News

This just in on the Tiger Woods story: It doesn't matter and I don't care.

Name any scenario (involving cheating, drinking, drugs, domestic disturbances, steroid rages, Ambien-induced sleep-driving, etc.) that could have possibly lead up to the events of the crash and I still can't see how it is in any way a worthwhile story that I need to see. This holiday season, I'm thankful that I can crash into the ditch in front of my house as my wife is chasing me with a golf club and only receive regional HAM radio coverage of the event. That's my America.

And in White House party crasher news: It matters only a little and I don't care.

Security for the President is the only concern here. Yes, 'reality' shows are way out of control and fame is more ludicrous (or is it ludacris?) than ever... but that's not enough to make it the week-long newscast-leading segment it has become. I'd like to see an accounting of the hours of investigative journalism that is being pumped into this story.... or... no I don't, please, I don't want to know.

I have a hard time recalling a moment where two more unimportant non-stories have gotten more air time during the same news cycle. It really has cut in to the 24 hour coverage of the turkey pardoning that usually rules the airwaves at this time of year, and that is a shame.

Gobbledy guck.

Habit

Just like blogging on consecutive days can become habit-forming, so too can not blogging for consecutive days. Now you know that I know that I haven't been writing anything lately. More to come, but not today.

An apology apology

For reasons you may or may not understand... Myrtle Beach, I take back most of my apology dated Monday, November 16, 2009.

Sorry and thank you,
Douglas Lowell

An apology

I rip on Myrtle Beach a lot. There's a lot not to like, I stand by that position. But, I am currently on a deck overlooking the ocean, waves crashing in, a constant whooshing with occasional lulls and occasional swells. I'm here for free, more or less. If you live out on the coast hereabouts you are bound to know someone who has a beach place. The ocean is cool. The ocean for free, with wifi internet on a balcony on a crisp fall night is extra cool. Granted, if I could swing this at Cape Cod or on the Isle of Skye it would be extra-awesome. But this is what I've got, and it's better than most. It's accessible. It's possible. It's actually happening. It's now. Right Now. Hey. It's your tomorrow. Right now. come on, it's everything. Right now. Catch this magic moment and do it right here and now. It's what's happening.

I'm in the moment. The moment could be better... it always could. And the moment could be worse, in fact for most, it is worse. So I'm happy to be in Myrtle beach. Happy to be in South Carolina. Good times. Not great times, but darn good. Plus, there is a chill in the air. Happy.

Sorry for being so critical, Myrtle Beach. We've had some good times, and we're having one now.

Whooosh crash lull swell wash. It's cool watching the waves come in, especially at night where the glow of the bubbles and foam are all you see appearing from the darkness. There's no horizon, sea and sky may as well be one. Stars and waves are all that break up the blankness. The waves sometimes join up as one long super-wave or come in one after another. Trying to make sense of them and predict the crash as they break on the shore is impossible, but I keep trying.

Sun day night

It smells like the mountains tonight.
Smoke is in the air from a fire I don't see.
Stars and planets peak through the cold dark sky.
I see my breath when I puff upwards and force out, "ooh, oooh."
My sweatshirt is perfect, I can feel the cold, but I am not... cold.
I was reading Hemingway, but I stopped.
I just finished a different book, it had three main characters. I can't tell you much about it. I got lost early on, but kept on going, hoping it would all make sense in the end. In the end, it just ended.
'At the end of the day' has lost all value as a phrase, if it ever really had any.
I suggest using the 'end of the day' phrase literally and see if anyone notices.
Because, you know, at the end of the day, I go to sleep.
I will be in Myrtle Beach for a couple days and you're not the least bit jealous.
A strange forced breathing sound is coming from the woods.
Brown dog ran out to meet the sound, ready to bark wildly, but he just faded into the dark without a peep.
The sound is getting louder... I think I'll go explore now, too.
(pause)
My investigation yielded nothing as the sound petered out.
I did see more stars and a couple planes flying overhead while away from my seat. Once away from the porch light they (stars and such) take over the view. With the porch light right above me, I can count maybe eight visible celestial bodies. Without the light pollution... well, I can't count that high, and I'm a good counter.
Mickey and me on the stoop.

Hey, I should blog about that.

I had no such moment of blogspiration today. Unless blogspiration is an unbelievably clever way of saying perspiration or respiration rather than inspiration. In which case... well, that didn't happen either. It was a lazy day to recharge and watch Syracuse lose another football game. I made some iced tea. Pretty exciting all the way around. I'm outside now, reflecting on the glorious nothing that today was for me. There's a lot of barking going on to the east and west. Maggie responds with a muffled harumph bark. She sits on the deck waiting for a chance to go back inside and get on the bed. There is still time for a nap before bedtime. She scratches the door. Then looks behind here, Now looks at me, wagging. A longing look in her eye. She retreats back down the stairs and sits back on the deck. Mickey pops up to me for a quick sniff of my shoulder, repeated licks on my cheek and hand, then sits close, sidled up to my left arm. An idiot cries out in the distant. The barking intensifies. Maggie keeps her muffled bark, now growls. Mickey leans in close so I can't see the screen. Another lick. Maggie's down, now up. Another look to me, a blank stare into the distance. She knows I know she wants to go inside. She sniffs and wags. Mickey walks off. Another scratch on the door and I'll let Maggie go inside. But for now, she is filling the page. Back down to the deck. Sitting and staring. Mickey scratches the ground nearby. I clap once. he comes back to me. Yawns. Sniffs, I can't see the screen. He sniffs some more. Some interesting things are in the air. His tail is up as he daintily heads out into the darkness. Maggie sits, listening. Another climb up the stairs. She looks at me. Looks inside. Sniffs the door. Inhales. I expect a small cry. Nothing yet. Mickey is out of sight. Probably camped out by the air conditioner. There's a whimper from Maggie. Back down to the deck. She sits down licks her chops twice then lets out a silent yawn. Mickey reappears from the left... somehow he outflanked me, maybe making a full walk counter-clockwise around the perimeter of the yard. He sighs as he sits on the top step next to me. Maggie lays down. She looks at me again. Crickets chirping and other animal noises fill the yard. I hear someone in the distance sutting a trash can bin repeatedly. It's quiet out here, so any sound carries. I wonder about the nights when I'm out here playing my guitar and singing to no one. I wonder who hears me. I wonder if they like it, if they mind it, or if they make no judgment at all. If it was me, I'd have to think something. I'd probably think, "I wish that guy would play some different songs." Maggie is back up in my face. She hits the door with her nose. Mickey sniffs her butt. She cries quietly. Looks at me and wags. Cries again. Wags. She wins. I open the door and she slinks inside, surely followed by a mad dash for the bed or couch. Quite possibly she's already asleep and snoring. Mickey stands next to me, his tail in my armpit. Now he sits and stares off. He tried to scratch his belly with his left rear leg, but missed completely. Paw prints are all over the stairs and deck. Mickey just ran out and grabbed his basketball. Panting, growling and squeezing. His pushing it against my leg. Time to play.

Starts with 'spam'

San Martin was then appointed governor of Cuyo, with his headquarters at Mendoza.

Hello, I am Milena Lane.

Maybe you expected a takeoff on a Jeopardy! quiz category. Maybe you thought I'd go off on spicy-canned-pseudo-meat products tangent. Maybe you took nothing from the title. Maybe you didn't know there was a title. Maybe you knew it all along. It was a gift form the cyberspace attritioners, emailing and emailing so that at some time, on some computer, somewhere, one message will finally slip through the cracks and reach someone... someone looking to buy discount Viagra, a spectacular replica watch or an online degree. But it found me. Me who is looking to buy none of the above, but who loves your writing more than almost any other. Ghostwriter, I envy your work and fancy your wordcraft. You say more in two strangely formed lines than I could in four desperately edited run-ons. I don't really know what you're saying, but you say it well. I feel it. Genius. Why pay for a Kindle or buy volumes of collected works of the greats when all my literary thirst can be quenched by opening up my email and drinking in another masterfully concocted cocktail compliments of you? You don't complete me, understand, I'm not saying that. But you are always there. You are there. Always. You are persistence unmatched. You give and give and give. I take all I can, but you give so much more. You offer so much. Like Viagra, replica watches and online degrees.

But why talk nonsense.

That's how you closed tonight's edition.

You said it, cyber-writer.

I'm so smitten.

DDS

I made it through another 6-month dentist visit, and with flying colors. No cavities. They are keeping an eye on a few "shadows," but none have progressed (badly) since my last visit. Now a few thoughts and reflections, mostly about dentistry, but not entirely.

* The headrest is always, always, always going to mess up your hair no matter how you try to position yourself.
* I like getting to wear the now standard protective eyewear, today's glasses were as dark as sunglasses. Nice.
* There was one little goober of toothpaste on the lens at the end of my appointment.
* I requested to wear the lead apron for the duration of my cleaning. The hygienist never said no, but it didn't happen.
* I will never try chocolate-mint flavored toothpaste, not at the dentist's office, not anywhere.
* I like how they always warn me that they are going to spray water and air into my mouth. If you can't handle water (pH neutral water) in your mouth... you've got major problems. Air... I can see that being a bit of an irritant, but not really.
* I asked today if any patients keep their eyes open throughout the cleaning. The answer was yes. Then I asked if I was the strange one for keeping my eyes closed. Not sure what the answer was there.
* If you do keep your eyes open the whole time... what can you possibly be looking at? Stop creeping out your hygienist.
* Just because I say something that's stupid, doesn't mean I'm not serious.
* I asked if any of those pointy scrapers ever break. It happens.
* The brushing machine they use has become more and more gentle over the years. In the 70's it felt like a wire brush, now it doesn't. I'm thinking this is a result of some major series of NASA Space Shuttle experiments.
* I will miss the Space Shuttle when it retires.

Funbrella

The rain is upon us and I am happy. I took the brown dog out for a walk in the rain with an umbrella a little while ago. Such a nice little cocoon under the canopy there. My own little pleasure dome, mobile and blue. Collapsible. As I stood outside, the rain increasing in intensity, I wished I had something dry upon which to sit. I pictured some seat that would come down from the umbrella shaft that I could plop down upon while still being under protective cover. It would be an invention only I would enjoy. Most times people under umbrellas are on their way to somewhere dry, not content with the semi-dry space in which they find themselves. It's not often that you are in the moment when you are in the rain. Even I, RainLover, can't claim that I am. It's always what's next when it's raining and what's now when it's sunny. Mickey solved the dry place to sit problem by sitting on my foot. I still have come up with no solution for myself. Another bummer is that I am not outside typing this, rather I'm back inside in my usual place. If this rain keeps up as they suggest it will, I may have to move this blogging operation out onto (into?) the carport over the next few days. Plenty of good atmosphere out there, what with the dog food, kitty litter, trash can, recycling bin, dog carrier and car. It is ripe with inspiration. Or just ripe. The carport has nothing on the umbrella though. The umbrella keeps your thoughts closer to your head for a moment longer than usual before they float away. If you see someone under an umbrella, I guarantee they are doing some good thinking, whether they realize it or not. In the carport my thoughts drift away just as fast as they would out in the open. In a garage, thoughts just bang into the walls and ceiling and floor and objects until they are beaten out of shape and are barely recognizable. If you see someone in a garage, they may be thinking, but it isn't going well. Mechanics can get beyond this, but the rest of us can't. That's probably why none of us are good at fixing cars and stuff.

umbrella in French is parapluie
umbrella in Spanish is paraguas
umbrella in German is regenschirm
umbrella in Portugueses is guarda-chuva
umbrella in Japanese is こうもり傘
umbrella in Chinese is 伞

I give the umbrella brevity award to China and the umbrella fun-to-say-award to France.

Umbrella.

Cookie

While in Moultrie, GA a few weeks ago now, we encountered some good fortune, what some might call southern hospitality. I wouldn't call it southern hospitality, but some might. As a born and bred Yankee I tend to take umbrage at that phrase. I've come across plenty of nasty people in the south (and north) and plenty of nice people in the north (and south). My gut says that someone calling me sugar in the south just softens the edges of daily interaction, but is not necessarily more hospitable than what one would encounter anywhere else in the country. Lipstick on a pig. Enough of my blabbing on that.

If I don't happen to get to it, my point this evening is supposed to be that a big city jerk making fun of the small town yokel is much less entertaining than the small town yokel making fun of the big city jerk.

After day one of the show we came back to the truck and it wouldn't start. The battery was weak, we figured a cooler had been plugged in all day and had drained the power. As we were in amongst the giant campers and buses of the campground, I figured one of these well prepared road warriors would have jumper cables. Chris walked across to a group of guys having some post show beers. I heard a loud roar of laughter right after he went over there. It turns out the guys were exhibitors who deal exclusively in batteries... all kinds, every kind, AAA, C, D, 9V, 12V, 24V, everything in between, everything beyond and everything beneath. Needless to say, they were prepared, had a little portable booster pack and quickly hooked it up to our battery. Within a minute the truck started.

We decided to go to an Advance Auto and get the battery checked.... just in case. It was the original battery on a five year old truck, so odds were good that it was shot. You get pretty hit or miss service at these national auto stores. We got a definite hit. A young guy, probably 19 at most, loaded up the his cart full of testers, tools, wrenches and what not and went out to the truck. His initial testing suggested we needed a replacement. There was some severe corrosion on the terminals, which he explained could result in a false diagnosis. He set about cleaning up all the mess that had been collecting and reacting on the + and - for 60 months, 1800 days, and even more hours (about 1800x24). It was quite a process. Once he was able to get good contact for the tester, he ran another diagnostic with the same result. Replace. With all the corrosion, the wire harness was frozen on the battery. Any prying risked popping the terminal from the battery. It was that bad. After a bunch of banging, liquid wrenching, head scratching, tapping and twisting it came free. The "associate" whose name now escapes me had good humor throughout. I've had similar jobs, and I know any chance to get from behind the counter and work on a project for half an hour really helps the day go by quicker.

He knew he was from Moultrie, GA. He knew it was middle of nowhere. He knew it was podunk rural. He talked about high school kids who put ridiculous tires on their trucks to the point where (for truck-technical reasons I don't necessarily understand) they ride with the front end up real high so they can barely see and their brakes lose their ability to effectively... brake. He said they all come to screeching halts at the light up at the corner. I said, "Well at least they look real cool." "No they don't, they look stupid."

He told us about a trip to the north he had taken with his school band. Chris and I had a debate as to what instrument he must have played... I say the quads in the marching band, Chris went with the sax. I'm sure I'm right, but we may never know. Anyhow, the band went up to New York city for some sightseeing. They were going to be at the taping for the Today Show, so they had to get up pretty early, skip breakfast and get in position for their 5 seconds on camera as part of the mob normally over-populated by fifty year-old women from Wisconsin celebrating their first trip to the big apple. As soon as he realized they would be skipping breakfast he told his director that he'd rather go back home if they would be skipping meals. They reached a compromise where he got to go to a coffee shop and get some food. "So I went into this place and bought a terrible cup of coffee and one of those $5 cookies. It was hard as a rock, which I guess is how they like 'em up there."

Quick Blog

Admit it, you continue to miss my constant blogging.

My favorite thing about store brands at supermarkets are the great ripoff names they use. If I had done any preparation or research for this I would have a host of silly names and their slightly less silly counterparts' names. But, as this is just a spur of the moment blurb following some inspiration from the bargain bin at Food Lion, I leave you with two drinks to consider:

Dr. Perky
Chubby Sunshine

That's all. Perhaps I'll blog more in the coming week. Perhaps I won't. Oooh, the suspense.

Cat

Admit it, you've missed my constant blogging.

Time to get caught up a little. I don't keep a pile of drafts sitting around, instead I keep them stacked up in my brain where they are constantly evolving or dissipating, sometimes disappearing, reappearing, strengthening, weakening, stagnating, etcetera-ing. It is good to be back in the yard with the dogs where happiness is a deflated basketball and a weirdly shaped frisbee. I like my pesrpective here. It's better for me than being on the road. But the road helps me appreciate what Brown (dog) can do for me. Black (dog) too.

-----

I saw something I wish I hadn't on the way out of Savannah, GA a couple weeks ago. There was heavy traffic as it was about 8am. A morning fog, not uncommon down south, was hanging a few feet above all the cars. I saw a small shape limping it's way as fast as it could across the four lanes of traffic. It was a small cat, brown, black and white. It was in bad shape already as it must have had a leg or two run over. It may not have survived its initial injury had it reached safety but it didn't reach safety, a big school bus ran over it. I guess I haven't seen death happen very often, if at all. One second that little dude was struggling to survive - I was rooting him on, for him to make it across, run little dude, run little dude. The next second, it's over. I felt my stomach churn and could easily have cried. It really made me sad. I wish it would end there, but my head keeps working on things like this long after they've happened. The next upsetting thing is that there are people that may have seen the same thing and felt nothing. Or may have gotten a kick out of it. "Oh, man I saw this cat running across the road... then wham, this bus ran right over it." What destroyed me in the moment might be nothing more than a good little story for someone else to tell throughout the day. That's more disturbing than what happened to the cat. All the same, I feel bad for that cat, and I'm still rooting for him, run little dude.

-----

It is certifiably chilly outside tonight. Yes! I heart fall.

It's Business Time

Long ago, during the creation phase of McBlogland I thought I would write about my business here. I didn't expect to have much else to write about and I really had no idea where this would go. Almost 200 posts later, I obviously found other topics to explore so the business blogging just hasn't happened. Part of that is for privacy, part is to avoid boredom, part of it is to make this my creative escape rather than a another place that my mind consumes itself with all things TrunkPump. That changes tonight, though only slightly and off on a tangent.

In our efforts to work up advertising and marketing materials we micro-over-hyper analyze everything we put out to hopefully avoid unintended negative suggestions. We have done so with differing results over the years. We're not experts. Experts know about the tension color and shape and relationships create in print materials and the way those things tend to affect the recipients. This is also true with videos. Make the cuts too quick or at the wrong time or in the wrong sequence and your viewer will be lost, whether consciously or unconsciously. Add sound to the mix... well, you get it. And, if the sound is necessary to the video, think what that does to the message when it can't be heard. It's a risky proposition to throw something out there and expect it to be received as you intend. Take this blog for instance. I try to write in my voice, as I would speak. Nuance and gentle sarcasm (overt sarcasm, too) may be unrecognizable to the reader that otherwise doesn't know me. I may come off like a jerk. I may be a jerk. This all brings me to last week's trade show and the possibility of bad associations suggested by bad choices creating something that is just plain bad.

A large national company had a pretty big booth, I'd guess 80x80 maybe even 100x100. Each corner had an entrance with a large flat screen tv playing a company history mini-documentary. I know what they were going for, show the rich legacy of this company throughout the past and how that has laid the foundation for a phenomenal future of growth, prosperity and limitless success. What else would they suggest? Now the rub. This company goes back well over 80 years and in their video they do their best to put their timeline in the context of world history. Enter footage of Hitler, complete with the Nazi salute, marching Germans and other loaded images of regrettable 20th century history. Picture seeing this in a video about a company that primarily manufactures and sells lawn care equipment. A strange choice. Imagine not hearing the narrator say "with the backdrop of a world hanging the balance blah blah blah" and only seeing, from some distance, images of Nazi Germany flashing past. Remember, you are looking for a new machine for your landscaping business. Again, an odd choice for... their... um... propaganda. Happily, we haven't made the Hitler mistake. Perhaps I'm being too rough on them for their documentary? Hmmm.

A side note: I am excited about a cool new ad campaign we have based loosely on Mao's Socialist Education Movement. It's part of a five year plan. Gonna be great.