Mar 31, 2007

Sneed Day


Today is my birthday and the ninetieth day of the year. Be sure to check out D. Chedwick Bryant's wonderful post on my life and my birthday.

I was born on March 31, 1950 in a large southern state with a lot of coastline. My father was a career military man and my mother a young, pretty girl from Chicago, who had run away from her tyrannical preacher father.

If the birthdays of the world's population are evenly distributed across the calendar, I share my birthday with nearly eighteen million other folks. Most, like me, toil in obscurity, but a few are names you might be familiar with.

Many famous dead people were born on this date. A couple of popes, Pius IV and Benedict XIV, the composer Franz Joseph Haydn, Henry Morgan of I've Got A Secret fame and Leo Buscaglia, who had the curious notion that we might be better off if we loved one another a bit more.

Today is the birthday of several prominent and still living politicians. Barney Frank and Patrick Leahy both celebrate today and both were born in 1940. Al Gore was born on this day in 1948. All are older than me, a fact I don't let them forget.

In the world of show biz, celebrants include Reah Pearlman, Richard Chamberlain, the alway quirky Christopher Walken, Shirley Jones and let's not forget Gabe Kaplan and musical legend, Herb Alpert, but not the Tijuana Brass.

Of all the millions and million of folks wise enough to be born on this day, my favorite is Cesar Chavez, who devoted his life to making the world a better place. I am all in favor of declaring our birthday a national holiday. We can call it Chavez/Sneed day, I don't mind second billing. Everyone will get the day off and we will have cake and a giant pinata filled with the best candies.

Merle.







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


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Mar 30, 2007

Shut Up Stupid Woman!

Someone told me today that she wasn't sure that she liked my bad attitude. I suggested that she try harder to like it, because it's what I got, attitude-wise. The thing about attitudes is that evaluating them is real subjective. I don't perceive that I have a bad attitude at all. I just don't suffer idiots well and frankly, the idiots don't like that. What seems more reasonable, my learning to embrace idiocy or idiots getting a clue? The answer is obvious. At least to me. Speaking of idiots, the lovely Mrs. Sneed called me while I was golfing yesterday...no wait this sounds like I am calling her an idiot. Innocent mistake dear, really. Okay, yesterday the lovely Mrs. Sneed called me to say that she was quitting her job because of an idiot that she works with. This is troubling because our finances may not sound enough to accommodate two quitters and I have already called shotgun on the stagecoach to bone idleness. I am not a liberty to discuss the particulars of the situation, except to say that this chap made a very public point of chastising and embarrassing Mrs. Sneed and telling her that he would deal with her later. The nature of her offense, remains murky. I can divulge that this fellow comes from a background where the ordinary people don't count for much and where women aren't valued so much. Now I have been married to the lovely Mrs. Sneed for 38 years and I can assure you that this sort of treatment will not fly with her. At the moment she is preparing her full on assault on this hapless buffoon. Sex offenders stand a better chance of getting off the sex offender registry, that this guy has of getting of Mrs. Sneed's shit list. He may even learn the meaning of "hostile work environment" before this is over. Tonight she was working on her opening statement and asked for my help in working out the wording. So far she has "...and shove it up your fat, hairy..." That's as far as we got. Merle. 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 Tag:

Mar 29, 2007

I have a couple of housekeeping items to attend to here. First, someone pointed out that creosote bush smells bad, I think the phrased used in the comment was, "Stinks to high heaven". Well, that depends on what you mean by stinks. It does smell though. Secondly, I want to make it clear that D. Chedwick Bryant, a cat who digs perfumes & Bob, had no paw or claw in my late father's bout, real or imagined, of cat scratch fever. Ched is a cat who maintains the highest standards of feline hygiene and those who say otherwise, are itching for a fight. You may recall from previous posts, that I am sometimes puzzled by the lengths that other people will go to in order to avoid doing the simplest things. Usually those things are their jobs, but not always. I got a voice mail forwarded to me today by a coworker. In the voice mail a customer asked to be called back about a very specific question. The fellow that forwarded the voice mail to me, included his own introduction to the message. He asked me to return the call instructed me that if the guy means "A" I am to tell him yes, if he means "B", tell him no. I wonder why, if a person knows the answers to the guy's question, he sends it to me to do? It's not as if he is the boss or anything, just another lunkhead in the office. If you happened by a golf course located just off one of the major thoroughfares in our fair city this morning and thought, "that devilishly handsome fellow looks like Merle Sneed", you would have been right. I took off a few hours today to play golf with my friend the seafood magnate, his son, the heir-apparent to the seafood empire and some guy named Phil, a pal of the tycoons. I strolled into the office at noonish and I have to say that I can get down with the half day of work as a concept. I may have to make the Thursday golf outing a weekly event. The lovely Mrs. Sneed, on the other hand, just rolled into the garage, after a 12 hour day at work. Its refreshing to see the the American work ethic is alive and well somewhere. Merle. Tag:

Mar 28, 2007

And The Money Kept Rolling In


I do not wish to brag, but I checked my Google AdSense account today and I have racked up a sweet $12.95, in just 9 months. You did not misread that, $12.95 in just 9 months.

You can check my post from September 29th, 2006 to get a feel for how things have picked up ad click-wise. Back then, I estimated that I would be 76 years old by the time I met the $100 threshhold for getting a check from Google. Now it seems that I stand to collect in only five more years. Five years, by the way, coincides with my 62nd birthday and may screwup my plan to collect my Social Security early. Let's hope not.

As always, I remind the reader that despite your urge to help your old pal Merle out, clicking on my ads simply to do so would be wrong and a violation of the Google AdSense rules.

When that check comes in, I'm planning a party, a big party. Stay tuned.

In other news we are in the midst of a cool spell. The normal daytime temperature around these parts this time of year is 76 degrees F. Today the high has been 61 degrees. Perhaps if you live somewhere back east, as we say out here, 61 doesn't seem that cool, but to us it is paradise. The wind is only blowing 11 mph, which is also a welcome change.

Ched asked in a comment today if I had given any thought to what I would like for my birthday, which comes up on Saturday, in case you missed the announcement. I haven't really much thought to gifts. The car broker across the way had two 2006 Mustang Convertibles on his lot, but that probably exceeds the birthday limit and besides, he sold them.

Wait a darn minute here. What if the lovely Mrs. Sneed and my always thoughtful kids have secretly....I better stop before I ruin a potential big surprise.

I used to get so pissed at my dad because you couldn't get him a gift he would appreciate. The joke in our family was that if you were planning to give the old man a gift, you could save yourself a bunch of time by calling one of my brothers or sister and asking them what they would like, because old dad would give it to them anyway. He gave away most everything.

I did have moderate success in the area of gift-giving in my dad's last years. He was happily retired and pursuing his life's dream of being a medical patient full-time. He always had one strange condition or another going. I hit upon the idea of buying him gifts directed at his health woes. This worked well enough.

I just reminded myself of the time my dad convinced himself that he had rabies. Daughter Sneed had these two cats she adopted from the shelter and one scratched Dad on the hand. For weeks, old Dad grilled me about the status of their shots. He couldn't be pacified and thought that he would soon start drooling and develop aquaphobia. Eventually, he got tired of me telling him to shut up about the cat already, and quit asking.

About a year later he suddenly brought up the cat and the shots again. Exasperated, I told him hat if he hadn't died of rabies by now, he was probably in the clear. He reached into his pocket and produced a Xerox copy of an article about a guy who got rabies 12 months after being bitten by a rabid skunk or something.

He was absolutely sure though, that the cat had given him something called cat scratch fever. I accused him of making phony diseases and he proved me wrong by going to the library and getting a bunch of documentation on this malady.

The guy could be a handful.






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


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Mar 27, 2007

Wind

A howl over the roof, a groan, a bang, a shudder,
the front door rattles, did the knob turn a bit?
a light flickers, but maybe just the flicker of an eye,
surely it is the wind, or Fred Wong's ghost. Yikes!




Some people, some really crazy people, might have worried that it would not be howling windy today. I suppose some reasonably sane people might have too.

Perhaps people who are kite hobbyists, for instance. Or sailors and maybe guys to lazy to rake yards full of leaves, hunters hoping to sneak up on unsuspecting prey and likely the weather guy, who always enjoys a break from the usual weather. They all would have good reason to worry about calm conditions. Beyond them, the list is short, maybe you can think of others.

For the rest of us today was a pain in the behind. I don't know how hard the wind is blowing, but it's pretty hard and I don't care for it. Maybe Fred Wong's ghost has a hand in this wind business, I just don't know.

I was out for a walk this evening and I took a couple of pictures. The top one is prickly pear cactus with the setting sun behind it. I wanted to see what would happen if I pointed my little Canon at the sun. That's the answer, not much.

The other photo is of three fishhook barrel cactus growing under a creosote bush. It reminded me of the three musketeers. Ah, Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello,and Raphael...no wait, that's the Ninja Turtles. You know who I mean though.

It is very common for desert plants to grow beneath another plant. Someone once asked the teacher in a class I was taking how the plants knew to grow under another plant? Uh, they have really big plant brains? Actually, they are simply more likely to have survived the elements and foragers than plants in the open.

Creosote bushes are uniquely adapted to the southwestern desert. They thrive on poor rocky soil and produce shallow roots to absorb what moisture falls. They can also send out a tap root when they must, to get water from deep under the ground. The plant also has a resin-coated leaf that both retains water and tastes bad to would-be foragers.

The creosote bush is the most drought tolerant plant in North America and can survive two years with no water. It is thought that the bush exudes a chemical that discourages other plants from growing nearby. The bush also produces genetic clones of itself, meaning that it maybe the oldest plant around, because no matter how much it dies, it still is around as copies of itself.

Each successive clone of an original plant is slightly fuzzier than the previous version...no wait, that was Michael Keaton in Multiplicity. The creosote bushes all look okay.

Anyway, at the moment it sounds like a freight train is rolling over my house because of the wind. I am afraid to look out because I might see a ghostly train being driven by a toothless, grinning idiot ghost.





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


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Mar 26, 2007

He's Back




















Perhaps one of you knuckleheads can explain why someone didn't drive a stake through Fred Wong's heart at the funeral last week. The mean little SOB is back from the dead and bugging us living people. Thanks a lot, for nothing.

I've stocked up on wooden stakes, garlic, crucifixes and silver bullets. I hope I haven't forgotten anything. Fred shows his puny-assed ghost around here, I'll get my revenge.



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


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Mar 25, 2007

Bad Song List

I will update this list as suggestions warrant - Leave a comment or suggestion or email me @ merlesneed@gmail.com 1. Laurie - Dickie Lee - The one where the guy finds his sweater on a girl's grave at the end. - Ched 2. Convoy - CW McCall or any song about CB radios and Convoys- Ched 3. Copacabana - Barry Manilow- Ched 4. Tell Laura I Love Her - Ray Peterson- Merle S 5. Ode to Billy Joe - Bobbi Gentry- Merle S 6. Honey - Bobby Goldsboro- Merle S 7. Watching Scottie Grow - Anon 8. Taxi - Harry Chapin - Anon 9. Poor Side Of Town - Johnny Rivers - Anon 10. Saginaw, Michigan - Multiple Artists - Anon 11. Cats In The Cradle - Harry Chapin - Groovy Lady 12. Dark Side Of Town - John Schneider - Groovy Lady 13. Delta Dawn -Tanya Tucker - Ched 14. Ruby, Don't take Your Lover To Town - Kenny Rogers - Ched 15. Rocky Racoon - The Beatles - Ched 16. The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins - Leonard Nimoy - Ched (Possible the worst thing ever made.) 17. Teddy Bear - Red Sovine - Merle. (Unbelievably bad) 18. Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days Of Summer. Nat King Cole - Kurt. (not a story song, but eligible in the category of annoying piece of crap). 19. My Girl, Bill - Jim Stafford - Ched 20. Son of a Preacher Man - dusty Springfield - Ched 21. A boy Named Sue - Johnny Cash - Ched (clearly has too much time) 22. The Reverend Mr. Black - Multiple Artists - Ched. 23. Rocket Man - William Shattner - Anon - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVbv6r_tKnE 24. Feelings - Albert Morris - Plusultra, a fine addition 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 Tag:

Bad songs

Despite having the latest in lawn care technology, the Sneedlets accomplished surprisingly little. They start with a lot of enthusiasm, but are easily distracted
















Yard work tuckers a guy out. Like a firefighter, a guy has to keep his equipment at the ready, even while he sleeps.







Ched has suggested a list of the worst story songs of all time. Thus far we have,


1. The one where the guy finds his sweater on a girl's grave at the end. - Ched
2. Any song about CB radios and Convoys- Ched
3. Copacabana - Barry Manilow- Ched
4. Tell Laura I Love Her - Ray Peterson- Merle S
5. Ode to Billy Joe - Bobbi Gentry- Merle S
6. Honey - Bobby Goldsboro- Merle S

Entries anyone?

Merle.


















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


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Mar 24, 2007

Don't Fence Me In

Cowboy Poet Waddie Mitchell


I went to get my pal Sneedlet 1 this morning. He and I spent much of the day working around the house. We put up some shelves for the lovely Mrs. Sneed, we cleaned the bathroom, and mopped the kitchen floor. He was a lot of help.

Sneedlet has been watching something on television that has given him a new set of words that he is trying out. For a three year-old, he seems pretty sharp, if you ask me.

Among the things he surprised me with today were,

"Grandpa, that's fantastic." and "Grandma will be so pleased that we cleaned the house."

I am trying to teach Sneedlet to love western music. Not country and not country and western, but real cowboy western music.

Among the groups he really likes are the Riders in the Sky and the Sons of the San Joaquin. His absolute favorite songs are, Don't Fence Me In and Cowboy Jubilee.

I have always loved hearing and telling stories, whether they are written, spoken or sung. The songs of the old west are just stories set to music. They tell of the joys and hardships of the trail and the hopes and dreams of the cowboy.

Maybe someday, Sneedlet will tell his children that his old grandfather sang cowboys songs with him. Here's hoping.

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


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Mar 23, 2007

Get In The Freaking Line!

Notice the pleasant and cooperative tourists who understand the concept of the line.

















Sir, we are not assholes!










The always hunky Randall Bing, my boss, popped into my humble cubicle this morning for a social visit. This surprised me because I had been betting people in the office that he wasn't speaking to me.

In the course of him chatting away and me trying to figure out how to discreetly navigate away from Tangled Up in L'Heure Bleue, which I was reading when he sneaked up on me, he mentioned something that we, and by we he meant me, would be working on in 2009.

I asked Randall what would make him believe that I would be working there in 2009.

This lead to an entire discussion about my career plans, that culminated with the two of us in a conference room discussing the appropriate length of time to give notice. I am vacillating on this whole quitting thing.

The way my brain works is that things seem like a good idea to me until I actually decide to do them, after which they get to be bad ideas. It is little wonder that I am mad and I don't mean angry.

I was thinking earlier today, while I was standing knee-deep in water, wearing a silly-looking party hat, balancing a cup of punch and 3 pigs-in-a-blanket, about the time I nearly started an international incident at the Grand Canyon.

The Sneed children were probably preteens and we were on one of our many ill-fated vacations. The Sneeds have always enjoyed a good trip, although since we are afraid of non-English speakers (Spanish excluded), we try not to stray too far.

We were at the Grand Canyon, which by the way, is a giant hole in the ground, and we were waiting for a tram so that we could go out to one rim or another and get a look at the giant hole in the ground from a different angle. This must have been a good idea, because about one million other visitors were in line with us.

After a wait of what seemed like several hours, we reached the front of the line and prepared to plunk our weary butts into the fine hard plastic seat on the tram. As I approached the door, a young child raced by me and into the tram, where he blocked the aisle, while hoards of German tourists busted the line and took seats. Seats I might add, that many fine Japanese and American tourists had patiently waited for.

Well, this didn't sit well with yours truly and I declared the whole mob, to be a bunch of assholes. In my best outside voice.

The matriarch of this unholy swarm, I believe her name was Frau Scarybitch, looked me in the eye and said, "Sir, we are not assholes!" Emphasis on the holes. As I recall, my response was, "Are too", all the time wondering if I had made a tactical error.

The rest of the tram ride was uncomfortable to say the least. A lot of German was being spoken and I am sure the subject was me. Since the only German phrase I know is "I do not like fried potatoes", I can't be positive.












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


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Mar 22, 2007

Bud Melman


The Sneed blog would like to ask for a moment of silence to honor the late, great Larry "Bud" Melman, who passed away this past Monday. Bud lived every screwball's dream. He was snatched from obscurity and became kind of famous being himself.

(Please stand and remove your hats).

Thank you.



In other news, I have been noticing a brand new Cadilac Escalade in the area where I park at work. A brand new Escalade starts at $55,400, in case you are thinking of getting one for yourself, a loved one or fellow blogger.

This evening as I left work, there were a couple of young people, maybe 22 or 23 years-old in the elevator with me. Based upon their conversation, it appears that they are married to one another. Both work at the very fine call center located upstairs from my office.

Allow me to paint you a picture.

Him, white Yankees cap, turned 135 degrees off front, a white Tommy tee-shirt, baggy jeans and some type of patent leather athletic shoes. Plus one gigantic chain, with an initial "L" on it.

Her, light blue top, opened a bit too far, pants, a bit too tight, way too much jewelry, way too much makeup and way too much perfume. Sort of hoochie chic.

We exited the elevator, I went out the front door, they the back and we met up in the side parking lot. I was getting into the Sneed family junkster and they were climbing into the Escalade.

This much I know about the call center workers. The ones with some seniority make about $12 per hour. That's $2100 per month before taxes and probably about $1750 after. Together, I'm guessing these folks make $3200 to $3400 take home monthly, at most.

If they paid $54000 for this beast, it also cost them a whooping $4375 in sales tax and about $1000 for the plates or $59,375. If I give them the benefit of the doubt and say they paid $9375 down, their monthly payment would be $1000 for 60 month, $850 for 72 months and $750 for 84 months.

It's no wonder people have no savings.

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


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Mar 21, 2007

I'm Back, But Not Normal

My gosh, the doorbell just rang and for a moment I thought that the aliens had come back. Stuie dived under the dining room table and I can't talk him out. I tried luring him out with a liverwurst dog treat, but no go. It was just the Jehovah's Witnesses, two guys, one old and one not so old, both in Kmart dress shirts and ties. I watched through the window as they shifted back and forth futilely waiting for someone to open the door. When they finally gave up they paced back and forth, trying to find the address marker for our house. The older man wrote the address on an index card. They apparently intend to try again. I used to have a sign warning Jehovah's Witnesses to ring my bell at their own peril, but once they stopped coming around, I lowered my guard. Now it is time for another sign to greet these two baboons when they return. Once we get past the FedEx guy and the USP driver, the list of people I welcome at my door gets fairly short. Unless it is a neighbor or a friend, I'd rather not be bothered. In other news, my internet service was off from sometime yesterday afternoon until this morning. What a hassle. I had to watch television and that is so 1990's. The big outage did give me the opportunity to finish the book Maxed Out. Maxed Out is the basis for the documentary of the same name or at least a work concurrent with the documentary, and based on the same research. In case you haven't heard of it, Maxed Out is a recent history of lending in America. I have to say that it is troubling stuff. According to the author, James Scurlock, we are headed toward big trouble over the level of public and private debt in the United States. Since Mrs. Sneed and I don't currently have, nor have ever had much debt, I have always assumed that over-borrowing is simply a character problem. That is to say, I believe that most people get into financial trouble because they can't say no to themselves. I think that Mr. Scurlock started from that same premise in doing his research, but now concludes differently. Several years ago Harvard law professor, Elizabeth Warren, wrote a book called The Two Income Trap,. She concluded from her research that overspending is not just an issue of not being able to say no to wants, but rather a fact of the American system. I oversimplify. Ms. Warren suggests, as Scurlock has also concluded I think, that easy access to credit has bridged the gap between rising costs and stagnant wages for many people, who find themselves maxed out on credit, simply trying to live. Here in our modest little city housing prices have skyrocketed in recent years. The value of Casa Sneed has nearly tripled since we bought it in 1995. Wages in this area haven't risen similarly, so Scurlock and Warren may be correct. I remain convinced that there a substantial character component in being financially responsible. The book also pulls back the veil on the lenders and reveals them to be a collection of schemers, determined to suck every last dime out of the consuming public that they can. Scurlock contends that they are aided and abetted by their wholly-owned subsidiary, the US Congress. Maxed Out is worth your time. In more Sneed-like news, I witnessed a screaming match at the gas station tonight. It would have become physical had not a couple of burly Costco employees intervened. It began when an old woman, driving a twenty-five year-old pile of junk, inadvertently blocked in a couple of 30ish women driving a swell new SUV at the gas pumps, leaving them stuck while the old gal got out to pump her gas. The younger woman began to yell at the older one to "get the hell out of the way". A suggestion that was not well received. The older woman stopped trying to pump her gas and lumbered over to the SUV, where she proceeded to tell SUV woman to f**k off. The screaming continued for another couple of seconds, before the driver's door of the SUV flung open just as a guy named Tony from Costco, thrust himself between the parties and restored order. To Tony's credit, he told the younger gal to get into her car and stay there until he could get her out. Then he told me to back up and let the SUV back out, which I was glad to do. 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 Tag:

Close Call


Things have been tense here at the Sneed blog compound.

Early yesterday, blog intern Stuie Knox, was idling out in front, bothering the neighbors, when a large shadow cast itself over the entire south end of the cul-de-sac. Stuie glanced up and saw a large disk-like object overhead.

Stuie raced into the living room to tell me to come out into the yard, but by then the little green men, with the really big heads had followed him through the open door and had us surrounded. I've told the kid a zillion times to close the darn door, but he doesn't listen.

We were taken back to the disk, where we were poked and prodded for a long time. I woke up a few minutes ago, in my own bed. The aliens must have put me there when they were done with their unspeakable experimentation.

I did not appreciate them putting Stuie into the bed too though. He has horrific breath because of his insatiable taste for liverwurst sandwiches. Plus he drools. Stuie usually sleeps on his cot in the back room.

Anyway, this whole ordeal has prevented me from posting for a bit. I apologize, but how can you plan for an alien invasion? You can't, that's how.

It is either that or my friends at Cox Communications screwed up the internet and just now fixed it. One or the other.

Normal blogging should resume shortly.


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


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Mar 19, 2007

Baloney

Here Comes The Sun Here comes the sun, here comes the sun And I say it's all right Little darlin' it's been a long cold lonely winter Little darlin' it feels like years since it's been here Here comes the sun, here comes the sun And I say it's all right Little darlin' the smiles returning to their faces Little darlin' it seems like years since it's been here Here comes the sun, here comes the sun And I say it's all right Sun, sun, sun, here it comes Sun, sun, sun, here it comes Sun, sun, sun, here it comes Sun, sun, sun, here it comes Sun, sun, sun, here it comes Little darlin' I feel the ice is slowly meltin' Little darlin' it seems like years since it's been clear Here come the sun, here comes the sun And I say it's all right Here come the sun, here comes the sun It's all right, it's all right ...George Harrison, ©1980 Southern Music/Northern Songs. It's six in the morning and it's still dark, but not quite dark. It's gray rather than black. By the time I get myself dressed and out the door it will be light. It will soon be summer. I like the dark. I like it when I go to work in the dark and when it is dark at six in the evening. I like the cold, or at least our version of the cold, which mostly passes for cool in cold climates. Some people like the approach of summer, I don't happen to be among them. Summer is our winter here in the desert. It is a time to stay inside, out of the elements. I prefer our winter, in the way people in Maine or Minnesota prefer their summer. For sure, some hearty folks relish the challenges of the extremes, but as I said, not me. Today will be ninety degrees again, with a promise of a return to the seventies later this week. Bearable temperatures will be around another few weeks, if we are lucky. By May first, the long hot summer will be on us and stay until at least October. An unwelcome visitor. I guess we could flee to somewhere more temperate for a few weeks or months, many people do. But most just stay and endure the heat. We will too, we always have. George Harrison was wrong on this one. 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 Tag:

Mar 17, 2007

Muskrat Love


Up until ten this morning, I thought that fig picking was the bottom of the barrel, job-wise. Oh sure, you can make the case that septic tank pumper, or porta-john man is worse, but that depends on your definition of worse.

My revelation began innocently enough. I bought Sneedlet a book at Costco yesterday, the kind of book that makes sounds to match the story. This particular book was broken and made nary a sound. So this morning we took it back.

Costco doesn't do exchanges, they just give your money back and you can buy a replacement or not. We had to traipse into the store and get another book. We found the books, got one that worked and were headed for the register, when the sound of something approximating music wafted through the air.

Muskrat, muskrat candlelight....blah, blah, blah....It looks like muskrat love. Pure poetry.

I wandered over to the source of the sound and it turned out to be a sixtyish couple demonstrating a karaoke machine. Maybe it's because I'm not a spotlight sort of person, but I can't imagine any job less appealing than standing in Costco belting out the Greatest Hits of Captain and Tennille. Then, of course, I already know that I can't sing that well and don't need a damned karaoke machine to prove it. Wait a darn minute, maybe they were the actual Captain and Tennille.

Whether you are hauling actual sewage or enduring the disbelieving stares and eye rolls of the patrons of Costco, you're still taking crap. I'd prefer the former to the latter.

Side note: Darrell Dragon, aka Captain is emphatic that the duo was Captain and Tennille, not The Captain and Tennille. Don't forget it.

Then I got the brainstorm to take the kid to the movies. My plan was to see Night at the Museum, since there were no actual kid's movies playing. I figured it would be entertaining enough for him. Unfortunately, I messed up the start time for that. I was going to leave, but his honor had his heart set on the movies, or at least the kid snack-pack that they sell at the movies. So I decided that he could sit or sleep through Amazing Grace.

I can now say that I have seen the first half-hour of Amazing Grace, because that is how long it took him to start demanding that we leave, in his best loud whinny voice. It was either endure the slings and arrows of the other ten patrons or retreat. We left, to a smattering of applause.

For the suckers who showed up early for the movie, the theater operator played some kind of preview feature package. It featured promos for a couple of currently-released and soon-to-be released movies, plus a load of full-length commercials. Commercials for Coke, Kleenex, some video game or another and some that I forget. Maybe you already know this, but I was surprised to learn that Chef-Boy-Ar-Dee is still making canned spaghetti. Who knew?

The lovely Mrs. Sneed will be home this evening and life will return to normal around here. Probably none too soon for Sneedlet or me.


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


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Mar 16, 2007

Still Lazy, After All These Years.

The Bible says Jesus cursed a fig tree. He wasn't the last.



One of the problems with spending the day with a three year-old, is that when he thinks something that he is doing is funny, he thinks it's as funny the one hundredth or one thousandth time, as he did the first time.

Suppose for instance, that you are covering you grandfather's face with all the pillows from the sofa. We had one solid hour of uproarious laughter. On his part, at least.

And of course also we played my favorite game, "Lookit, Grandpa, lookit!"

The little hyena was awake until 11:30 pm last night and woke up at 7:30 am, this morning. I have high hopes that he will be turning in early this evening

While Sneedlet and I were working outside pulling weeds today, I was remembering the crappiest job I ever had. I have had some beauts, generally all short-lived.

For two years, while I was in high school, we lived in the San Joaquin Valley of California. During the harvest time, the state of California would put out the call for people who wanted to make extra money, picking produce. The drill was that you would show up at the employment office at the crack of dawn and stand around waiting for someone to come and offer you a gig for the day picking stuff.

Every couple of weeks, my friend Bob and I would decide to give picking another try. We always hoped that it had improved as a money-making scheme since the last time we failed at it. We failed a lot and each experience taught us nothing. Things never improved. Being an agricultural laborer is hard, dirty and underpaid work.

One time we cut grapes for six hours and split eleven bucks. Another time it was almonds (no money), strawberries (backbreaking) and figs, the worst of the lot.

One of the problems with being a day-picker, is that the grower would pick you up at the employment office in a truck or a bus and then drop you off at the end of the day. Once at the fields, you were stuck there. For a couple of malingerers like us, this was always a problem.

The almond woman picked us up in her car and drove us to her almond grove, which doubled as her front yard. It was just Bob and me, because it turned out, the professional pickers knew to avoid almonds.

The harvesting process involves a machine that shakes the tree, causing the almonds to fall off. The pickers collects them up off the ground, being certain that only almonds made it into the collection boxes. Not too much fun. After a couple of hours we saw the futility in it and quit. The old broad refused to pay us or to drive us back to town. We hitched home, having wasted the day.

When we signed up to harvest the figs, we had on short-sleeve shirts, which turns out to be the single biggest mistake an aspiring fig picker can make. The farmer told us not to get on the bus, but we did anyway. Literally on the first fig we picked, it became clear why this was a poor idea. These figs oozed a fuzzy juicy stuff that itched like a son-of-a-gun. We had gloves, but our bare arms were a mess.

The way the pay worked was that we got a few cents per flat (box) and when we had filled ten flats, we took them to the supervisor, who recorded the total. At the end of the day, they settled up. I got about five or six boxes filled before I quit. I gave my flats to a young kid who was out picking me three or four to one anyway. Bob followed my lead a bit later. We wound up hitching home, broke and very dirty.

Back to the Sneedlet news. I gave him his dinner, gave him a bath, he got into bed and is asleep. It is only 7:40. This is good, really good.













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


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Mar 15, 2007

Sneedlet Is Holding Me Hostage - Day 1

One of us is asking "Who's tired?" and the other is playing Bob the Builder.


Is it appropriate to complain about Blogger, when it is free to use? Blogger has
been acting crazy of late. My comment link is missing and some pictures come and go. If you missed the snapshot of me in my new Speedo bathing suit, it is not my fault, blame Blogger.

Sneedlet One is here with me until Sunday, while the lovely Mrs. Sneed and daughter Sneed are attending some sort of counseling conference in Phoenix. They are driving and it is about a four hour trip to the conference site. I'm betting it takes them at least six hours to find the joint. Mrs. Sneed once drove us right by San Diego and up to the international border crossing with Mexico at Tijuana, before she realized that she had missed an entire city. She said she never saw San Diego. There's no telling where they will end up.

Sneedlet and I just came home from the grocery store, where we laid in the supplies that we are going to need for the weekend. We bought some strawberry yogurt, Scooby Doo yogurt drinks, juice, animal crackers, frozen waffles, broccoli (mine), frozen mini pizzas and some cookies.

We got his dinner at the "turkey a tatos" store, Boston Market. So, I can truthfully say that not every meal he ate in my care was fried.

I was thinking about what i could do to entertain us while the lovely Mrs. Sneed is away and I thought I had a great plan. Unfortunately, I just learned the hard way that strippers won't perform at your house when there is a three year-old present, even if you double tip them. They should put that on the flyer. I told Brandee and her escort Snake, that Sneedlet was a mature three year-old, but it was no go. Maybe we can just rent a movie or something instead.

All right so that last part is a lie. At the moment there are toys everywhere and he just keeps finding more and more of them. I'm guessing that by Sunday, I will be mental.

On the upside, we have the air conditioning cranked down to meat locker temperature since the lovely Mrs. Sneed isn't home to make us turn it off.

We also have important, local global-warming news. Here in our fair city, we seem to have missed spring altogether. It has gone from cold to hot with no cool interlude to remind us of why we endure the blast furnace summers.

I saw a woman standing on a corner, in the hot noontime sun, holding up a war protest sign and yelling at the passing cars. Now, that is commitment. I can't think of anything that would motivate me to stand in the sun holding a sign. Got to admire her spunk, even though I don't see the point.

Dateline: Our Fair City, 2230 15 March 2007.

The kid is still awake and shows little interest in going to sleep. A special thanks goes out to daughter Sneed who presided over his nap this afternoon, knowing full well that she wouldn't be here to deal with the freaking insomniac.

Dateline: Our Fair City, 2245 15 March 2007.

The lovely Mrs. and daughter Sneed just called to say that they had made it to their hotel safe and sound and in a record three hours time. I guess I take back my prediction.

Oh great, the kid is demanding a snack now, so I'll have to attend to that.

Merle.











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Mar 14, 2007

Thousands of Possibilities, Mostly Bad Ones


I may have mentioned before that I am not in favor of borrowing money to buy stuff. Life is so much easier for me when I have no payments.

From time to time, I lose my mind and get one of these 12 months, no interest deals. I almost always regret it and wind up sending in the full balance after just a month or two. You think I would learn. You would be mistaken.

At Christmas time I was in the Best Buy and was roped in by a super duper deal on a flat panel television. There was some sort of promotion involving having to use a Best Buy credit card, with no interest for like 24 months or something. Against my better judgment, I went for it. The total purchase was $2000 or there abouts.

In January the lovely Mrs. Sneed sent the creeps that back the Best Buy card $900. Then on February 18th she sent another $300.

Last Saturday, March 10th, I was reconciling Mrs. Sneed's checkbook online and noticed that the check for $300 hadn't cleared, even though it had been sent 20 days earlier. I made a note to check the Best Buy web site online and see if it had been received. When I checked, I found that it had been posted to the account on March 8th, meaning it took 18 days to get to them and be posted to the account. I figured that it was strange, but no big deal.

Yesterday we got a statement from Best Buy showing a $35 late charge. I called and the moron in the Best Buy credit card call center, and he tells me that they got the check on the 8th and that he can't help it if the mail is slow. After some wrangling and a lecture from the moron about the importance of sending payments on time, he said he would take off the late fee just this once, and as a courtesy. He was emphatic that it was a courtesy.

I sent the remaining balance today and vowed once more to never do this again.

Dave Ramsey said the other day that credit card companies are making more on late charges and fees than on interest. I have no doubt that the credit card guys have a number of steps in their process to delay posting payments to garner late fees.

I may or may not have learned my lesson.

In work-related news, today was a pretty good day. My coworkers were both out, one sick and on at a meeting away from the office. I love not having other people around work. They attract all sorts of undesirable character, like the boss or the salespeople. Me, I can't attract flies. Well, maybe flies, but small ones. Besides flies are less annoying that a lot of people.

Speaking of the boss, I was trying to tell Randall Bing something yesterday, when he got a very, very important call on his super cool Bluetooth earphone telephone thingy. I know it was important because he answered it in mid-sentence and whispered to me that he had to take the call and would be right back. Since it has been 2 days, I'm guessing he forgot. Too bad, he needs my information and just doesn't know it yet.






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Mar 13, 2007

Little Green Men


Today marks an important anniversary here in the Grand Canyon State. Ten years ago tonight, the Air Force said it dropped a bunch of flares from an A-10 jet airplane and many of the good citizens of our state said that they saw not flares, but visitors from space, UFOs.

That's right ladies and gentlemen, across Arizona, preparations are underway to mark the anniversary of the ...drumroll please... the Phoenix Lights. Eyes are turned skyward in case the supposed aliens return for a ten-year reunion. Do aliens have some sort of "Earth wrist-watch" that they wear so that they know when to come back?

Technically, people in Arizona were correct about the lights, at least in a manner of speaking. The objects were (a) unidentified to the observers on the ground, (b) flying (or at least falling) and (c) they were clearly objects. It is when people made the leap to conclude that they were from an alien spacecraft, that they went wrong in my opinion.

Spaceship isn't the conclusion I came to. In the absence of some tangible proof of visitors from space, I remain skeptical of their existence. I hasten to add that as big a mess as our leaders have made of the world, I might be open to giving the Martians a shot at running things, should they pop in for a visit.

The classic proof people usually offer for the existence of alien visitors, is the 1947 Roswell Incident. True believers claim that the wreckage found at the Roswell site was an extraterrestrial craft and that the Air Force recovered and hid the evidence. The Air force says that it was a weather balloon used for a classified project and that they owned it. Which explanation more closely fits into the world as we know it?

I wonder how a civilization could be sufficiently technologically advanced to be able to traverse the vastness of space and then just run into the ground? Plus, what would be the motivation of the government to cover up the evidence of such a crash?

The chief problem with making sense of lights in the dark sky is one of perspective. Without a point of reference in the empty sky, it is impossible for earth-bound observers to judge the speed or distance of lights. Looking up at an approaching airplane in the night sky, it is often difficult to distinguish it amid the background of stars. Is it a plane at 30,000 feet or is it the star, Alpha Centauri A, 4.3 light years away?

When an airplane accelerates on take off the speed of the plane is apparent to the passengers. Once the perspective of the stationary objects adjacent to the runway is gone, the speed of the aircraft cannot be accurately judged by the occupants, even though they are likely moving far faster in flight than they were on takeoff.

So when someone reports that lights in the sky were 10,000 feet up and moved at 65 miles per hours, as one Phoenician reported, it is important to understand that there is no way for the observer to know that.

In addition, our eyes and brains do funny things to our perspective. The rising moon appears to be much bigger when near the horizon, than when overhead, even though we can all agree that it doesn't shrink as it gets higher in our sky. Observers in Phoenix judged the pattern of lights to be as little as a few feet across and as much as a mile. They were either moving slowly or racing along.

Eyewitness recollections are always suspect because our brain is not a recorder in the way a camera is. Instead it fills in gaps around what it actually remembers, with filler that seems logical. For instance, if you envision your yard, much of your mental picture is filled in, rather than actually remembered. Your mental picture is not a snapshot of when you last saw the yard, but a composite of recollections that are stitched together. Plus, when we report what we saw, our recollection is influenced by what we think we should have seen, as much as what was seen. Our biases and experiences help to fill in the picture for us. This is one reason why eyewitness accounts vary so much.

Have you ever wondered why all alleged alien sightings report similar beings? Is it that we are visited by the same group over and over, or is it that we have become accustomed to the motif? Did it occur to the first sighter that these people looked a lot like us, just with bigger heads and eyes?

William of Ockham is credited with positing the notion that the simplest explanation is more likely to be true than a more complicated one. Or words to that effect. As a doctor once told the lovely Mrs. Sneed and me, "When you hear hoof beats, think horses, not zebras." So when the Air Force says it was their flares, it probably was. If you believe they lied, that conclusion invites more questions and a much more complicated answer.

Is it possible that the Air Force lied and that we were visited by aliens? Possible, but there is no hard evidence for that conclusion. Belief is not proof.

Merle.











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Mar 12, 2007

I Swear That This Post Is Mostly True


Look, my mom had seven or maybe it was eight sisters. Since she was the youngest sister and the oldest was twenty years her senior it is possible that Ethel Merman was her sister. That's all I am saying. And besides that, my cousin is also a singer, so that's more evidence.

Speaking of celebrities, we had more than one at the various Sneed houses when I was a kid. This next part is the true stuff, not some crap I made up, mostly.

For instance, there was the time that my dad was a military liaison for a Bob Hope Christmas show in Guam in 1957. I don't like to brag or anything but we got to meet Hedda Hopper, Les Brown and of course Bob Hope. At least that's what I am told, even though I don't remember it exactly. Give me a break, I was seven.

My mom got the autographs of all the members of the Hope USO tour, including Mr. Hope, Les Brown, Hedda Hopper, Jerry Colonna and the biggie, Jane Mansfield. She got them on a cocktail napkin. Mom kept the napkin on display under the glass top of the bar my father had in the corner of the living room. She was very proud of it.

One evening my father took it from under the glass top to show to one of his drunken lout pals, who promptly spilled an entire glass of beer over it. This caused the ink to run and ruined it. This was a standard mishap for my old dad and one of a million disappointments in Mom's life. She was devastated and talked about that napkin for years and years and then more years.

Another time, I came home from school one afternoon in 1963 or 1964 and discovered Mr. Johnny Lee sitting in our living room. I'll pause so that you can collect your breath........hmm........hmm......Okay, now don't tell me that you saying to yourself, "Who is Johnny Lee?" But in the unlikely event that you are, I'll tell you.

In 1964, I'm betting that many, if not most school kids could tell you exactly who Johnny Lee was. He was the character Algonquin J. Calhoun, from the Amos and Andy show. Even though the show was cancelled in 1953, we knew it from the reruns. This was before we came to realize that Amos and Andy were white America's racist stereotypes of African-Americans. Those were ignorant times. But in 1964, the Amos and Andy show was still funny stuff.

Mr. Lee (his real name) was doing a USO appearance here in our fair city and my old dad invited him home. Whether or not he came willingly is in question, but there he sat on our battered sofa. He regaled us with stories of his career and the show, patiently answering our stupid kid questions. This was a big deal to us.

Later that evening we got to see Mr. Lee's show, which consisted mostly of him telling jokes in the Algonquin J. Calhoun character, and talking about the Amos and Andy show. I thought he was about the funniest guy I ever met and for one magical afternoon, we Sneed kids had something we could brag about.

Unfortunately, a year later Johnny Lee died of a heart attack, he was 67.

Sometimes at the Sneed house your dad would get drunk, rant and cause mayhem. Sometimes he brought home visitors, generally his drunken cronies, but occasionally welcome visitors.

It's no wonder I am a wreck.



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Mar 11, 2007

No Business Like Show Business





Kurt asked if the cousin that looks so much like my mom, might not be Miss Meryl Steep. That is a fine guess, but I'm afraid it's wrong.

Meryl has long been a Sneed blog favorite and in fact, could be a distant relative of mine. This is something she has long disputed and that her lawyers have demanded that I stop saying. Since the order of protection has been renewed for another year, I have to limit my use of her name or image, for blogging purposes, so that's all I can say on that subject.

I am not comfortable identifying my cousin in this post, but suffice to say that it is no coincidence that I posted the picture at the top of the page. You might recognize the singer/actress pictured above with Mr. Irving Berlin. That is my mom in the lower picture, as she looked in the 1940s. The resemblance should be apparent. My dad definitely married up.

As a matter of fact, had my mom had called heads in the coin toss for who got the singing lessons when she and her sister were kids, my life might have been very different.



My buddies, Sneedlet One and Two were here this morning. They had to clean up after a particularly messy bout with the PlayDough.







And what's better than a good book? In a fitting tribute to their grandfather's super-coolness, both were dragged from our house screaming, "I don't want to go!"









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Mar 10, 2007

Man Wrestles Hat From Forest Service Icon



My dad always loved wearing a hat. The problem was that he picked the most ridiculous ones imaginable. No telling where he got this stupid looking thing, but he wore it proudly for a while.

The photo was taken when he was 40 years-old and in the picture he is holding the ever-present bottle of beer. I assume that he was about half in the bag.

My dad got a letter from the state of Arizona this week informing him that they had overtaxed his Air Force pension income for the year 1985 and that they would be refunding the overage, plus interest, a total of $295. There was an 800 number to call and paperwork to file if you disagreed with the amount the state said thet owed you.

I got the check yesterday, made out to my dad. Since I couldn't cash the thing, I called the 800 number to tell them that he had died and to ask what to do. The lady who answered said that they were getting a lot of calls about the recipients being dead. Her suggestion was to take it to my bank and ask if I could deposit it into my account. If and only when they said no, could I send it in, along with the probate information, and get it reissued in the name of a live person.

In my dad's case there should not have been a question, since his last tax return was for that of a person who died before filing and included the paperwork from the probate court. They issued his refund check in my name, not his. Maybe they think he came back to life or something.

It probably should have occurred to the state that many of the people they were sending refunds to, would be dead now. After all, this was a tax on pensions from twenty-two years ago. Instead they sent the check to the last known address of the recipient. Since I filed my dad's taxes two years ago it came here.

The Lovely Mrs. Sneed had to go to her counseling gig today and I am in charge of collecting and entertaining Sneedlet One, until she gets home. She drove the Sneed family junkster and left her car for me, since it has the Sneedlet One car seat in it. My plan was to go to the bank and then pick up the kid.

I drove to the bank and asked if I could deposit the check into my account. No go. When I got back to the car, I was pleased to discover that the car battery was dead. The bank is located across the street from a battery place, but I had no tools to remove the dead battery or to install a new one. Luckily, our oldest son came to my rescue and drove me home to get a few tools.

I noticed a sign on the door of the battery place that they needed full-time employees, to work at this location. This has several very appealing features for a guy with no real ambition. They are closed evenings and Sundays and it is within walking distance of Casa Sneed and they sell batteries. How hard could that be?

I asked the guy behind the counter about the sign and he said that I should talk to the manager, because they really needed two new employees. I bought the new battery, popped it in the car and I headed back to the store to turn in my dead battery. I also took that opportunity to talk to Terry, the manager.

You may not know this, but managers of retail stores are frequently power-crazed jerks. I am not prepared to call Terry a jerk, but he definitely gave off an air of self-importance.

I told him that I saw his sign and since I was was thinking of retiring, and because I lived in the neighborhood, I thought this was right up my alley. I asked if he would consider hiring a retired guy. He replied that regretfully both jobs were filled. He invited me to fill out an application, because things open up all the time and this is important, he will hire anyone who can do the job. He felt it necessary to add that.

I am the first to acknowledge that battery sales is a young person's game and that standing behind a counter and looking up batteries on a computer is challenging and ever-changing, but I think I'm up to it.

"Welcome to Battery Emporium, how may I help you?" Hell, I can do this.

Evening update:

I checked back at the Battery Emporium at 7:00 pm local time and the store was closed but that wacky Terry still hadn't removed his sign.



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Mar 9, 2007

Happy Birthday Grandpa Sneed


Grandpa Sneed (1924-2005) The man proudly wore these suspenders to work and no, he didn't work at the circus.

Yesterday would have been my dad's eighty-third birthday. He died about a year and a half ago. I was remiss in not mentioning it.

I took a couple of hours off work today and just came home. I took a nap and then spent some time pondering retiring from my job. I worked out some numbers and figured out how much of my retirement saving I would need to access to be able to pull it off.

If I leave my job, I will probably work somewhere else at least part time, because it is not really my nature to just sit around. The problem is that I only want to work Monday through Thursday, no nights and no weekends. That is a tough gig to find. I could go back to substitute teaching I suppose, but the the schools are filled with kids and they can be an unruly bunch.

What got me to pondering retirement was a phone call that I got this morning from a coworker. Our boss, Randall Bing pushed something down the hill and it landed on me. In my effort to deal with this item, I guess I mistakenly told one of our worthless marketing types that we don't charge for something that we evidently do. Randall's boss is demanding an explanation. I am not all that interested in supplying one beyond, "sh*t happens, get over it".

Apparently, I messed up this marketing bozo's proposal to a customer or something. To be clear here, I am not allowed to spend a dime of Tedious Systems' money, so why anyone would ask me, or worse yet, take my word for anything regarding the company's money is a mystery to me. The marketing guy ought to be fired for gross incompetence for having the poor judgment to ask me in the first place and then believing my answer.

It seems to me that if you are preparing a big deal proposal, you should do better research than ask the jackass in the corner cubicle (that's me). Just a thought.

My old dad worked until he was seventy years-old and one day I asked him why he kept on working when he could be collecting his retirement and social security. He said that once they lose the ability to fire you, working is kind of fun. I am not ready to call work fun, but I think he was on to something. Being retirement eligible is liberating. We'll see how this turns out.







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Mar 8, 2007

Bad Day

This is a photo of the Apache warrior Geronimo. It is in the public domain and has been reprinted in many places.

Geronimo and a handful of insurgents were the last of the Apache to surrender to the US Army. Shamefully, they we eventually removed from Arizona to Florida and then to Oklahoma. Geronimo died in Olklahoma and is buried there at Fort Sill.

I came across this picture when I was reading about Tombstone, Arizona. Tombstone is famous for the Gunfight at the OK corral, but it was really a lawless silver mining camp, until the silver played out in the 1890's. In 1891 the population of Tombstone was 15,000, larger than that of San Francisco. Tombstone bills itself as the Town Too Tough to Die, one of those catchy phrases that really is meaningless.

Southeastern Arizona is loaded with historical sites of the real old west, if you take the time to find them. Most require a little reading beforehand, so that their significance can be understood. Regretfully, little Tombstone is content cater to tourists, who pile from their cars and demand to be entertained. They look around. buy a tacky trinket or two and then move on to the next place.

In other news, I had one of those days when lots of things went wrong. I may have to reconsider this manifesting your destiny business. Perhaps if I took up believing voodoo new-age crap, my lot would improve. Ya think?

It was one of those days when I was blasted with calls from people who were pissed off to some degree or another about something. Since Tedious Systems has stripped me of any and all power concerning my job, I could only lend a sympathetic ear and agree to "make some calls". Tedious Systems has thrown off the shackles of "participatory management" and has reverted to the "my way or the highway" theory of things.

I also had a curious family-related experience today.

My mom had nine siblings, all dead now, and I am sure that I have a ton of cousins out there somewhere. I think I can say factually that I have never seen most of them and never seen any of them twice. They are total strangers. Family dysfunction spans the generations.

Anyway, my dad got a Christmas card in the mail that had been forwarded to my house after he died. It was from a cousin of mine that Dad apparently kept in touch with. The card was from my mom's sister's kid, who is about 70 years-old now, so not technically a kid. Anyway, I put my screwball brother, the genealogy expert, on the job of letting the cousin know that my dad had died.

My brother talked to the cousin and among other things found out that she is in the "show business" in a manner of speaking and has a website. When I checked out the website, I was surprised to see how much like my mother she looks. My mom died rather suddenly about 19 years ago, so seeing this woman who bears her likeness so closely, was unnerving and yet kind of neat.

I sent her an email telling her how much she looks like my mom. She replied that she always thought my mom was pretty, so looking like her was a good thing. She invited me to stay in touch, which I am unlikely to do, knowing me.

Merle

Mar 7, 2007

Bat Masterson


A tip of the derby to Ched. Bat Masterson, pictured in his prime and at his final resting place.




For those of us who grew up watching television westerns, our image of the heroes of the old west was that of the cowboy gunslinger. A man who could kill when killing was called for, but preferred to settle matters more peacefully. The reality of the old west was very different and sometimes not much separated the good guys from the bad.

Men like Bat Masterson came west, roaming from place to place and seizing opportunity where they found it. They used their guile and their reputation for toughness, as much as their firearm, to make their name. Often when things got tough, they got going. These were not exactly the men portrayed on 1960's television.

Bat Masterson was a law man, a politician, a gambler, a bodyguard at times, a boxing promoter, a sportswriter, a fixer, a card player and dealer and often a drunk. Despite his reputation, he is known to have only killed one man in a gunfight and was wounded in the effort. His famous cane may have been a result of this fight, but it also may have been an accessory used to craft his image. He fought his last gun battle at age 27 and spent the next 40 years avoiding them. He was a legend in his own mind and referred to himself as "the Genius".

Like many of the luminaries of the old west Bat had a gift for self-promotion and for making the best of an opportunity when it presented itself. Bat Masterson didn't succumb to the rigors of a life on the frontier, but instead died at his desk in New York working on a newspaper column.






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Mar 6, 2007

The Secret's Out



My musing about therapy yesterday got me to thinking about how I could fix what ails my psyche, without spending too much dough and without a lot of messy confessions.

I sat and thought and thought and sat and then a voice said to me, "The Secret is the secret."

"Ah", I thought, "The Secret, of course. Thanks voices in my head."

Perhaps you've heard of The Secret. Oprah, Larry King and Ellen are all on board with The Secret, and it's time I jumped into the pool of possibility too. I made up the pool of possibility, damn snappy, even if I do say so myself.

I have been doing some in-depth research on The Secret and this is what I have found out.

I can have money and stuff, lots of stuff. And I don't have to work at a crappy job to pay for it, or even pay for it at all. It is just going to shoot right out of the universe's butt, as I understand it. I know this is true because the internet is crawling with people getting lots of stuff, who will help me get lots of stuff too. All for only $29, plus tax and shipping and handling, if I act NOW!

And these are not just any people who are willing, even anxious, to help me. No Siree. We are talking about people like Bob Doyle, Steve Pavlina and even the lovely Jeanette Maw. Universal Law of Attaction pioneering minds, each and every one.

Well I'm not ready to plunk down $29 bucks just yet. I am a skeptical fellow who wasn't born yesterday. So, I am trying to find out as much as I can for free first. This is what I know so far.

The Secret uses a SCIENTIFICALLY PROVEN law called the Universal Law of Attraction, which says, that you get what you seek the most. good stuff or even bad sh*t you didn't want, if were so afraid that you would get it, that you just got it.

Now, I don't recall asking to be old, cranky and fat, but I must have. After all, who am I to argue with a genuine SCIENTIFICALLY PROVEN law? Especially one dealing with the bewildering field of quantum mechanics.


Little Known Factoid
: Your best quantum theorists are found in new age bookstores and not in the halls of major universities. Many people get that one wrong.

Little Known Factoid II: Our fair state is home to the center of all that is harmonic and convergent, Sedona, AZ, or as blog intern Stuie Knox calls it, "that cesspool of vibrating crappola.

I think one person put it best when he or she said, "like attracts like." That may not technically be true since it seems to me that the universe would fly apart if there were no opposites attracting one another. Again though, who am I to argue with the Universal Law of Attraction? It is after all a law and it's universal. Plus it fits nicely on the official Universal Law of Attraction commemorative coffee mug, available online for $19.95 + s&h.

It seems that by using the Universal Law of Attraction I can make my wildest dreams come true. Pretty sweet. Of course I have to know how to manifest these things correctly and not make mistakes in applying the Universal Law of Attration such as, "never really vibrating in a place of trust that what you desire is yours." If I had a dime for every time I've made that mistake!

Plus get this. A bunch of famous dead people have used The Secret to become rich and famous. And not just any rich and famous dead people, but dead people like Leonardo and Einstein. How can you argue with a bunch of rich and successful dead people? Wait a minute, how can you argue with a bunch of rich and famous dead people? Hmm, I may have to email John Edwards or Sylvia Browne for dead person testimonials.

This evening I am awaiting the arrival of Miss Angelina Jolie and several large pizzas at Casa Sneed. I am hitting the ground running on this manifesting business. I just hope she leaves the kids home with Brad, and they throw in complimentary breadsticks.

So that's The Secret in a nutshell. If you want further information on this transformation life skill, send $29 to my PayPal account today. And if you act in the next 30 minutes I will throw in my E-book, "Seven Proven Techniques to Become Taller." Hurry, I can't keep this low price forever.

Merle "The Manifesting Machine" Sneed






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


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