problem, the meat. What the hell kind of meat was it? On the menu it said beef, chunks of beef, but in my mouth it said giddy-up.

Rain Man

Our average rainfall around here is over sixty five inches per year, with most of that coming from the beginning of May through October. Of course that doesn't mean it doesn't rain the rest of the year. It only means that it rains about half as much during the remaining months. That is about double what I grew up with in Illinois. It took me a few years, but I think I finally understand what the rules are when it comes to rain here in Florida.

Rule number one. A light mist, or light rain is considered nothing more than high humidity in Florida. Truly, there is little difference between ninety percent humidity, and one hundred percent humidity. Both will leave you drenched by the time you get home.

Rule number two. When it is cloudy out, and you check the back yard to see if it is raining and there are no rain drops in the swimming pool, that does not mean it isn't pouring rain in the front yard. It's not unusual around here for a weather front to stall right over your house.

Rule number three. It will always rain very unexpectedly when you are out somewhere. You will have an umbrella with you for such occasions, but it will be in the car and you will not.

Rule number four. If you take the dog for a walk on a cloudy day, when you get to the exact farthest point possible from your house, a thunder storm will materialize out of nowhere. The same thing can happen on a sunny day, but less often.

Rule number five. A small dog will not go out in the rain no matter what you do. A big dog will go out in the rain if you trick him into it. He will not care about the rain once he is outside, and when you bring the sopping wet big dog back in, he will use the sofa to dry himself off. The small dog will have peed on your floor while you were out with the big dog.

How Trees Reproduce?

Make your own caption.

Horny Slash Pine

Dennis found my Slash Pine a mate.

Superdog

I don't know how he does it. Chandler, he seems to be able to see through walls. It is pitch black outside, the television is turned up so that the senior citizens in the living room can hear it, yet Chandler knows that there is a possum on the other side of the wall. He is standing with his tail and ears up, and he is in the same stance I see him in just before charging to grab a lizard. He's just staring at that wall. What is even more amazing is that when the possum moves along the outside wall towards the deck out back, Chandler moves with it. There is no way he can see the thing, so he must hear it's little feet on the concrete.

The possum isn't always so stealthy. Earlier it had walked in front of the living room window on it's way to eat some cat food, and Chandler went ballistic. I honestly think that some day that dog will go through the window. I suppose some of Chandler's obsession with the possum is my fault. Yesterday I kept asking him if he wanted to get the possum. Of course he did, and when I opened the door Chandler ran after it, scaring the hell out of the cats, but not getting within twenty feet of the possum. The possum knows the fastest way to get under that deck. I don't know what Chandler would do if he caught the possum. The late, great, Molly caught one once. It played dead, and all she did was sniff it.

Oh Em Gee

We're at a stoplight, Mark is driving, and he hands me his phone.
"What does this mean?"
I look at the message on his phone.
"can u cum help me 10 rlee want 2 get hair done"
"I don't know. Maybe it means a child in second grade is trying to send you a message."
The worst part about the whole thing is that Mark is doing the exact thing he screams at other drivers for doing.

I don't text. In fact my phone has been de-texted. I told Sprint that I didn't need texting, and for the last five years or more I have proven that to be true. I simply don't understand it. I can pick up the phone, dial somebody, ask them a question, and get the answer in less than a minute. Texting takes at least twice that much time, and half the time you don't know what the hell they're talking about. You end up calling anyway. I have limited texting on Mark's phone also. He can get them, but only up to a thousand per month. Who the hell needs more than a thousand texts in thirty one days? Mark says he should have unlimited texting. Maybe that's why last month he had 1,135 texts. I was charged an extra twenty dollars for the texts he had over a thousand. I just think he was trying to prove that he should have unlimited texting. And he should, if he pays for it.

Stacked

 I don't know what to blame this on. Old age, twelve weeks of chemo back in 1988, vodka? I find it hard to blame it on the vodka, it was still morning when I did this. I got up and walked the dogs, Chandler first. He had diarrhea, so it's a good thing he went first. Even though he left nothing but a puddle of liquid, I did bend over and pretend I was picking it up, just so that the neighbors wouldn't think I had left a turd on their lawn. But that's not what I'm talking about here. After walking the dogs, I took it upon myself to do some laundry. Now usually Mark does all the laundry, but I was running short of shorts, so I threw a few of those in, along with some underwear, tee shirts, and Polo shirts. As I closed the door to the machine the phone rang. So on my way out of the bedroom I asked Mark to finish starting the machine.

Two hours later. I noticed that Mark had put the clothes into the dryer, and he had put another load in the washer that needed to be dried. When I started folding the clothes from the dryer, I noticed that they smelled dirty. I looked closely and sure enough, there was the grease on the shirt I had worn while eating dinner the day before.
"Mark, why aren't these clothes clean?"
"What clothes?"
"The ones you put in the dryer."
"I didn't put any clothes in the dryer. I put a load in the washing machine like you asked."
It turned out that had I put the clothes into the wrong machine that morning. And that wouldn't be so bad, if it was the very first time I had done that. But it wasn't. I had done the exact same thing the day before. But the day before I hadn't just loaded the clothes into the dryer. I put them into the dryer and then put detergent in the washer and turned that on. The more I think about it, maybe it was the vodka.

Whaaaa?

No post this morning? No there is no post this morning. You may have noticed that I have strayed from my norm of three stories Monday through Wednesday, a video on Thursday, and a photo on Friday. Honestly I was getting bored by that. I was finding that I would write about anything just to have those stories done. I've decided that instead, I will write a post when something happens around me that might be interesting. I will do a video when I actually am struck with what I think is the funniest damn thing I've ever thought of. I will post a photo whenever I want to. So have a nice week, and let's all pray that something horrible, funny, or stupid happens to me soon.

Le Mitt

He speaks French. He lived in France. Where's your birth certificate Mitt?

Oh Crap, Now I've Got Crabs

I walked into the front entrance hall and noticed that the flag I keep out there had fallen and was leaning against the door. Upon closer inspection the reason was obvious. We have crabs in the house. At least it was saluting the flag.

A Simple Breakfast

Early Tuesday morning and it's time to make breakfast. This morning I will make bacon, eggs, and homemade hash brown potatoes. Yes, I actually do cook once in awhile, but only breakfast. Mark won't let me do dinner, he hates to see food wasted. So I am quickly peeling some potatoes, and stuffing the peels down the garbage disposal in the sink. After chopping the potatoes, along with some onions and sweet peppers, I dump it all into a large skillet. I cook the eggs, and bacon, and when it is all done I call out to Mark, "Your breakfast is ready!" Of course both dogs stampede into the dining room to claim their positions next to Mark's chair. Once again, another successful breakfast by Alan.

Thirty minutes later, and I am cleaning up my mess. I wash off each dish before stuffing it into the dishwasher, then when all is ready I turn the thing on. Ten minutes later I notice that the sink is full of water. It's obvious that the drain is clogged. I have two ways that I unclog the kitchen drains. First I try the easy power flush method, where I hold the drain covers down firmly and turn on the disposal. The high pressure that builds up from this usually breaks up the clog. That didn't work this time so I went and got the big plunger. Again, not working. The drain is still clogged, and even worse, I now notice that I am standing in water. It's obvious that have to escalate this thing and call the plumber. After ten minutes under my kitchen sink the plumber pops his head out and says, "Good news, bad news. Which do you want first?"
"I assume the good news is that you cleared the drain."
"I did. The bad news is that your disposal is cracked. It's as if it had too much pressure applied to it, and it just burst. Anyway, the whole job will cost $320."
"Really? Too much pressure you say."

On the San Francisco Subway

Bay Area Rapid Transit

Notice the plush seats, and how clean the subway cars are.

 Oh, and the crazy guy who would be stabbed on a Chicago or New York subway.

Hello, Hello, Helloooooooooo

Mark and I have a policy here in the house. You can say anything you want, and neither of us is allowed to be offended. Instead, if you don't like what the stated opinion is, you have to argue against it, and you have to do it without being mean. Also, if you feel it necessary to use offensive words, go right ahead. We discuss race openly and we often use words that would get me killed in the wrong neighborhood. Mostly we discuss politics, our town, our families, and our friends. It's open season on whatever you want to talk about. The only rule is that it never leaves our house, it's between Mark and me.

The other day Mark and I were discussing a bar that we used to frequent. In it's day it was a great place, in fact it is where Mark and I met. Lately however, the clientele has both aged, and changed ethnicity. That is what we were talking about. About twenty minutes after that discussion, Mark got a text from a friend of his. It was word for word what Mark and I had said about that bar. It turns out that Mark had pocket dialed his friend, and he had listened to our entire conversation. All I can say is thank god Mark is the one with the big, loud mouth, and that I wasn't the one using the worst language to describe the bar's clientele.

Tattoo You

I am not a fan of tattoos. If you want to mark up your skin with  permanent versions of the doodles I used to make on my hand in high school, good for you. I just don't get it, nor do I want such a thing on my skin. After an adolescence of constantly fighting off gigantic pimples, and blackheads the size of a quarter, I was very happy with the smooth skin that finally showed up in my twenties. So if tattoos turn you on, by all means go out and get one. There is one thing though that you need to know before you go out and get a tattoo. Do not shop around for the cheapest tattoo artist you can find. Don't go to that place next to the bar you just got drunk in. That's the reason that place is where it is, drunks can't tell that the guy with the needle just spelled your boyfriend's name wrong. Also know that it might seem like a good idea to get Love and Hate on your knuckles, or a tear drop on your cheek. It's not a good idea, unless you plan on spending some time in prison. I bring this subject up because of a girl that I was in line behind, at the CVS store. This is what she had tattooed on her back.

It is a simulation yes, but a very good simulation since I had about five minutes to stare at it while the cashier wandered around behind the counter, trying to find a pack of Salem Gold. The block letters were all out of line, and the name was spelled just like that. Now I Googled the name Williem, and it is a very, very rare way of spelling it. If her boyfriends name really is spelled Williem, I apologize. But I suspect she falls into that category of drunken girl out with her friends, who went to the tattoo parlor next to the bar, and her drunken friends thought it would be very funny not to tell her William was misspelled.

Photo Friday, Four

 

Me, Second from left.  ca; 1952ish

Mom still had seven more to come.

Video Thursday, I'm Mitt, I'm Ryan

Lengua de Alan

It's really been great to see Mark bounce back from the illness he went through back in July. For most of July and into August he wasn't feeling very good, and I was the main victim of his illness. Sure he couldn't breath, and felt like shit, but I wasn't being fed. For weeks I lived without those delicious meals that Mark had got me used to. I was wasting away, down from 205 to a paltry 200. Well finally Mark is back. For the last couple of weeks I once again have been enjoying some really spectacular meals. Tonight for example, it was shepherd's pie. My only problem with this meal is that Mark must have an asbestos tongue. He served me what looked like ground beef, with peas, and potatoes. What I think it really was, was a plate full of steaming hot lava. I don't understand it. Mark is on the other side of the dinner table, scarfing down this stuff, while the shepherds pie he has given me is melting through the dinner plate. So while I sit there letting my food cool off, Mark is still shoveling the food into his mouth.
"Doesn't that burn your tongue?"
"No, not at all."
So I scoop up a pile, and open wide. Goddamnsonofabitch! It's hot. It isn't hot so much as blistering hot, white-hot, it has actually cooked my tongue. I swear to god, he does it on purpose just to keep me quiet.

Cat 'n' Dog

One of my favorite cartoons when I was a kid, was Disney's Chip 'n' Dale. I loved the way they would chase around after each other, and talk in those voices, as if they had sucked in helium. I don't know if Chandler has ever seen one of those cartoons, but I'm sure he'd enjoy them... if he knew what the hell he was looking at.

Chandler is a hunter, and this morning he was hunting squirrel. On the utility wires that run above our morning poopy walk, were two crazed squirrels chasing each other back and forth from one pole to the other. It was like a real life Chip 'n' Dale cartoon. Chandler of course went nuts, running back and forth under that wire, trying to jump up and catch the little rodents. I have to admit, I was encouraging it for my own amusement. It all reached a climax when the lead squirrel jumped from the wire to an adjacent tree. Unfortunately it misjudged how far the tree was and dropped through the branches, down to the ground. Chandler couldn't believe his good fortune. After four years plus of watching those little bastards tease him from above, one had finally dropped right into his lap. That is until the black and white cat from across the street, streaked into the bushes and snatched that little critter right up. Yes, it was horrific, but at least we went home without the death of a cute little Disney character on our hands. That's something the cat will have to take up with Saint Peter when he tries to get in through the little pet door in the pearly gate.

Happy Labor Day