Pyracantha

Well here we are, another Halloween. I will be at bowling tonight and will not get to see the ten to twenty-five trick-or-treaters who will visit Casa Sneed. What a bad break for me. I always hope for the high number because in case of low numbers of kids, it falls to me to eat the excess candy. Mrs. Sneed always buys lots of candy, really good candy, like M&M's.

Today has been a very busy day for me. The day began with a phone conference between me and our financial adviser. The vast Sneed fortune requires plenty of consultation and planning. One wrong step on our part and Wall Street is in turmoil.

I went to visit my friend Greg this morning. He is a faithful employee of Tedious Systems and a former coworker. I meet him every week or so for tea. While I was there I was able to take advantage of a flu shot clinic that was being held at one of the Tedious Systems offices. We old guys need our flu shots.

The balance of the day has been devoted to yard work.



This bush is a pyracantha or sometimes called Firethorn. Pyracantha is native to southern Europe and western Asia. It is in the same family as the rose, and some common berries. It is useful here because it tolerates many soil conditions and is drought tolerant. It has small green leaves and clusters of red berries, which are toxic if eaten and is a thorny-son-of-a-gun. This is probably a evolutionary response to grazers. It make working with the plant an adventure in impaling.

Normally pyrcantha like to be left alone. They generally don't require fertilizer and subsist with low watering, although they thrive with regular watering too. The bush is often used as an espalier, flattened against a wall like a kind of living sculpture. It makes a very dense hedge. My Pyrachantha is about twelve years old and I suspect it has a thirty year lifespan.




The new growth on my plant is a pale yellow, rather than a normal green. I suspect that the plant is suffering from iron deficiency. Iron is an immobile nutrient, so if the plant is not taking it up from its roots, it cannot use what is stored in other parts of the plant to supply new growth. That results in the new growth being pale yellow or white. The new growth also sunburns badly in this condition. Pyracantha is prone to get mites in our climate, which adds to the new growth damage.

I cut back much of the lower plant that had died back last winter and removed an invasive trailing Verbena that had grown up in it and was using the bush as a trellis. Then, I worked fertilizer in the soil under the bush, made sure the irrigation was working and put down a layer of mulch. I should see a great improvement next year. I also hosed the entire plant down to remove as many of the mites as I can. Washing down is the best way to treat mites and is environmentally safe.







Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

When I was a kid I loved to read biographies. Maybe it was because I was a poor white-trash kid and everyone else's life was so glamorous in comparison. I don't know. I do like to read about how people became who they became. Lately I have been watching documentaries for pretty much the same reason. I signed up for NetFlix, which gives me access to tons of them. I don't go in for the exposé stuff. I really don't care to be told how bad something is. Life often sucks and I already know that, so I don't need Michael Moore or some other blow hard reminding me. Since I can't do anything to make health care cheaper, or make the war go away or make politicians more honest, I don't need to be filled in on the extent of the mess. What I do like are documentaries about regular people and their lives. I have seen three lately that I thought were interesting. Bear with me if have seen these or or just stop reading if this seems like a snooze. I got a movie called Wetback. It was the story of Central American refugees trying to sneak into the United States. It is amazing to me, the hardship people will endure to get a better life for themselves. The movie points out something that all Arizonans already know and that you might too. For all the bluster and complaining about the treatment that illegal immigrant Mexicans receive from US officials and citizens, their treatment of the Central Americans who have to sneak across Mexico to get to the US, is a hundred times worse. I read a comment recently from a Latino activist who said that Mexicans have a saying the Americans treat their dogs like people and people like dogs. They need a mirror when it comes to their treatment of Central American refugees. I also got a movie called A League of Ordinary Gentlemen. It is a documentary about a group of Microsoft millionaires who decided to buy The Professional Bowlers Tour when it went broke in 2002. Let me tell you, the life of a person trying to earn a living through professional bowling is decidedly unglamorous. A very few men make a very good living and most just scrap by. I am always interested in how immigrants view America, since so many of we citizens take it for granted. There is a documentary called Spellbound, about the national spelling bee. What makes this interesting is the lives of the contestants. Many are from rural America where learning things by rote is still popular and others are immigrants, particularly immigrants from India. An Indian father in the movies says that if you work hard and get an education in America, you can move up from where you are, which he says is largely impossible in Indian society. I think recent immigrants and kids in poorer sections of the country understand that knowledge is the key to bettering their situation, so they are drawn to contests of knowledge. Most Americans have fallen for the notion that competition has no place in the school environment. I think that is a mistake. When kids grow up thinking that we all get the same result, regardless of effort, they are set up for failure in life. Just my thought. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

I Don't Heart Martha Anymore

I'm not the most creative guy in the world, or even the country, state, town, block, or house. Every once in awhile I get a creative urge.

I drove Son Sneed to the barbershop this morning and the barber had Martha Stewart on the television, so maybe she inspired me. Except that she was making "fun" decorative headbands for women and girls, so that didn't interest really interest me.

On a side note, have you ever noticed that it is mostly women that call things fun. Women will say things like, "these shoes are so much fun". As a guy I don't get what they mean, unless the shoes are telling jokes or something.

I have to confess that many years ago, I found Martha Stewart strangely attractive. My Uncle Richard was an interior designer in NYC for decades and he ruined my fascination with Martha by telling me that he had worked with her and that she is, (and I am quoting Uncle Richard here, so don't blame me) a royal bitch who didn't treat the little people all that well. So, I said the hell with her.

Anyway, I bought this kind of colorful basket and put four little plants, three coleus and an asparagus fern in it. I think it looks okay and gives a little fall color. By next summer, I will have to re-pot them and will be able to move them outside.







Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Bagels

Almost every Sunday I go to the bagel shop near our house and pick up bagels for our Sunday morning visit from the Sneed children and their families. My father used to be in charge of the bagels until he got too old to drive safely. For a while after that, Younger Son Sneed picked up his grandfather and they would stop and get the bagels on their way over here. My father died in August of 2005 and I became custodian of the bagels. Letting my father pick up the bagels was a dicey proposition because he lacked imagination when it came to bagel selection. The lovely Mrs. Sneed enjoys a good poppy seed bagel, so I told Dad to be sure to get some. He took that as an instruction to get all poppy seed bagels. After a year or two of him bringing a dozen poppy seed bagels every week, I finally told him that if I never saw another poppy seed again, it would still be too soon. My dad had the gift of annoyance and sometimes he had to be told directly that he was being annoying. So I stepped up and told him to knock it off with the poppy seeds. His reply was, "Well, you said you liked them." There was a certain level of dysfunction in our relationship. We had a don't ask/don't tell policy in a lot of areas. After that, Dad would go into the bagel place and tell the clerk to give him one dozen assorted. The staff of the bagel shop started prepacking his order in anticipation of his arrival on Sunday morning. This made my dad extremely pleased. He felt like he was a special customer in their eyes. What the kids in the shop were actually doing was foisting off whatever they had excess of or was too misshapened to sell to the eat-in customers, on my old dad. He would show up at our house with the most god-awful assortment of bagels you ever saw. The morning his bag contained about five salt bagels, I finally blew my stack. What kind of joint gives an eighty-year-old man five salt bagels in a dozen? Those five bagels had the recommended daily allowance of salt for an entire decade. First of all, it takes a special person to eat a salt bagel. There must be some Jewish cultural thing to it. The salt bagel must compliment something else. Former Christians cannot appreciate the salt bagel. But it wasn't just salt bagels, it was whatever they had excess of. There was no predicting what crap he would get handed. My father was too polite to complain about the garbage they we passing off on him. I wasn't. I went down to the shop with the intention of letting them have it. The owner happened to be in and I explained the situation to him. I have to say that he was understanding, and said he would instruct the staff not to pre-bag Dad's order anymore. I forget how we arranged for Dad to actually select what he wanted, but it worked out okay. When I went this morning, Mrs. Sneed told me to get pumpkin cream cheese. I love pumpkin anything and the pumpkin cream cheese was very good. It reminds me of the fall, my favorite time of the year. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

King Merle the Pretty Good

The Sneedlet's listen intently to their grandfather's sage advice.


In days of old I had an idea for a book. That was before I ran out of energy and before someone pointed out that I write like a fifth-grader and that no one would publish me anyway.

My book idea was based on things that really tick me off. No surprise there. I wanted to call the book, When I Am King Of The World. I planned to write about those things that I would outlaw, if I ever get any real power.

Many of the annoying things that I had listed for my book, have gone the way of the Do-Do bird. They were killed by technology, good sense or public outrage.

Take for example, the location of a bus bench at somewhere that isn't a bus stop. Years ago some advertising genius decided that benches made good mini-billboards and that placing them around our fair city indiscriminately made good business sense. Unfortunately people mistook them for bus stops and discovered the hard way that the bus wouldn't stop for them.

Our municipal bus system is manned by the men and women of the Teamsters union. Many drivers work the old union tactic called, "Work to Rule." Work to Rule means that some drivers will do only what the work rules say, even when human decency and common sense dictate otherwise. This left many people, often elderly people, sitting in the blazing summer sun as the bus whizzed past them. Fortunately, this bench-placing strategy has died out after complaints to the city.

Not to fear though. There is never a shortage of inconsiderate, greedy or good taste challenged a-holes out there, so the annoyances abound. For each one that dies, two spring up to replace it.

Sneedlet is here today and he is a bit under the weather. Sneedlet has been sick off an on for a few months with the usual kid stuff. This onset of illnesses coincides with the start of his daycare days, so it is to be expected.

The immediate result of his minor illness today is that we are sitting at home rather than going out. He is watching Toy Story on DVD for the hundredth time. The process of queuing up his DVD reminded me of my book project.

If I buy a DVD, why does the maker get to put a dozen previews on the beginning? Especially previews that they force me to watch, by disabling my ability to skip them? Kid's DVDs are the worst, although all DVDs have previews. So, when I am king, nothing goes on the DVD except the movie I paid for. Violators will be sentenced to spend life in prison watching Ben Affleck movies.

Speaking of things that have sprung up in the last few years, when I am King of the World it will be illegal to use a cell phone in a place of public convenience. On a bus, in a restaurant, theater or store, no talking on your cell phone. When I was a Tedious Systems, one of the managers would stand at the urinal holding private conversations. I always made it a point to flush a few times for effect. He didn't seem bothered.

Here's another one. It's past time for American men, young and even some not so young, to man-up. Take the sports merchandising business, for instance. When I am King of the World I will outlaw the manufacture of professional sports team jerseys in adult sizes for sale to the public.

There is no excuse for a man who has reached adulthood to be wandering around wearing a jersey with his favorite player's name on the back. Hero-worship is for children. Even worse was the middle-aged couple I saw the other evening wearing matching Randy Moss football jerseys. Could they be anymore hillbillyish?

Have you ever really thought about bumper stickers? I don't like bumper stickers in general. Most people are humor-challenged, so most bumper stickers are sophomoric and obvious. That is when they are not confirming your worst expectations of the driver. Who thinks that a bumper sticker which says, "Don't tailgate or I flick a booger on your windshield", is funny? And how little self-respect must you have to put it on your car?

Among the stickers that grate on me are those that memorialize the late Dale Earnhart, Sr., who was a NASCAR driver of some fame. Earnhart's car was number eight. A driver's number is a big deal to the NASCAR folks.

Question: What do Dale Earhart and Pink Floyd have in common? Answer: Their last big hit was the Wall.

That one always cracks me up.

Anyway, I saw a bumper sticker that said, "Number 8, Heaven needed another angel." If your faith supports the idea that God kills people just to keep the angel population up, I would suggest that you rethink things, religion-wise.

That sticker was planted on a car painted to resemble Earnhart's NASCAR vehicle, complete with a big number 8 on each side. A young woman was driving the monstrosity, which makes it all the more puzzling. Women usually have a modicum of decorum.

Anyway, I don't want to read bumper stickers, so out they will go. I'll exempt some that advertise for organizations, because I will be a benevolent king.

So, there you go. Look for my book on Amazon.




Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

A Day In The Life Of Me

Peeping Sneedlets.




I missed yesterday's post due to my extraordinarily busy schedule. How busy am I you ask? Darn busy, that's how busy.

For instance, I played golf yesterday. Is it my fault that Some Guy Named Bob set us up to play at ten-thirty in the morning, throwing the whole day off schedule? Can I help it if the Seafood King can't start early because he has other commitments first thing Thursday morning? Am I to blame for the three old, old people in front of us for all eighteen holes, who moved at glacial speed and caused a major golf course traffic jam? I cannot be held responsible if I didn't get home until after three o'clock.

Then when I did make it home, things just didn't let up. First, I had to go through the TIVO listings to delete the shows that had recorded that are reruns. When you record, How Clean Is Your House and they show it four times a day on BBC-America, you get plenty of reruns. Someone has to take care of these things.

Then, the mailman brought two new DVDs from NetFlix. I opened them and started watching one, just to be sure they sent the right selections. The darned disc was scratched and it kept starting over, so that took some time to resolve. Did I mention that I picked up the mail?

Let's talk rose watering. Someone has to water my roses and that someone is me. I would like to have a yardman but I am on a fixed income, so that is out of the question.

Just as I got ready to sit down and write a very witty post, sure to entertain one and all, the Lovely Mrs. Sneed came home and we had to leave immediately. Our plan was to be home at 8:30 pm sharp, leaving plenty of time for the post. Can I really be blamed that time flies when you are having fun and that we didn't come home until 1:00 am? I think you see my point.











Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Pruning

This is not exactly about plant pruning so don't stop reading.

Most of the plants sold in garden nurseries here in our fair city, are not truly desert plants at all. They tend to be Mediterranean or tropical plants. A Mediterranean plant is one that is adapted to a climate where the winters tend to be mild and wet and the summers suffer under drought conditions. Our climate is well suited to these plants.

Tropical plants are those that require more water than Mediterraneans and they don't tolerate the direct sunlight as well. At least our direct summer sun.



This is Lantana, a more tropical plant, but still a favorite among homeowners and landscapers here.


Bougainvillea is another plant that does well here. It is native to South America, but acts like a Mediterranean plant. It thrives in sun, with low watering.

The problem with these plants is that they cannot tolerate our winter cold that well. They typically freeze way back in winter, sometimes to the ground, leaving the exposed foliage dead and unsightly. Bougainvillea also has enormous thorns that make Spring pruning a challenge.

It has been my experience that allowing a large Bougainvillea to freeze, makes pruning in the Spring an undertaking from hell, roughly equivalent to trying to do dental work on a crocodile without sedation.



This is a still tender Bougainvillea branch. You can see the developing thorns adjacent to the leaf petiole. I guess that these thorns are an evolutionary response to grazing animals.



These are two sections of Bougainvillea cane that froze last year. Once the branch becomes woody, the thorns are a killer. I have had them go right through the bottoms of my shoes and into my feet when I have accidentally stepped on one. Like most things, Bougainvillea is worth the trouble because of its beauty.

Lantana typically freezes right to the ground and although it has no thorns, it still leaves a dead woody mess to clean up in Spring.

In addition, the Lovely Mrs. Sneed doesn't care for the unsightliness that freezing brings to these plants. Long-time Sneed readers know that item one on the Sneed Blog's mission statement is to keep the lovely Mrs. S. happy, or at least not mad at me.

We usually make a preemptive strike on these plants in fall. By we, I mean her usually, although I am always the put it in the truck and take it to the dump guy.

Since she is working two jobs and I have zero jobs, I figured that it was only fair for me to cut the monsters back myself this year.

So, this morning, without regard to my personal safety, I cut back all of the Lantana and Bougainvillea, loaded them into the truck and took them to the City composting area at our municipal dump. Braving 30 to 40 mph winds in the process, I might add.

Note to local weather people. Your forecast of diminishing winds was slightly off. The good news is that you can just make the same forecast for tomorrow.

Here's a tip for life from me. When unloading thorny stuff at the dump, park downwind from the other dumpees, or is it dumpers?. That way, any cussing that might occur, will be carried away from sensitive ears. You're welcome.

This morning, as I unloaded the razor-sharp mess from my truck in heavy winds, (did I mention that?) I had a vision of a woman a mile downwind, suddenly turning to her husband and saying, "Eldon, did you just call me a motherf*cker?"

A lot of your smart gardening guys say not to cut back these plants until they die back in winter and begin to re-leaf in Spring. The thinking is that the pruning will cause the plant to start to sprout before the truly cold weather comes and damage the plant. I figure it doesn't matter since the plant is going to freeze back anyway.

On a scale of 1 to 10, doing it now is about a 7. Doing it in March is definitely a ten.








Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

I had gardening class today. We got a late start because of a change in the schedule of one of the presenters. Evidently most people didn't read the email that notified us of the change and most arrived at the regular time, that is they arrived early. I, on the other hand, showed up on time. The down side for me is that I had to take a seat in front of a woman I call The World's Foremost Expert. TWFE for short. TWFE is probably a nice enough person when she isn't trying to demonstrate how smart she is. Unfortunately, Smartypants is the only role I know her in. So there I sat, stuck in the maximum auditory zone of her chatter. The woman has an opinion on every subject that she freely shares and when not sharing, keeps up a steady stream of comments with the woman who sits next to her. A woman I might add, who thinks TWFE is just super-duper smart. Next week, I get there real early and sit in the back row. I don't know about you, but I am convinced that almost every man or woman in the United States holding public office is a crook. At least by the standards of us regular people. Case in point. Sen. Barrack Obama, Washington outsider and the man who would be Lincoln, received campaign contributions of $2300 each from the nieces and nephews of a big-money donor named Elrick Williams. The nieces and nephews are ages 2, 9, 13, 13 and 13. I don't know about you, but when I was 13 I didn't have cash to throw at a presidential candidate. Not to be outdone, Gov. Mitt Romney has received the same amount from at least one 15-year-old. Obama's campaign has expressed shock at this development and promises to return the dough. they want it known that they have standards and that in the future they will not accept cash from those younger than 15. Do you know any 15-year-olds who would voluntarily part with $2300 for a candidate? The Times last week revealed that Sen. Clinton received a lot of donations from busboys, waiters and other service workers in Chinatown. It seems the party bosses are ordering everyone to pony up or else. These folks figure $2300 to keep their jobs is the cost of doing business. I for one, have had it with these people. What in the world would be the point in caring who is elected to what office, when they are all bought and paid for by someone? Often the same someone. Wait, I may run for something. My slogan could be "Vote for Sneed, He's Not Smart Enough To Be A Crook". Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Wind

More compelling video from Sneed Studios. If you are alive and living in the United States you have to be aware that a lot of Southern California is on fire. The homes of the rich and famous, as well as the broke and anonymous are in jeopardy. The culprit in this calamity is the Santa Ana winds that form in the high desert on west side of the Rockies and east of the Sierra Nevada, in the Great Basin. The heat of the winds is caused by the compression of the air as it sweeps through the Sierra Nevada mountains and down toward the ocean. As we all remember from school, things under pressure get hot. I am fortunate to live in an area of the country largely untouched by natural disaster. We don't get bitter cold, blizzards, tornadoes, hurricanes, wind disaster, widespread flooding or earthquake. If we get a severe natural event, it is usually short-lived and localized. In exchange, we endure blistering heat for several months of the year. Except for the illegal entrants who try to cross the desert or the folks who get lost in the desert, no one dies from our heat because we have low, low humidity. Today, we are having very high winds, 30 miles per hours, with gusts to 40 mph. Probably from the same source as the Santa Anas. I'm no weather guy, so I don't really know. This is the explanation that I heard our weather guy give. Blah, blah, blah, clockwise, blah, blah, blah high-pressure, blah, blah circulate. Unlike the California winds our high winds are cool. We live in the high desert at about 3000 feet above sea level, so our winds don't compress as they reach us. It was howling before six this morning when Son Sneed and I went to his appointment. As I sat and waited for him in the hospital waiting area, I noticed that Steve Carell was being interviewed on Good Morning America. I couldn't hear the sound, but I suppose the interview is about his new movie, Dan-something. I really like Carell and The Office is one of the couple of shows that I faithfully watch on television. I wonder about Carell's career, though. His character in The Office is ideal for him and his comedic talents, but he benefits from a terrific cast of co-stars and good writing. Sometimes actors in an ideal role have trouble moving beyond it. Take Micheal Richards and Jason Alexander from Seinfeld fame. After that show they have struggled to find their next role. They both have been flops on television. Of course Richards inadvertently found notoriety as a racist jackass, but I'm guessing that wasn't his plan. I hope Carell isn't making the same mistake by starring in hideous clunkers like Evan Almighty. Carell got good reviews in the 40-Year-Old Virgin, but I hope he doesn't let himself be dragged into every movie that is pitched to him. As if the early appointment and the winds of hell weren't enough, I had to go to the dentist this afternoon to get a filling. Dr. Yahoo asked me if I wanted to have the area numbed or not. I voted "not". I'm pretty sure he charges extra for numbing. It was a quick and painless procedure. Dr. Yahoo says my teeth are in better shape than most people's, which I find hard to believe. My teeth look like someone went through a tooth junkyard and assembled the set from parts. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Sunday

I tried to take a picture of my two little assistants, but the blond kid wouldn't cooperate.



Then he urged his cousin to help him.



Nice.




We had a get-together will all the Sneed children and their families this morning. Except Cletus Sneed, of course. Cletus would never remember something like his mother's birthday.

We all met for breakfast at our usual place. As restaurants go the proprietors of this joint have it made. They are only open for breakfast and lunch. I think they close at about 3pm. It was a nice time.

The big news of the weekend is that Daughter Sneed has become engaged to Mr. Peterson. They are planning a March 22, 2008 wedding. I have been checking the weather history to see what the average temperature is on March 22nd. I'm hoping to wear shorts, if I can find a tux with short pants.

Son Sneed and I have to leave home at 5:45 am tomorrow to get to one of his treatments by 6:15 am. then I have to go to the dentist at one o'clock. In between, I have to take Mrs. Sneed's car tire to the shop to be repaired. It has a giant screw in it. No golf for me tomorrow.



Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Hangin' with My Peeps

Before I forget, today is Mrs. Sneed's birthday. Let's just say it is the umpteenth anniversary of her twenty-ninth birthday. Any good birthday needs a cake and Sneedlet One is trying his best to help his Grandma blow out the candles. It was touch and go for a while, but amid the screams of the smoke detector, they successfully blew them all out. We will be having a family party of Sunday and both of our Sneedlets will be present. That is always a treat.

I had to go to WalMart today, but more on that later.

I have been taking our various Honda's to the same repair shop for about fifteen years. The shop is run by a guy, I'll call him Bob, who used to work for one of the Honda dealers here in our fair city. We like him because his prices are reasonable and he is honest and reliable. He only has this one thing that kind of bugs me.

No matter how many times I have been to his shop or talked to him over the phone, every time I bring one of the cars in, he acts as if he has never laid eyes on me before. Without exception, his greeting is, "What can I help you with sir?" Am I that forgettable? Crap, people who have been trying to forget me with the aid of trained professionals can't do it.

I decided this morning that I needed to take my '99 Civic in for an oil change. Bob always tells me to avoid the quickie lube places and just drop in anytime I need an oil change, no appointment necessary.

When I arrived, Bob was sitting in the front seat of an Odyssey minivan, listening to the engine run. I asked him if he could change my oil and to my surprise he said no, and acted a bit out of sorts when he said it. It seems that illness has struck the shop and he has a load of cars waiting to be fixed, with no technicians to fix them. He said to call him next week. Okay then.

Well, I'm a strike-while-the-iron's-hot kind of guy and if I didn't get the oil changed today, God knows when I would think of it again. I sometimes go to Jiffy Lube with my pick up, but they are hard sell outfit. According to them, it is a miracle your car made it as far as their shop, in the condition it's in. Usually, this means that they will try to sell you every service they offer. No thanks.

Then I remembered that WalMart, with a location near you, has an express lube service. So I drove over there. Daughter Sneed accuses me of going to WalMart to hang with my peeps, her little joke. Not all of us have the cash to shop at Target, where they carry a better class of Chinese crap and all the employees wear shoes.

When I got to the WalMart there were two cars being serviced in the two bays and no one waiting, I thought I had hit the jackpot. The old in and out.

While I waited, I strolled around the store, which like WalMarts everywhere, is a pigsty. The fellow in the lube area told me that it would be a thirty to forty-five minute wait, but it stretched into an hour and a half. So much for express lube.

Unfortunately, during the wait, I met a crazy former coworker, who now works at WalMart. Tedious Systems gave her medical leave for a mystery illness and asked her not to come back.

Before she left Tedious, I was one of the many people she blamed for her troubles. She had sworn revenge on ninety percent of the folks in the office, me included, so when she suddenly appeared two feet from me today, my urge was to run. But today she was all smiles and full of stories about her wild adventures after leaving Tedious behind.

I wracked my brain trying to remember if I once actually told her to f*ck off or if it was just a fantasy I concocted. Either way, she seems to have forgotten her grievances against me. She says she is moving back to a large Southern state soon, (Jenny Haha brace yourself) so I hope to never meet her again. I'm no Little Big Man and today was not a very good day to die.







Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

No Hard Time

Today was a big day in the Sneed household. Today marked the last court appearance that Son Sneed will have to make regarding his bogus DUI case. He is a free man. For the new reader (as if that is likely), let me recap the story. At the end of April Son Sneed was involved in a minor car accident. There was no damage to either vehicle and no one suffered injury. This was the first traffic accident or ticket that Son Sneed had ever had. When Tucson's finest responded to the call, the responding officer assumed that Son Sneed was intoxicated, based on his demeanor and the fact that a retired officer told the responding officer that Son Sneed was driving erratically prior to the accident. The responding officer gave Son Sneed a field sobriety test and determined that he had probable cause to do a Breathalyzer test, which revealed no traces of alcohol in Son Sneed's system. Son Sneed explained that he is mentally ill and that he takes medication to control his symptoms. The officer had already convinced himself that Son Sneed was under the influence and he was out to prove it. So rather than citing him for the accident and allowing him to go, the officer drove him to a police substation and demanded a urine sample. Son Sneed told the officer that he has trouble urinating but that he would consent to a blood test to prove his innocence. Instead of having his blood drawn, the officer chose to keep him in a cell, drinking water and periodically escorting him to the bathroom. All to no avail. The arresting officer finally grew tired of trying to get the urine sample and simply cited him for DUI and refusal to submit to the urine sample. He also instructed him that the law allowed the officer to confiscate his license for a refusal to provide a urine sample. The experience so rattled Son Sneed that he spent the next couple of months in and out of the hospital. The State of Arizona summoned Son Sneed to a hearing to show cause why his license should not be suspended for one year for refusing to provide a urine sample. After testimony by Son Sneed and the arresting officer, the judge ruled that Son Sneed had not refused to provide the sample and that his license should be returned to him. The judge also referred his case to the state medical board to determine if Son Sneed is medically fit to drive. Rather than fight this battle, Son Sneed voluntarily relinquished his license to drive. In the meantime we have been going to court monthly while the City of Tucson weighs whether or not to prosecute the DUI. Today the prosecutor's office finally decided that they had insufficient evidence to take the case to trial and dismissed the charge. Son Sneed has to pay a fine of $250 for being at fault in the fender bender. In the end it all worked out, but not without a lot of trial and tribulation. Had the officer just acted like a human being rather than a bully with a badge, this could have all been avoided. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Dr. Hand-In-My-Pocket

I had to go to the dentist today for a cleaning. They claim that they discovered a small cavity and now I have to go back next week to have it filled. They also took dental xrays, because according to the hygienist it has been a year since my last xray. Coincidentally, my insurance pays for one set of xrays per year. Imagine that. My dentist is running a racket as far as I can tell. I originally signed up with him because he was on my insurance's preferred provider list, meaning that he had set prices that he agreed to with the insurance company. This also meant he agreed not to charge me anymore than the insurance company schedule. For instance, if the insurance company negotiated a price of $500 for a particular procedure, that's all he could charge. My company would pay him 80% and I would pay 20%. He got a total of $500, even if he was charging self-pay patients more, which he was. So what this yahoo has done is to tell the insurance company to buzz off, a fact I discovered the hard way. Penny, the world's least competent dental front desk person, broke the news to me a while back. They will still file the charges with the insurance company, but they are not bound to the price schedule. I guess Dr. Yahoo figured out that any loss of patients from this change, would be made up for by raising the prices 25%, to his self-pay level. I recently had to have a three-crown bridge put in. The price that the insurance company allowed for the bridge was $1560. That's for three tiny crowns that some guy made in a lab somewhere for about ten bucks each. What Dr. Yahoo paid the lab I don't know, but I will bet it was less than a hundred bucks. What Yahoo charged me I do know, a cool $2550. On bridge work my insurance policy only pays 50% of the $1560 or $780, leaving me on the hook with Yahoo for the difference of $1770. That is obscene. What this change has allowed Yahoo to do is to put all his employees, himself included, on thirty-two hour weeks. The office is open five days a week, but they take turns being off, half on Monday and half on Friday. Don't get me wrong, I'm all in favor of the shortened work week, I just don't want to finance it. So, I guess I will be in the market for a new dentist soon, one that still contracts with my insurance company. On a more cheerful note, the days here are now in the seventies and eighties and the nights in the low fifties. It is a great time to be a gardener. I put out more annuals today to spice up the patio. Hopefully, they will bloom into December. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

While I was in Long Beach over the weekend, I was reminded about how many jobs in this country are being done be immigrants, both legal and illegal. These are predominantly jobs that Americans don't wish to do, despite what the critics say. We have filled our least desirable jobs, jobs that even teenagers won't do, with immigrants glad to have a place to start. We stayed at the Westing Long Beach hotel. It could not function without Hispanic immigrants. The same is true for most restaurants, car washes, landscape services, construction businesses, taxicab businesses, you name it. If it involves hard physical labor for a low wage, Americans take a pass. Without immigrants from Mexico and Central America, Americans would eat far less well than we do because there would be no one to pick our produce or slaughter our meat. As the American birthrate falls, the entitlement programs we have voted ourselves become unsustainable without an influx of immigrants to pays the taxes required to keep them flowing. In our fair state we have passed a law that says employers must verify the immigration status of all workers or face being put out of business. It hasn't dawned on the average Arizonan that they have made a bad decision. Immigration is the responsibility of the federal government and the blame for the mess they have allowed to fester, lies at their feet. Whether it is the Democrats or the Republicans, or the corrupt governments of our neighbors to the south, the fault for our immigration problem does not belong to the illegal immigrant, but with the people we entrusted to lead us. Unfortunately, statesmen are in short supply but self-aggrandizing loudmouths are not. I was talking to my friend Arturo today about this situation. He is a naturalized American from Central America, who came to this country in the 1960s. In his home country, Arturo was an accountant and a university graduate. He came to this country because his brother had come earlier and had encouraged Arturo to follow him to the land of opportunity. Arturo said that he looked for work as an accountant, but no one wanted to hire him. Partly due to his limited English fluency, but primarily because there were plenty of Americans who wanted accounting jobs. He eventually found work as a dishwasher in a hotel. It paid one dollar an hour. In contrast, when I began working for Tedious systems in 1969, I was paid $2.38 per hour, two and a half times more. Neither of those sums mean much today, but imagine that your boss doubled your salary tomorrow and you get a feel for the difference. Although Arturo worked his way up to busboy, then waiter and finally desk clerk, he recognized that he needed to improve his skills in order to continue to improve his lot. He found a part-time job in hospital, working midnight to three a.m., went to school during the day and worked another part-time job from two p.m. until six p.m. Some Americans have that drive, but not too many. Arturo went on to be a successful professional, both as an accountant and a businessman. He never became rich by American standards, but he is living the American dream. Why is this so hard for people to understand? Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky.

Sucker Deal

Some people like the television show, The Power of Ten. In fact, some people love it so much that they have been known to show up at a taping and try to accost Mr. Drew Carey. Not me.

While I like Mr. Drew Carey and would love to chat with someone who had actually touched him, I prefer the NBC show, Deal or No Deal. Don't get me wrong, I find Howie Mandel very annoying and the show terribly contrived. What I enjoy are the imbeciles that routinely piss away a lot of money in the hope of getting more. My favorites are those who leave empty handed.

People who study lottery winners will tell you that they almost invariably waste their good fortune and wind up broke. Deal or No Deal puts the level of stupidity shown by lotto winners on display for the nation to see. Someone said that winning the lottery doesn't change you, it makes you more of what you are. If you were a poor money manager, it just gives you more to mismanage.

Deal or No Deal, as you may know, involves a contestant selecting one case from a group of twenty-eight cases, in hopes of selecting the one million-dollar case. The object is to then open the remaining twenty-seven cases without uncovering the one containing a million bucks. Along the way the contestants are offered various sums of money to stop. The amounts offered depend on how many high-dollar cases remain unopened. The more high-value cases left unopened, the more the offer.

Regular people don't get to be on the show; you have to exhibit a certain freak factor. Take for example the woman on the show that I watched this morning. Yes, I admit it, I Tivo the show.

She was a mother of three from Florida. She had divorced her husband but was planning to remarry him. She wanted to win enough to pay off her divorce attorney and still have a bit of cash. She said that she was always strapped for money. She was pretty, a bit chunky and just as sweet a Southern Belle as you would ever want to meet. At least on the show. In real life who knows?

At one point in the game she had a chance to leave with $135,000. Her remaining unopened cases were the $1,000,000 one, plus $500, $200 and $50. Rather than accept the $135,000, likely more money than she has ever seen, she forged on. She left with a hundred bucks, after opening the $1,000,000 case on her next pick.

It always amazes me that people will go for that little bit extra and lose it all.

I resumed my regular routine today. I drove Son Sneed to the doctor, unpacked from the trip, did my laundry and dusted a little bit.

Later in the morning Peterson called to ask me to come to Daughter Sneed's house to help move the dead her washing machine into the garage. The washer had stopped draining and the prognosis was not good.

We dragged it into the garage, removed the front panel and decided that the pump was shot. We took off the pump and discovered that a very small stone had become jammed in the impeller. I got the rock unstuck and the pump jumped back to life. I love it when things work out without a repairman.

Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Home, Sweet Home

Well, we are home from Long Beach, safe and sound.



The Long Beach Convention Center has a lot of tropical plants in its landscape. This is a flower on a banana tree on the side of the building. I'm guess that this is a non-fruiting hybrid banana of some kind.



Sometimes you see the strangest things right in the middle of a city. This appears to be corn growing in a gutter in the middle of a parking lot.

We left Long Beach at a bit after noon today and drove to West Hollywood, so that we could eat lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe in the Beverly Center. Mother and Daughter Sneed really like the Hard Rock Cafe and we have eaten in them all over the country. To our surprise and disappointment, it has closed and moved to Universal Studios. It would have been nice for Google Maps to tell me that when I put in directions to the Hard Rock Cafe in Hollywood and it gave me the address of the Beverly Center location.

As they say, when one door closes another opens, so we were able to have a lovely lunch in the Beverly Center food court. Imagine lunch in any food court, in any mall, anywhere in the country and you get the picture. But we were hungry and it was food. Plus we didn't have time to look around and still make our flight.

The Beverly Center is directly across the street from Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, perhaps the most famous hospital in the west. Virtually every building and program has been endowed by someone famous and carries their name. I read that the hospital has 9000 employees and 15,000 fund-raising volunteers. There is a George Burns Rd., and a Gracie Allen Dr. on the hospital campus. Only in Hollywood.

So, we're home, I didn't cause any scenes with strangers and a good time was had by all. What more can you ask?









Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Saturday in Long Beach

We've had a busy Saturday in Long Beach. Mrs. and Daughter Sneed are attending their conference and Peterson, Sneedlet and I have been on a day-long adventure.

We dropped the conference attendees at their meeting this morning and drove to nearby San Pedro, California, to have something to eat in a little place called MacDonald's. It isn't like we intended to go to either San Pedro or McD's, but that's how it worked out.

There was a very earnest Obama 2008 worker holding court in the restaurant. She was enthusiastically explaining the virtues of Senator Obama to a fellow that she had trapped in the line. She was making a comparison beween Obama and Abraham Lincoln, explaining that Obama is a true conservative, like Lincoln. She actually told the poor man that if he liked Lincoln, he will really like Obama. I'm not kidding.

I was tempted to ask her to expand on the similarities between Lincoln and Obama, but that would have been a cheap shot, because I know that she was just repeating the campaign spiel that she had been fed.

She was trying to get a commitment out of this fellow to attend some campaign event and he was desperately trying to get away. He finally told her that his only day off work was on Saturday, so he couldn't attend any meetings.

Her next candidate was an Hispanic woman who told her that she never votes. The worker politely told her that non-voters are the ones most hurt by the current policies. I'm not sure how it is worse for them, but it sounds like something and most people don't really think about it. I'm pretty sure that we all are stuck with our representatives, whether or not we vote.

The worker's criteria for selecting victims seemed to be based upon language. If you spoke English, you were her target. It was sort of a fool's errand because in this part of San Pedro, crammed up against the Port of Long Beach, English-speakers are in a minority. I didn't make eye contact and I told Peterson to tell her that we were Canadians if she accosted him. When we went to pay, a guy in line said loudly, "Don't try to pay with your Canadian money." When I turned around, he said that he overheard me telling Peterson and congratulated me on my quick thinking.



I saw this sticker plastered on several surfaces around the Queen Mary. It is for an LA based musical group of the same name. They have a new CD out called Early Prayers, on a record label called Urbantone Records. I listened to a couple of their tracks and they aren't bad, even in the opinion of an old guy.

What cracked me up was the promo information from the record company flacks on their website. It read, "While mainstream music continues to become more commercialized and less visionary, this group of musicians aim to create music containing the substance that radio airwaves seem to lack." A musical group that claims that they are keeping it real, as the youngsters say. Never heard that before.



Speaking of keeping it real. I was doing some underwater photography, laying at the bottom of the harbor, when this guy passed right over my head. It was a close one but I was able to fight him off.

The truth is that we went to the Long Beach aquarium this afternoon and I was standing under a giant tank looking up. It is a fascinating place, if you are interested in sea life.

Lastly, the Long Beach Marathon is being run tomorrow, so our hotel is crawling with runners. The check in for the race is across the street and there are lots of skinny people going across the road carrying their registration packets in these little yellow bags that the organizers are handing out. Some are wearing tee shirts from marathons they have run in previously. I saw a woman wearing a Boston Marathon shirt.

My personal best marathon time was didn't do it. I was a 15K runner years ago, but I had to give up racing in the prime of my life to become fat and old. The heartbreak of defeat.





Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

How cool is this? This is my very first mobile blog. As I write this I am riding shotgun in our rental Chevy Uplander, cruising west on the 22 freeway toward Long Beach. Peterson is at the wheel, Sneedlet is sound asleep, Mrs. Sneed and Daughter Sneed are in the back talking about their counseling stuff. We got to Los Angeles at 1:30 pm local time and headed directly to Disneyland because the Sneed women will be tied up tomorrow with their conference. I called the hotel to say we would be in at tenish, which, since we prepaid, shouldn't be a problem, but better safe than sorry. Before we left home this morning I had to pick up a prescription for Son Sneed and go to the framing place to pick up Son Sneed's diplomas that Mrs. Sneed had framed for him as a graduation gift. Let me tell you that having something framed costs big bucks. If you are not a hick like me you probably know that. When we went into the store to order the framing, the framer woman rang something up and it came to $277. They were have a $100 off sale for purchases over $250 bucks or something, so it came to $177 plus tax after the discount. I thought that seemed like a lot to have two things framed. How wrong I was, that was just for the first one. The second also came to $177, so after tax the total came to $382. That seems like a lot to me for framing a couple of diplomas. This morning when I went to pick them up, I noticed a sign advertising a buy one, get one free deal. I did some quick math and figured that the new sale was better than the deal we got, so I asked the clerk if I could get the better deal. The kid working the counter has no power and had to call the manager. I expected the worse, but the only problem turned out to be computing the difference. After much computing, he gave me back $77 plus tax. I love it. Well, we have arrived at Long Beach, which is a pretty scary looking place. Our hotel is in about a mile from the intersection of Carjack Avenue and Serial Killer Road, where we are stopped at a light, so I hope the scenery improves ASAP. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Pass The Pills

A couple of days ago I may have given the impression that mail order prescriptions are a sign of having one foot in the grave. Of course, by "giving the impression", I mean that is what I said. A couple of folks kindly pointed out that many of your younger people use mail order prescriptions too and that I should not to worry because I remain a strong and virile fellow. I may have read between the lines a bit. What I was trying to say is that as I get older, I find myself being slowly sucked in to a world where I actually know the ins and outs of my health coverage plan. Ten years ago my motto was, Doctors, who needs them? Now I find myself talking to helpful patient care advocates about getting my pills and other health-related stuff. My poor old dad was an extreme example of what happens to a guy with too much health insurance and too much time. He became a world-class hypochondriac. At the end of his life he had a Lazy Susan on his kitchen table, covered in pill bottles. Ask him what a particular bottle was for and he would often say he couldn't recall what it was for but since the doctor gave it, he was taking it. He had a stable of doctors that he saw for a variety of ailments both real and imagined. I use to kid him that if he kept going for tests they would find some really serious problem and then he would have more medical care than even he wanted. He found out he had lung cancer because he was complaining to the doctor about arthritis in his shoulder. The lung tumor showed up unexpectedly on the xray. He died less than a year later. My dad always had a list of his medications on him. On Sundays he would come over with a bottle of this or that to show Older Son Sneed, who is a pharmacist. He had a bottle of eye-drops that he carried and delighted in pulling out this tiny bottle and loudly complaining that it cost thirty-five buck. My old dad never met a medical test he didn't think a guy should get. At eighty he went and got a PSA test for prostate cancer because he could. I'm pretty sure that if you get prostate cancer at eighty, no one is providing aggressive treatment. I would prefer not to know, since it takes a long time to kill you anyway. So, you see my concern. First it's mail order pill and before I know it, I have a standing weekly appointment with my doctor. It's a slippery slope folks. Tomorrow the Lovely Mrs. Sneed and I will be off to Long Beach, California so that she and Daughter Sneed can attend a counseling conference. We will be there through Sunday. I will, along with Daughter Sneed's significant other Mr. Peterson, be entertaining Sneedlet One. My experience with Long Beach is limited to those times when I got off a freeway at the wrong interchange, so I don't quite know what to expect. Peterson got a travelers guide from the Long Beach tourism folks and it seems nice enough. We are staying at the Westin in Long Beach. It is always a crap shoot with these business class hotels, but the reviews that I found on line for the Westin were positive, except for Nadine, from Rancho Cucamonga, California who gave the hotel a score of one on a one to ten scale. Nadine rated the cleanliness, the staff and the amenities as an eight out of ten, but gave the hotel a one overall because on the weekend she stayed there was a school kid convention going on. Nadine must really hate kids. I do know that we will be visiting Disneyland for the about one hundredth time (I'm not kidding), since it is only twenty-five minutes away from the hotel. Sneedlet One enjoys Disneyland almost as much as Mrs. Sneed enjoys him enjoying it. An old curmudgeon like me doesn't stand a chance. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

M. Sneed Videographer

I was monkeying around with the new feature that Blogger added that allows uploads of video. Pretty cool, but very slow. This riveting video is of our fountain. I am waiting for word from the Cannes people about a spot in next year's festival. I used to chlorinate the waterfall to keep the algae under control, but I discovered that if I just let the pump run all the time the water stays clear without chlorine. Plus Lacey the Wonder Dog, thinks that fountain is her water bowl. She refuses to drink from a regular dog bowl. I occasionally have to remember to clean the filter around the pump, or the water will slow to a trickle. I was listening to Alan Dershowitz on the Point of Inquiry podcast over the weekend. Dershowitz has a new book called Blasphemy, in which he makes the case that the religious right has hijacked the Declaration of Independence in the name of Christianity and that the United States is not now nor ever was a Christian nation. He makes a compelling case that the Founders were largely deists, not Christians and that their understanding of God was as a god of nature and not the God of the Bible. In making his case for the separation of church and state, Dershowitz points to the 1796 Treaty of Tripoli which was approved by the first President Adams and ratified unanimously by the US Senate. Article 11 of that treaty says, "As the Government of the United States of America is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion; as it has in itself no character of enmity against the laws, religion, or tranquillity, of Mussulmen; and, as the said States never entered into any war, or act of hostility against any Mahometan nation, it is declared by the parties, that no pretext arising from religious opinions, shall ever produce an interruption of the harmony existing between the two countries." That seems fairly compelling to me, since a handful of the first Senators, were also signers of the Declaration of Independence. Dershowitz also has a very interesting position on the idea of the sanctity of marriage. He believes that marriage is a religious sacrament, in the same way that circumcision is to the Jews and baptism is to Christians. Dershowitz thinks it is time to concede marriage to the religious communities. Let them handle marriage in the same way they handle baptism. No one would suggest that the state regulate baptism afterall. Mr. Dershowitz's idea is that all unions be civil and not bound by religious restrictions. Every person entering into a cilvil union would enjoy equal protection under the law. The purpose of the civil union would be to recognize a legal arrangement. If you think about it, that is what we are doing anyway by requiring a state license to marry. It is just that we have allowed the churches to butt their noses into it and restrict who can marry. Should a couple want to make a religious commitment to one another, then it would be up to them to find an appropriate clergy person to do that. A religious commitment would not change the underlying legal basis for a union. This arrangement provides legal protection for all parties and a spiritual component for those so inclined. You might wonder how this differs from the idea of civil unions that crop up now, only to be crushed by the state's support of religion. The difference is that civil unions would not be the default position, but the primary one. Everyone would get a civil union recognized as legitimate by the state. Marriage would be optional. I like it. In other matters, the municipal golf courses here in our fair city are closed for over-seeding this week. Over-seeding is the practice of seeding over the soon-to-be-dormant Bermuda grass with a winter Rye grass. This keeps the grass green and the snowbirds happy. They didn't used to do this, but since the city courses are watered with treated effluent now, they can grow Rye grass over the winter, without worrying about the water consumption. In cooler climates, Rye grass is a perennial, so you don't have to reseed every year. Here in our climate it is too hot for Rye to make it over the summer, so we endure a two-week dead period in our golf play. This closing of the golf courses has thrown a monkey wrench into my routine. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky.

A Million Angry Kooks

Our daily newspaper, like many papers, allows reader comments on stories in the online edition. Unfortunately, on many stories they have had to disallow this feature because of the tenor of comments. It is pure hatred. Any story that reports a negative event, be it a crime or even an accident, will unleash a flood of vicious comments, if it contains a Spanish surname or the words illegal entrant. There is a cadre of posters who live to rail against illegal entrants. Even stories about bodies found in the desert used to be greeted with nastiness from these people. So the paper has had to muzzle them. It must be a hard decision for a newspaper to be the censor. And it's not just the illegal alien stories that raise the ire of this bunch. The parents of a teenage boy who was killed while riding his bike, were castigated for not being better parents. People who a lucky enough to not experience the tragedy of losing a child, often mistake their good fortune for good parenting. So, the paper has had to resort to limiting comments on stories they think might attract the attention of these ignoramuses. It's kind of a sad commentary on civility. In other news, my pal Sneedlet One came over for the day. The poor guy was sick to his stomach this morning and slept for quite awhile. Right after puking on a chair. I don't know if this is residual from his virus or more of it. By this afternoon he seemed to be a bit better and we ran a couple of errands. I got another reminder that I am getting old today. I take two medications on an ongoing basis. Normally, I get them filled at Walgreens, and they cost me $25 each per month. My insurance has a $25 copay for drugs. I got something from my health insurance carrier reminding me that I can get a 90-day supply of these drugs by mail order for a $50 copay for each one. That means my $50 monthly cost goes down to $33.33. That's a lot to a guy on a fixed income. I think when you begin to order drugs via the mail, you have official reached the top of the hill and have one foot over it. Geez, I used to make fun of my old dad for the same thing. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Cool at Last

This is the best time of the year to live in the desert. Our overnight low temperatures are dropping, it was 48 degrees F. (8.9C) overnight. Typically, it is in the fifties at this time of year, so it is a bit cooler than usual. Over the winter we get a handful of nights into the twenties.



These are some flowers that have blossoms at the moment.

The top picture is an ornamental pepper plant that survived the summer in good condition. There is some heat and wind burn, as you can see on the tip of the old leaves, but that is to be expected. There is plenty of new growth too, which you can see beneath the red berries.

I planted the Gardenia a couple of weeks ago and it is taking off. I really like the fragrance of gardenia.

Mums, Geraniums and of course Roses do nicely without the blistering heat of summer. I've never had any luck with overwintering Mums, but I plan to protect all my plants this winter, so maybe these will be around next spring.

We have excellent luck with Periwinkles here because as long as you water them, they are idiot-proof. My red and white Periwinkles thrived over the summer and are going strong. I read that Periwinkle is considered an invasive weed in many parts of the country. Not so in my garden.






I was just reminded by Daughter Sneed that Sneedlets school is closed tomorrow and that he and I will be having a fun-filled day. Something to look forward to.




Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Firecracker Plant

The plant in the center foreground that looks like Jim Ignatowski's hair, is called Firecracker fern or Firecracker plant. It is a perennial that is used in hanging baskets and mounds. It has tiny red funnel-like flowers.



This is a seedling that sprang up after seed from the original plant found their way into an adjacent pot. I dug them out and transplanted them into this pot. By next summer I will have the best kind of plant. A free one.



The picture I posted yesterday of Desert Willow blossoms was from the tree we planted in our front yard about ten years ago. Today the wind snapped a big limb off the tree. This is the second time this has happened and I fear it won't be the last because another big limb has a spiral crack in it. We may have to chop down the tree. I suppose that we could just wait until it is nothing more than a trunk, but someone will complain.

Our blog friend, D. Chedwick Bryant is on hiatus at the moment and we all miss her. In solidarity with Ched, wherever she may be, I am watching Martin Scorsese's terrific Dylan documentary, No Direction Home. I would recommend this to everyone, and especially those who grew up in the 50's and 60's. I say I would recommend it, because as usual, I am probably the last person in the country to see it.

I had lunch today with my friends Peterson and Chuck. My buddy Lonnie could not make it. Chuck you might recall, is ninety years old. He was born in 1917 and is full of interesting stories about his life. Woodrow Wilson was president when Chuck was born, so he has seen it all. Chuck enlisted in the Army in 1940 and retired as a colonel in the early 1970's. Chuck is a great American and a terrific guy. I am lucky to have made his friendship.

In the case of Peterson, I get kind of a twofer. I worked with Peterson for a number of years at Tedious Systems and now he is also the boyf...er, significant other of Daughter Sneed. Peterson is also a very fine guy that I enjoy spending time with.

Young Mr. Sneedlet One is with us this evening and the next. He has gotten over most of the effects of the virus he had last week, but still isn't one hundred percent. He and I will be having barrels of fun tomorrow, while the Lovely Mrs. Sneed is at work. He just informed me that I need to take him to get his hair cut tomorrow.

This evening we went to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. We haven't been there in a while, but it is always good. Unfortunately, we saw a guy there that I was once sort of chummy with. He turned out to be a true horse's ass and we had a falling out. Just his presence gave me the willies. Luckily, we were seated in a different section of the restaurant, so I didn't have to look at him.

This guy, let's call him Commander Swinger, because that's what we called him, burns through friends like Sherman burnt through Georgia. No one can take too much of him. He is needy, obnoxious, dishonest, lacking in basic social skills, unable to hold a job and loud. What's not to like? His poor long-suffering wife, a very nice woman, must have the world's lowest self-esteem to have put up with this jack-a-loon for all these years.

If you want to read more of the Commander Swinger story go here.













Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

The Pros From Dover

I took this picture a few months ago. This is the blossom of the Desert Willow one of our native trees. If you click on the image to enlarge it, you will find that the flowers are quite remarkable.


I was thinking about getting old today because I heard a fellow on the radio talking about the baby boomer generation. He has written a book in which he claims that my generation is not going quietly into retirement, as he says previous generations did. He claims that we will be the first generation to accomplish great things in our old age. Apparently, he has never seen most of us.

I went out this morning with the Seafood King and Some Guy Named Bob to play our regular Thursday golf game at one of the municipal golf courses here in our fair city. There is a meeting facility at the golf course, attached to the club house and there was a meeting in progress there this afternoon.

The attendees seemed to be mostly earnest-looking young guys in white shirts and ties. It looked a bit like a gathering of Mormon missionaries, although it wasn't. While we were having a drink in the clubhouse after our round, a couple of these fellows came in and they seemed quite impressed with their meeting, based upon their chatter about it. The enthusiasm that can only be mustered by the young.

Two guys at a corporate seminar;

Young Guy: I think this program will really help us meet our targets next quarter. I'm excited about this, especially about that form 94703, we've needed that for a long time.

Old Guy: My chair hurts my butt.

Isn't it funny how each generation thinks that the ideas and solutions that they discover are unique to them? When I was at Tedious Systems there was always some young manager who was confident that he had come up with the answer. Mostly it was just a variation on a familiar theme. I was telling the Seafood King that the thought of sitting in a corporate meeting, listening to the Pros from Dover explain how it is, makes my skin crawl. As I said, this crap is for the young.

On the other hand, the thing that I like about golf and bowling is that you can get better as you get older, to a certain point anyway. The ravages of time don't affect you like they do in a lot of activities.

Golf and bowling, my main pastimes, are not sports, they are skill activities. They require a certain skill, but not that much athletic ability, at least for the average schmoe. So they are something that can be played with a feeling of accomplishment for years. Plus, there is little possibility of injury, always a consideration for the older set.

I never mentioned this before, but a couple of years ago I won the State of Arizona bowling championship in the division for bowlers whose league average was between 180 and 200. It wasn't age dependent, there were more than one thousand competitors ranging in age from eighteen to eighty, and I kicked their collective asses.

I have been bowling twice a week for about seven or eight years, although it is something that I have done off and on throughout my life. At fifty-seven years of age, I am a better bowler than I have ever been before. That's pretty cool. I bowled my first 300 game at fifty-seven and last night I bowled my highest three game series ever.

Golf is the same way. Only about 5% of amateur golfers can consistently break a score of 100. I typically play in the middle eighties. My goal is to get to the seventies, at least once. I don't think age will be an impediment, at least for a while. Many times I play golf with young guys I meet at the course. They are full of athletic ability, with strength far greater than me, but they lack skill. Golf is not a game where brute strength is an advantage.

On Monday I played golf with two guys, named Murray and Sy. Murray is eighty-five and Sy is eighty. They only played nine holes because they got tired, but Murray shot a forty-six for the nine holes. Most twenty-five year-old guys couldn't do that.

In other matters, I have watched the first two episodes of the new Fox comedy, Back To You and I have to say I'm disappointed.

I loved Kelsey Grammer as Frazier Crane and Patricia Heaton in Everybody Loves Raymond. Fred Willard always make me laugh, even though he always plays the same character.

If you haven't seen the show, Grammer is still playing Frazier Crane, except this time he is a news anchor. Heaton is Debra Barone at the news desk, smart and witty. Willard is just good old dependable Willard. How this show can be so bad is a mystery to me. It should be a hit.

One problem that the Lovely Mrs. Sneed and I agreed upon is that the writers are tying to do too much, with too many characters. I may not know show biz, but If I had Grammer and Heaton in my cast, I sure wouldn't write long scenes featuring two minor characters, like they did in last night's episode.








Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Even A Broken Clock Is Right Twice A Day

Sometimes I get reminded that I don't know squat about a lot of stuff.

I was taking my final golf lesson last Friday and I was reflecting on how little I knew about how to swing a golf club when I started the lessons about six weeks ago. I have been playing golf for years and I thought I was doing some things right. Apparently not.

These are the things that I was doing wrong when I arrived for my first lesson according to Ms. Smartypants, my teaching professional.

(1) My grip was wrong
(2) My posture was not good.
(3) My tempo was too fast.
(4) My right leg moved when I took my back swing.
(6) My follow through was wrong.
(7) My body swayed front to back on my swing.
(8) My left arm was floppy on the swing.
(9) I didn't turn my hips through the shot.
(10) My arms didn't stay together on the swing.
(11) Some other stuff.

I asked the pro if I did anything right and she said, and this is the truth, "Your shoes are on the right feet." I checked to be sure.

I was thinking about this in gardening training yesterday. A bunch of stuff that I thought I knew turned out to be wrong. I was even digging holes wrong. I was talking to my friend Arturo on the way home, comparing the things that we thought we knew that turned out to be wrong. It's a lot of things.



Oftentimes when I do something right is is purely accidental. This is a picture of a blue potato bush on the side of our house. I posted a couple of weeks ago that I had cut it down because Larry the Bug Guy was bitching about it. It had become so big that it blocked the walkway. It turns out chopping it to the ground was the correct way to save the plant.

For years we have been pruning this bush with hedge shears, which turned it into a leafy box that was hollow in the middle. The leaves on grow on new shoots, so when you use hedge trimmers on it the leaves grow exclusively on the tips of the branches. The plant just keeps getting bigger and you cant trim it back because you will have to cut off all the leaves to do it.

One thing I learned yesterday is the correct way to trim the bush. Hedge trimmers are only supposed to be used to trim hedges. That seems so obvious, doesn't it? Using them to trim bushes is a disaster in the making. I learned that there is a correct way to trim bushes that you want to keep looking like bushes, but before I can get to that for this bush, it had to be cut to the ground so that it could start anew.

I suppose that is true of life in general. Sometimes you have to cut out the crap you are doing, in order to be able to get a fresh start. Is that fricking insightful or what?










Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky