The Glades

Last Wednesday morning I got up and took Chandler for his early morning walk. When we stepped out front, I was confronted with a truly strange sight. Overnight, at the end of our block, appeared numerous semi-trucks, mobile office trailers, scaffolding, lights, and dozens of cars. When Chandler and I got down there, I asked one of the many men scurrying around what was going on.
"Shooting a television show."
"Really? Which one?"
"The Glades."
"The Glades? Never heard of it. What channel is that on?"
"A&E. This is the second season.", he answered gruffly, and then turned and walked off towards all the hubbub.
He seemed to be a bit perturbed that I had even asked him, and even more when I expressed my ignorance of The Glades.

Of course the minute I got home I Googled The Glades.
"An attractive and brilliant Chicago homicide detective moves to the sleepy, middle-of-nowhere town of Palm Glade, Florida."
I checked out the cast, and didn't recognize one name in it. The star is some guy named Matt Passmore. I wanted to see the show, so I set my DVR to record it that afternoon. After all, if our little block is going to be on television, I want to see it. Sadly, I will probably miss it because after watching The Glades, my opinion is that it's boring. This guy, Matt Passmore, plays a cop who thinks he's the moral superior to everyone else. It had bad acting, and a stupid story line, and put me to sleep halfway through it. Later, just for kicks, I Googled Matt Passmore with the added word naked. Turns out that I might just give The Glades another chance.

Photo Friday

 Memorial Day

In 1945 my dad was in the Army Air Force. He was the radio man on a B29 bomber. This is a photo he took from the plane as they flew over Japan.

 Back of photo

Video Thursday

For more of the goat, go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2yBBsW7oj0&feature=youtu.be  

 Thanks Syd

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Seriously, I Don't Like Tornadoes

All these tornadoes tearing up the middle of the country bring back memories. We had two hit our little town outside Chicago when I was a kid, once when I was around seven and another when I was in high school. Both times I wanted to stay outside and watch them, but older and smarter people dragged me into shelter. When we went out and surveyed the damage afterwards, it was surreal.

What I don't understand is why county codes in areas prone to tornadoes, don't insist on implementing the Miami-Dade County building codes. Down here homes are built to withstand very high winds over 100mph. Roofs have straps that tie them into the walls. Walls themselves are almost always reinforced concrete block construction, and windows must be impact resistant. You can hit a hurricane window with a hockey puck traveling at 100mph, and it'll bounce right off. Back in the 1980's they relaxed some of the codes, and the result was the utter destruction of brand new homes by Hurricane Andrew. Older homes tended to fare better, so the counties in South Florida reinstated the codes, and beefed them up.

I know using the South Florida codes won't stop the damage from an F4 tornado, but it would mitigate it, offering the residents a chance to survive. Those balloon frame constructed homes of the prairies, just can't stand up to the force of a tornado.

Matthew 21:12

When I was a small child, every Sunday my dad would send me off to mass with a little envelope containing my 'donation'. I would sit there in the pew, and feel that envelope, pressing on the coin inside until there was a perfect impression of Jefferson in the paper. Yes, it was only a nickel, but back in the nineteen fifties a nickel could buy a lot. Down at Rudy's Candy Store I could get a foot of candy dots stuck to paper, for a penny. For a nickel I could walk away with a little brown bag full of candy. The temptation was too great for me, and I finally found a way to slide the nickel out of the envelope, while leaving it intact. This little maneuver doubled my allowance for the week, from five cents to ten cents. I was a happy boy. What I didn't know is that the church audited those envelopes. Each one had a unique number associated with each one of my dad's children, and when my number started showing up empty, the church snitched.

Apparently nothing has changed in those fifty plus years. Religion and churches are still all about the money. Over the last few months I've been getting mailings from some bizarre church, that talks to you like you're a child. They are printed in large type, and include cartoon like drawings that are supposed to convince you that if you send them some money, all your dreams will come true. At first I entertained myself by mailing the envelopes back with silly names, and requesting that they pray for me to receive millions of dollars. Today I received two pennies from the church, which I guess is my down payment for the millions that are coming. At that rate, if I get two pennies a day, I'll receive my first million in 136,986 years. March 20th to be exact.....
Wait a minute, I forgot leap years. Damn it.

Bucket of Beer

Ninety degree weather. Humidity so thick you almost need scuba gear to breathe. It must be summer in Florida again, or as I like to call it, bucket of beer weather. Yesterday, Mark and I made our usual trek up to the 'Drive', and sucked down a few brews. Honestly, I would rather be drinking my beer on Sunday afternoon in an air-conditioned bar, but my favorite bartender has moved outdoors. What I can't fathom is the fact that people lived here before the invention of air-conditioning.  Imagine what that smelled like. I was a spent, wet rag, after only an hour of sitting out there.

As bad as South Florida summers are, I still remember the heat waves we would endure back in Chicago. My family didn't have air-conditioning until I was seventeen years old, and for those first seventeen years, we made do with fans, Kool-Aid, and our  basement. Yes, back in the nineteen fifties the only way to beat the heat was go down into the basement. It was smelly, and damp, but at least five degrees or more cooler than the rest of the house. At night I would sleep up in my second floor bedroom, in seersucker, shorty pajamas, while the large window fan would whine away. It was like sleeping in hell. When I think back about those days, sitting down in that spider filled basement, or trying to sleep in that stifling hot attic, I can only think of how nice it would have been if mom had helped us out with a nice bucket filled with ice and beer.

Photo Friday

Have a nice Saturday

6:15 PM Saturday, May 21, 2011
Still here! Nice sunny evening.