Son Sneed caught sight of a Praying Mantis in our garden this morning. It has been a very long time since I have seen one. Praying Mantis is listed as a beneficial insect by the USDA, but not everyone agrees, since it is an indiscriminate eater, devouring other beneficial insects as well as pests. He is welcome at our house, despite his eating habits.



One commenter on yesterday's post wondered jokingly if acting sad would keep rattlesnakes away. That would be no. What keeps rattlesnakes away is a lack of food from the destruction of habitat. Since our fair city is now about a hundred square miles of development, the rattlesnake food sources are long gone within its bounds. Rattlesnakes in our area are now most common in the outlying areas of the city, such as the resort where Mrs. Tennessee was bitten.

The Mrs. America pageant is being hosted by the Loews Ventana Canyon Resort, in the foothills of the Santa Catalina mountains. Prime snake habitat. Ventana is a Spanish word meaning window and Ventana Canyon gets its name from a window-like opening in the solid rock at its top.

The folks at the hotel say that this is the first snake bite mishap that they have had at their facility. Lucky for the guests that rattlesnakes are timid creatures, or there would be many, many more. Since humans are not prey for snakes, they tend to try and ignore us. If only we would do the same.

Most snakebites occur when someone unwittingly steps on a snake or reaches under something without looking. Another common reason for snakebites is young males goofing around a rattlesnake. Often alcohol is involved. These snakes are aggressive only to the extent that they will fight if provoked and being stepped on by a beauty queen or poked at by a drunken baboon are certainly provocative. Too often these encounters end badly for the snake.

Rattlesnakes are a key component in the food chain of the Sonoran Desert. They provide critical rodent control. Adult snakes typically have no real natural predators of their own, but younger snakes fall prey to large birds and coyotes. The chief threat to adult rattlesnakes is people. Killing at the hands of a frightened human or being crushed by a car are quite commonly the end for a rattlesnake. Blading the desert to build houses is also a big killer of these reptiles.

Arizona is home to seventeen species and subspecies of rattlesnake. Far and away the most common and the one Mrs. Tennessee encountered, is the Western Diamondback. This variety is superbly adapted to its environment and is mostly invisible in its habitat to the passerby.

Unmolested the snake can reach a length of 6 feet and weigh in excess of 12 pounds. Achieving that size has become less common as more and more habitat is destroyed. People are a negative influence in rattlesnake development and longevity.

Myths abound when it comes to rattlesnakes. They basically just eat and make baby rattlesnakes. They don't seek out contact with things that are not food, they can't throw themselves great distances, they cannot out slither a walking person, much less a running one, and they don't travel in pairs.

They are solitary for the most part and only congregate to reproduce or hibernate. They can strike a distance of two-thirds of their body length maximum and any movement by the snake will be away from a person, not in pursuit. The best policy when encountering a rattlesnake is to move away and leave it alone. Both you and the snake will be better for having done so.

The rattlesnakes use their venom to immobilize small rodents and other mammals that make up the bulk of their diet. The venom of most rattlesnakes is hemotoxic, which means it attacks the red blood cells, causing massive tissue damage. The Mojave Rattlesnake also has neurotoxic venom, which attacks the nervous system. This is usual in Old World snakes and rare in New world ones.

Often, when the snake strikes for defensive reasons, rather than to secure prey, it will release little or no venom. There are sound survival reasons for snakes to conserve venom for its intended purpose. Since even the petite and lovely Mrs. Tennessee is too big to be a meal for the snake, it likely didn't give her a full dose, which explains her early return to the competition.

So there you go. That's about all I know about the Western Diamondback rattlesnake and Mrs. Tennessee for that matter.

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

All the News

I don't make it my habit to worry too much about what's in the news. I probably mentioned this before but, the news these days seems less about the facts and more about how people feel about what happened. Too much feeling will get you into trouble most of the time, so I try to keep my feelings in check.

For instance, apparently Princess Diana is still dead. The reason I know this is that Mrs. Sneed has the television on and one of the cable channels is rehashing the whole business. Evidently, the dead guy's father still isn't buying that it was an unfortunate accident. I think he believes the Queen had Diana and her boyfriend Dodi Al-Fayed offed.

I'm not sure why Princess Diana made such a hit with people. Some people have convinced themselves that it was because she was the face of many good, even noble causes, such as land mine awareness and the benefits of Weight Watchers. No wait, that was the other former princess, the red-haired one.

I, on the other hand, figure Diana was so popular because she stuck it to the Royals. Prince Charles was sneaking around with that Parker Bowles woman and Diana trumped him by having affairs with basically every guy she met. People appreciate a gal with moxie.

So there you go. It is the tenth anniversary of Diana's death and people are being urged to remember it sadly. Elton John is reported to have said that if need be, he will re-release Candle in the Wind, with new and improved lyrics. Let's hope that won't become necessary. As a precaution, I urge everyone to act sad for the next few days.


The suspect tries to act nonchalant.



Also in the news, there has been an unfortunate mishap at the Mrs. America pageant being held right here in our fair city.

It seems that Mrs. Tennessee was walking to a rehearsal with several other of the various Missuses, when she moved out of the way of a spider and was bitten on the foot by a rattlesnake. Rattlesnake bites are very rare and seldom fatal, but it is still best to avoid rattlesnakes when possible.

I thought we covered yesterday that spiders are our friends. Evidently Mrs. Tennessee doesn't read my blog. Too bad, she could have avoided this whole incident, but I digress.

Luckily for Mrs. Tennessee, she was in the company of Mrs. Idaho, who happens to be a nurse. According to this story Mrs. Idaho saved Mrs. Tennessee's life by removing the snake's fang from Mrs. Tennessee's skin. I don't wish to cast doubt on the veracity of this fine news account or Mrs' Idaho's bravery and skill as a nurse, but removing the broken off fang didn't save her life.

Rattlesnakes don't store venom in their fangs. The fangs are just the conduit through which the venom is delivered. Another point, the news article referred to the rattlesnake as a wily serpent. For the record, rattlesnakes have instincts, not intellect. Very often when they they are startled by a gaggle of beauty queens, clomping down the stairs, they react by striking at a foot that is about to stomp on them. Evolutionary biologists believe that this behavior developed tens of thousands of years ago when snakes found themselves in danger of being trod upon by Homo sapiens neanderthalensis, possible the first humans to hold beauty contests.

Mrs. Tennessee was rushed to the hospital and given a bunch of doses of antivenin and sent back to the pageant. She is current trying to force her swollen foot into a stylish evening pump in time to "carry on".

Reporters for The Tennessean newspaper wondered if the snake might have been planted in the path of Mrs. Tennessee in an effort to derail her bid to become Mrs. America. they sought out a noted beauty pageant expert to clarify their questions.

"I would certainly hope not," Delayna Bridges told the newspaper, laughing. "Mrs. Arizona won Mrs. America last year, so, hopefully, they are feeling pretty happy right now and not feeling the need to sabotage our girl." Don't be so sure, sister.

So, you may want to set your TIVOs for September 28th to catch all the proceeding of the Mrs. America pageant. It will be co-hosted by Mr. Alan Thicke and that mean woman who got kicked off The Apprentice, Omarosa Stallworth. It will be a night to remember, I'm sure.











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

That Spider We Ordered Came In

Son Sneed pointed out this spider and its elaborate web this morning. I'm not sure what sort of spider this is, but when I took these pictures, it was busy eating a bug. If you click on the bottom photo to enlarge it, you can see a green thing that is being eaten.

I assume that this spider is my ally in keeping down the number of insects munching on my plants.





Many of the spiders of the desert are burrowers and find prey by walking around. This guy spins this elaborate web and when a hapless bug gets trapped the spider feels the vibration of the web and it's mealtime.



















































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 Got The Heat Stroke, Or Something

Top amatuer golfer Michelle Wie, who is both young and athletic, provides proof that I am not a total wuss. Here Michelle quits her round after suffering heat exhaustion. Even I finished.


















I'm pretty darn sure that I gave myself heat exhaustion today. The signs of heat exhaustion are;

* dehydration - got it despite drinking an entire gallon of iced tea.
* fatigue - my normal condition
* weakness - ditto
* clammy skin - if by clammy, you mean revolting, then yes.
* headache - I had a big old headache.
* nausea and/or vomiting - negative
* hyperventilation (rapid breathing) - yep
* irritability - chronic condition.

Well, I may not have actually have heat exhaustion, but I feel crappy enough to qualify for it.

It is all the fault of the Seafood King, who despite being short and stout, insists upon walking the golf course. That is not so bad, except that we played at this god awful hilly course today, and it was hotter than hell. By hotter than hell, I mean it was 104 F., with 25 percent humidity. I walked the first nine holes up hills and down hills, sweating like a pig. Do pigs actually sweat?. I doubt it. I actually sweat. A lot.

At the tenth hole, I revolted and told him I was getting a cart. The back nine holes were somewhat more tolerable. The Seafood King finally gave it up at the tenth hole and rode in the cart with me for the rest of the way. I am not walking in the damn heat anymore.

I had my first golf lesson yesterday. As it turns out, I do plenty wrong. I won't bore you with the specifics, but suffice to say, I have issues. I went to the driving range to practice the corrections the pro told me to work on. I have forty years of doing things my way, the wrong way, so changing is tough. I hope it works out for the better.

In other news, a couple of jackasses here in our fair city got into a dispute over some sort of driving disagreement. They got out of their cars at a stop light and proceeded to beat up one another. One guy got into his car and attempted to leave, but the second jackass pursued him and forced his car head on into a wall, killing the driver. Now one guy is dead and the other is in custody. Two lives shot to hell over nothing. Brilliant. Smile and wave is a better strategy.






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

Can I Get An Amen?

There's a heavy dose of religion in the news today. Several bad boys are dragging religion into their misdeeds. Samuel Johnson famously said, "Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel." As others have observed, religion can be substituted for patriotism and the quote is just as meaningful. First up is one of my favorite whipping boys, Disgraced Pastor Ted Haggard. Disgraced Pastor Ted, as you may recall, loudly and frequently decried the ruination of America, being wrought by immorality of all sort. Disgraced Pastor Ted lead his megachurch in their war on sin, all the while consorting with a male prostitute and trying out meth. Disgraced Pastor Ted was 86'd pronto by the leadership board of his flock and has been incognito ever since. Apparently, the severance pay has run out. Disgraced Pastor Ted is back, surfacing in Phoenix, with his latest surefire moneymaking scheme. Disgraced Pastor Ted wants some of his former congregates to step up and support him in the manner that he has grown accustomed. Just while he and Mrs. Disgraced Pastor Ted get some sort of counseling degrees. Longterm, Disgraced Pastor Ted hopes to resume his passion for telling people what to do and making a handsome living doing it. Michael Vick stopped in court today, long enough to admit that he was guilty of arranging dogfighting and that he is a dog-killer. This in sharp contrast to his earlier denials. For those not up on the full story I will recap the evolution of Vick's version of the facts. Vick and his attorney denied everything and blamed "people using his house" for this unspeakable act of cruelty. When one of his buds turned on him, he suddenly remembered that he was present for some dogfighting but did not gamble or harm the dogs in any way. More buds turned on him and he suddenly remembered that he might have been involved in some dog killing, but he still insisted that he didn't profit from the enterprise. Today Vick appeared in court where he plead guilty to a conspiracy charge and is facing one to five years in the slammer. The good news is that according to Mr. Vick, he has found Jesus and is changing his ways. What a relief. Lastly, is the case of Allen Beckett, age 53, of Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Mr. Beckett, a University of Oklahoma sports booster, took umbrage at a Mr. Brian Thomas, for wearing a University of Texas tee-shirt into an Oklahoma City bar, where Mr. Beckett was playing darts. A fight ensued and Mr. Beckett grabbed Mr. Thomas by the scrotum, ripping said scrotum open and causing his...well you get it. Mr. Beckett is charged with aggravated assault. His attorney is seeking leniency for his client on the grounds that among other things, he is a church deacon. In fact, his attorney added that Mr. Beckett was only in the bar because he is a darts aficionado, not some belligerent drunk. This makes me wonder. If your scrotum is ripped open by a church deacon, does it hurt less than if it is ripped open by a belligerent drunk? Women readers should substitute an appropriate body part when pondering this question. 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

Merle Sneed, eBay Stud

I don't like to brag or anything, but I just got an email from the fine folks at eBay informing me that I have been awarded their prestigious yellow star. I earned this coveted award by winning ten auctions and then actually paying for the items. I got this nifty graphic thing and a note from eBay to commemorate my achievement.

All kidding aside, I love eBay. My eBay habit creeps out the Lovely Mrs. Sneed because she is not a fan of used stuff. Especially used shoes. I bought four pairs of used shoes on eBay, expensive shoes when they were new. Of course, I no longer wear them since I gave up working. Maybe I will put them up for sale on eBay.

That reminds me. I haven't worn long pants since June 30th. I wonder how long I can go wearing shorts? Interesting.

To go with my used shoes I bought several pairs of cedar shoe trees for half price. They are in the shoes that I never wear.

Lately, I have been buying golf stuff. This is tougher than buying shoes because the competition for good used golf stuff is fierce. It is hard to get a bargain because many of the bidders are eBay sellers trying to get a quick score. I usually get outbid by these guys. They have the advantage of knowing what is a good price.

I bought a golf putter from a guy the other day. It was brand new, still in the wrapping. It retails for $159.99 plus tax at my golf shop. I paid $115 plus $12.50 shipping. I figure after all was said and done I saved $40. I bought a $179.99 hybrid golf club today for $75. I am not sure I really will like it, but since Older Son Sneed said he will take it if I don't like it, then I figured it was a deal.

Sometimes I have mixed emotions about eBay, especially when it involves buying a new item that is available in my community. I don't like to cut out our local merchants, in favor of online retailers, who often have the advantage of low overhead and don't charge sales taxes.

I was going to buy a golf cart for $89 on eBay, including free shipping. The same cart at my local shop was $108 after tax. I really like to patronize my local guys if the price is close. I didn't tell the local guy I was thinking of buying the cart on eBay but he offered it to me for $97 including tax. This seemed more than fair.

Anyway, when it comes to finding used stuff, I am a huge eBay fan.













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

It has been a long day with my assistant Sneedlet One. Bright and early this morning I dragged him to my hole-in-the-wall barbershop so that one of us, and hopefully both of us, could get our haircut.

At first, he was reluctant to give it a try. He just kept insisting that I take him to Supercuts. Understandably, the joint scares him. When I say it is a dump, I am not exaggerating. I don't know how long it has been at this location, but at least as long as I can remember. They are in the process of remodeling, but the effort is futile.

I finally told His Honor that I would take him to Supercuts after I got my haircut. Then, for reasons only he knows, he changed his mind and decided to give the place a try. In the end, he looks good and I never have to go to Supercuts again.



Back in June, I bought four of these solar lanterns at Costco for twenty bucks per. I put them on the retaining wall in the patio as sort of an accent and a bit of light. The lamps appear to be cast iron, but are in fact some kind of resin. I discovered the hard way the the color is not in the resin, but painted on it. After just two months, the paint on the top of mine was badly peeling.

When I was in Costco today, I asked one of the managers if they have had returns or complaints about the paint. She said no, but told me to bring them back for a refund, if I am dissatisfied. Since I didn't have a receipt, she said they would look them up on my purchase history.

I gathered the lanterns up and headed back to the Costco, where a young woman working returns politely informed me that (a) they had no record of me buying these lanterns and (b) they don't even sell them anyway.

Fortunately for me a manager happened by and was dragged into the ordeal. He took one look at my bedraggled lanterns and asked me, "How old are those things?" Exactly my point.

He sifted through the computer records of my account and verified that, (a) I purchased them in June and (b) Costco is still selling them. The thing that faked out the clerk was they are listed as bronze. My bronze was now a sickly gray.

In the end I got a full refund, not in cash, but in Costco store credit, since I don't have the original receipt. About ninety percent of my shopping is at Costco, so I guess it will work out okay.

Tonight the Lovely Mrs. Sneed, Sneedlet and I went to the movies to see Ratatouille. I took both Sneedlets to see the first half of the movie when it first came out. They were bored with it so we left early. We actually stayed for the whole thing, even though Sneedlet was ready to go at the three-quarters mark. Thankfully, he is in bed now and all is right with the world.












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 saw somewhere today that a 17-year-old kid in New Jersey has figured out how to make the iPhone work on the T-Mobile network, rather than the AT&T network. I guess this is a problem for Apple and AT&T, even if it is a minor one. I don't really care one whit about iPhones, largely because I am tightwad when it comes to cellphones. All I really need them to do is make and receive calls, so a plain vanilla phone works fine for me. The main feature I look for is cheap. From a capitalist point of view, I do have an opinion though. I think that Apple whoring itself to AT&T is a bad thing for the consumer. This keeps the price artificially high for iPhones and makes a ton of money for AT&T. Neither of those is good for the consumer. This is also a classic AT&T monopoly tactic. I rank cell phone carriers with mortgage brokers and cars salesmen near the bottom of the consumer sales barrel, higher than payday loans operators and rent-to-own places, and slightly below electronics retailers. Anything the consumer can to to screw with the cell phone guys is okay by me. In other news, Son Sneed had an appointment for his therapy today. It was basically a nightmare. We arrived at 7:15 am and the poor guy wasn't done until 11:00 am. We both had high hopes that he would be the first patient for therapy, but he turned out to be last. What a way to spend half a day. After I dropped Son Sneed at home I met my friend Lonnie for lunch. We were anxious to hear how our buddy Chuck's trip to Las Vegas was. Chuck you may recall, is our 90-year-old friend. Lonnie was alone when I got there and it wasn't until 15 minutes later that Chuck rolled in. He was full of stories about his adventures in Vegas. They mostly centered on how much things cost in Vegas. Chuck couldn't stay for lunch with us because he was meeting his granddaughter and great-granddaughter for something or the other. He hurried off, but said he will give us all the scoop next week. I came home and took three mini-naps. This was supposed to be a single nap, but the phone kept ringing and waking me up. Sneedlet One's mom dropped him off at 5 o'clock today and he is busy terrorizing his grandmother. They are locked in a game of Chutes and Ladders and he is winning, because he makes up his own rules. Sneedlet has been going to daycare three days a week for the past few months. Among the behaviors he has learned is saying, "I'm not your friend", every time he doesn't get his way. I've only heard that ten times so far this evening. He has also developed this habit of barking out one-word commands. It he wants a drink, he simply shouts "water". He and I are working on improving his way of asking for things. Each time he barks at me, I have to stop and make him ask nicely and in a complete sentence. Let me tell you, it is slow going. I have to drag the little hyena to the Supercuts tomorrow to get a haircut. We are going to San Diego in two weeks and the Lovely Mrs. Sneed wants him to look his sharpest for the trip. He says he doesn't need a haircut, so this should be a hassle. 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 see in the news today that Lindsay Lohan has once again wiggled out of her legal woes by basically promising to knock it off. Lindsay has been sentenced to one day in jail, some community service and ordered to enter a treatment facility. Luckily, she had filled her frequent treatment card and was entitled to take advantage of her "tenth stay free". Sweet. Lindsay also bought into a treatment center timeshare. She is entitled to a 30-day stay once per year. She can trade her slot for stays in treatment centers around the world. It is quite a good deal, according to Addicted Travelers Magazine, which featured Ms. Lohan on their February 2007 cover. I will remind readers of my predictions for 2007, number seven, Paris Hilton, Madonna, Lindsay Lohan and Brittney Spears will all do or say something stupid or embarrassing. Ta Da! I went out to play golf with the Seafood King and Some Guy Named Bob this morning. Our fourth, Old Charlie, has crapped out on us. The old buzzard got a job. It was pretty hot, but I decided to pass on the electric golf cart and walk the course, using y swell new push cart. I have to say, it was a hike. No to put too fine a point on it, but I was drenched with sweat by the time we were finished. The high point of the day was when some Guy Named Bob wandered into a group playing on an adjacent hole and picked up what he thought was his errant golf shot. Some Guy Named Bob doesn't keep score or even keep to the rules of golf much. He just likes to hit the ball. If his shot sucks, which it does about half the time, he justs drops another and tries again. Anyway,Some Guy Named Bob was looking for his lost ball, when he picked up the ball of a younger female golfer and set her off. Her tantrum was lost on Some Guy Named Bob because he is fairly oblivious to the goings on around him. As a bystander, it was pretty entertaining, though. Some Guy Named Bob is a wonderful person who gives hundreds of hours to worthy causes each year. The down side is that he is always trying to sign you up for one fund raiser or another. Today it was for a Diabetes Walk in October and for a fund raising event tonight at a local restaurant for the Boys and Girls clubs. Friendship is not always priceless. 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

Wednesday

This is one of the two dollar rose bushes that I rescued from Target. They were pretty beleaguered and destined for the dumpster, when they put them on final clearance for two dollars. If you click on the photo, you can see the crappy soil in this area of our yard. The contractor brought in yards and yards of fill to create the building pad for the house.

Our contractor, a habitual liar, claimed that the fill was top notch. Maybe so, but it still was very rocky. In order to plant the rose bushes, I had to dig giant holes and then fill them with garden soil from the nursery. So far they are doing very well.


Well, I had my interview today for the Master Gardner training. All in all, I think it went well. I was glad I brought my pictures to show the head guy. He looked at every one, and even asked me questions about my plants. One factor in my favor is that the applicants for the training are about 85% women, so I think they are happy when a man applies. Even a shell of the man he used to be.

The training class begins on September eighth and continues into January. After that there is a commitment to work for the Extension Service for a total of fifty hours the following year.

After the interview, I stopped at a store to get a drink. I was thirsty on the way over, but I have a history of spilling things on my shirt, so I didn't risk it.

As I passed a group of people waiting in a line to pay, I was vaguely aware of a man staring at me. I am accustomed to women staring at me, but a man staring is rarely a good thing because it usually means they are pissed about something. I took a quick glance and wasn't sure if he looked familiar or not. One of the problems I have is recognizing people out of the context in which I am used to seeing them.

It turned out to be a guy I worked with years ago. He moved to Colorado in the early nineties and I haven't seen him since. In fact, I didn't really even know him except to pass him in the hallway.

He was put off that I said that I didn't recognize him. His exact words were, "Gee, thanks a lot". I felt like I was caught in an episode of Seinfeld. He seemed genuinely surprised and annoyed that I didn't know who he was. Heck, I'm not sure who was President fifteen years ago, let alone some guy I worked on the same floor with. I just thought the whole thing was weird.

I also have to mention that UPS delivered a package to me today without incident. So kudos to the fine folks at UPS. Don't write to 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

Another Day In Court

(click on the images to enlarge)

This is a picture of my front door. I don't know why I was moved to take a picture of it, but I was. The door is steel and it was handmade by a guy named Ramon. This door created a kind of enclosed entry way into the house. Prior to its installation, it was just an entry way. The chief advantages of it are to provide a level of security and it also allow us to leave the actual front door to the house open in the cool fall and early spring evenings. The portion of the panels that appear solid are actually perforated by thousands of holes, which allow us to see out. When seen up close it has an almost screen door appearance. The door is nine feet tall and six and a half feet across.




This second picture is of a red bird of paradise plant that is growing across the street. It does not have the distinctive bird-like flowers of the tropical variety, but it is well-suited to our climate. This one is a bit out of hand for my taste. It needs to be cut back a bit. Most nurseries around here refer to this plant as the Mexican bird of paradise, but that is actually a separate variety.

Son Sneed and I just returned from another day in court. Whoever said the the wheels of justice turn slowly certainly had it pegged.
We had high hopes that today would be the day that the authorities came to their senses and realized the folly of prosecuting this case. We came away disappointed. We arrived in court at 8:45am and waited for about a half hour for things to get underway. When Son Sneed's attorney arrived, she took us aside and said that she was going to speak to the prosecutor's office about dropping the DUI case. Her thinkings is that they will reduce it to something less serious and the after a period of time in which Son Sneed avoids further legal complications and complies with his treatment plan, that charge will be dismissed. So it is back to court next month.

It was a slow day in mental health court, with very few defendants. A Marshall brought a young woman in jail garb, shackled hand and foot, to court. That has to be a bummer, being paraded into court in that way. Beyond the old homeless woman in the pick tennis skirt, there wasn't much to see.

On the way home from the courthouse I had an revelation. After nearly two months of retirement, it occurred to me that for the first time in years, I don't wish things were different. I have spent the last several years not wanting to go to my job and wishing I could figure out what I wanted to do. Thus far, retirement is all that I hoped it would be. I have a sense of satisfaction that is had to describe.

On a less satisfactory note, Lacey, our dog, has attacked and destroyed a cat claw vine on the patio. This is very disturbing behavior from what has been a perfect dog. The beating will commence shortly.

Tomorrow is my interview for the Master Gardner program at the University-County Extension Service. I have prepared a small album of my garden, although I am not sure that it will prove useful I am hoping for the best.

I also just finished watching Carl Sagan's Cosmos on DVD. It was sure interesting and still timely. That Sagan was a smart cookie. At the moment I am also halfway through watching the PBS series Evolution on DVD. I am waiting for my good friends at NetFlix to send the next DVD in the series. I really recommend both of these if you haven't seen them, particularly if you are among the fifty percent of Americans who doubt that evolution is real.










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

Monday

I see in the news that the quarterback for the Atlanta Falcons, Michael Vick, has agreed to plead guilt to promoting dogfighting and gambling. The actual charge he escapes me at the moment, but it was something to do with dogfighting and crossing state lines to do it. What an a-hole. I hope he gets some time in the pokey over this and I hope his football career is over. What kind of beast promotes two dogs ripping one another apart?

I missed my post yesterday because young Mr. Sneedlet One was here until about three-thirty pm. His mom and her companion, Peterson, went to Somewhere in Arizona for a rodeo. Peterson is a big rodeo guy. The lovely Mrs. Sneed wanted to go out so we did.

I went out for a round of golf this morning and they paired me up with a young fellow who is a second-year medical student. He was as good a golfer as he was smart.

I wonder how a guy gets the direction to go to medical school? Encouraging parents or maybe a guidance counselor. Perhaps he is just really self-directed. Growing up I never remember anyone talking to me about what I was going to do with my life. My old man expected that I would join the military like he did, but he never really said anything about it. My mother was just glad I went to school without causing any trouble. My idiot brother was one infraction from expulsion from about the fourth grade on. It took him an extra year to make it through high school and then I think he was allowed to graduate so that the school was rid of him.

I expected to go to college immediately following high school, but even though I applied and was accepted, we didn't have the money, so I went to work. It took ,me twenty-eight years to finally graduate and by then it was just a personal challenge to do it. By the time I was forty-six, my climb up the corporate ladder had stalled anyway, so no one was impressed at work.

Anyway, I am always impressed by these young people who know where they are headed.

Speaking of golf, I am scheduled to have my first golf lesson next Monday morning. Son and Daughter-in-law Sneed gave me four lessons as a gift. I have been meaning to schedule the lessons for about a month now, but my schedule is just so busy. I expect that I will only need one lesson. I predict that the teacher will watch me for a minute or two and then announce that she has nothing to teach me. I hope I can get a refund for the remaining lessons.









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

More UPS

Several folks asked what was in my missing package yesterday. I ordered this pair of cuff over boot (in gold). I enjoy a nice boot when I'm feeling pretty, oh so pretty.

You can see why I was agitated that they were misdelivered. Had they been in a normal human size, I am sure they would have been lost and gone forever.




For those of you out there shouting, "I knew it!", the truth is less salacious. There was a flag in the box. My old flag succumbed to our summer storms and I ordered a replacement. Yes Kurt, I still have the flag pole.



What I did learn from my post yesterday is that if you complain about UPS, one of the fine men or women of UPS may respond. Maybe it is corporate policy for them to do so or maybe some UPS managers just troll the internet looking for disgruntled nuts like me. I hope it is just plain old esprit de corps.

Michael, the semi-anonymous UPS commenter about yesterday's post, correctly points out that UPS delivers a load of packages everyday and screws up very few of them. As I said at the beginning of the post I have always been a huge fan of UPS. In fact, I used to use UPS drivers as an example to follow when I was a departmental manager at Tedious Systems. I always thought that the sight of a UPS driver running to drop off a package and then jogging back to the truck was a level of commitment to a job we rarely see.

That not withstanding, it is annoying when I am the screwee. The UPS error rate may be .1%, but yesterday at my house it was 100%, so I needed a little help.

My complaint is not about the fine men and women of UPS who deliver packages or even my missing package. If you deliver enough package, mistakes happen, as Michael pointed out.

No, my gripe is about the idea that I should contact the shipper in Pennsylvania in order to find it, when I know for a fact it is somewhere in my generally area. I told the first call center worker I spoke with, that I was sure it was at 1005 Next Street Over, and that if she could get someone to call the driver, he might realize his mistake and get it back. As it turns out I was right about the address of the errant delivery and wrong about the street, since it was two streets over, not one.

Luckily, the guy who got my delivery was either honest or didn't need a flag.

A national search would have been appropriate had the package not have been scanned as being delivered to my porch five minutes before my first call to UPS. At the end of the day, literally the end of the day, someone in the UPS system had the good sense to see through the folly of the policy manual and give me a call, which is all I asked in the first place.

So to the UPS folks in my fair city and to the representative I reached on my third call to the UPS service center, I tip my hat. To boneheads one and two that I reached on my first two calls and to the managers that instilled the fear of the manual in them, I say get your heads out of your cubicles. There are customers out 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

Doug Heffernan Would Never Make This Mistake

I have always been a fan of United Parcel Service, UPS. I order things via the internet and mostly shippers use UPS. Generally, packages are delivered on time and in perfect condition. It turns out that UPS is great when they are great, but when things go wrong, they suck.

I was expecting a package today. I checked the UPS site and saw that it was on a truck for delivery today. Usually, the UPS man comes by our house at 5 pm or thereabouts. When it didn't arrive by about 4:30 pm, I went outside to wait for the guy. Plus, Sneedlet was on his way over, so I was waiting for him as well.

I was sitting on the front porch at 4:55 pm, when the UPS truck blasted past my house as if it wasn't there. This looked real bad for my delivery. I went inside and checked the UPS site again and discovered that the package now showed that it was delivered at 4:57 pm to my front porch.

I called the 800 number for UPS customer service and explained what happened. I was told that I have to contact my shipper and ask them to request that UPS investigate where my box went. I was incredulous. Thinking I had just been answered by a moron, I called back, got another representative who told me the same story. I tried in vain to explain that all I needed was for someone to call the driver's dispatcher and ask him where he left it. No go.

The second person told me that UPS's customer was the shipper, not me and that they couldn't help me.

In the meantime, someone left a voice mail for me saying he had my package. It was delivered to his house by mistake. I called him back and he is supposed to bring it over this evening. He declined to let me come and pick it up.

While I waited for the guy with my box to bring it over, I decided I needed to send an email to UPS telling them that their procedure for finding lost packages basically sucks. Unfortunately, UPS anticipates this sort of thing and they don't publish their email address, just the snail mail address at headquarters in Georgia. I tried to find the number for their local terminal here in our fair city, but that is unavailable too. I decided to take another shot at the 800 number to see if they had an email address.

On my third try, I got a real live thinking human being, who not only offered me the email address to file my indignant complaint, but said she would call the local office and have them call me back. Fifteen minutes later they called.

A very nice woman called and asked if my package had shown up yet. I explained the deal and she said that if the guy who had it didn't bring it over or give me his address, they would go to his house and get it. I asked her how they would know where to go and she said that the driver knew exactly where he left it by mistake. Our address is 1005, but he delivered it to a 1005 two streets east of us.

Geez, all this trouble could have been avoided if the boneheads at the customer service center had just called the local terminal the first time. At five o'clock, when I first called them, the driver was still in our neighborhood.

The guy brought the box to our house this evening. It was opened, he said mistakenly by his wife. A more cynical man than me might suspect she was checking out the contents in order to decide whether or not to keep it. I on the other had guess she didn't realize that it didn't have her name or address on it when she opened it.

So all's well, that end's well. This is a classic case study in corporate America. The employees are discouraged from helping the customer and are restricted to the procedure manual. It is refreshing to meet the rare employee who says screw the book, I know how to fix this.







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 Number You Are Calling Is Disconneted

I'm seriously contemplating having to change my telephone number. I am reluctant to do so because we have had our current number for years. The last four digits, 1005 also happen to be our address. If nothing else it is a conversation starter, if someone is smart enough or interested enough to notice.

Why, you might ask, would I change my phone number? Long time blog friends might be able to guess. I might change it so that Cletus Sneed, chronic pain in my butt, won't be able to call me or to give out my number to the assorted people he currently gives it to.

I would like to go on record as saying that in the perfect world I would not make or receive any phone calls. Over the years I have carefully crafted a personae of invisibility. This in itself limits the number of people who wish to speak to me. Add to that, my joblessness and my calls should be down to near zero.

I think my phone interactions should be limited to the Lovely Mrs. Sneed, Daughter Sneed, any Son Sneed not named Cletus, the significant others of the various Sneed children and assorted Sneedlets. I would add to that list my best pal Lonnie, the Seafood King and Some Guy Named Bob. That's it. Each of these people has the very good sense not to be a pain in my butt.

Instead my day is a steady stream of calls from Cletus or one of the assortment of lawyers, bill collectors and idiots he gives our phone number to.

Reasonably intelligent people can think of two strategies to combat this tide of interruptions; simply don't answer, and tell the Cletus not to call or give out our number anymore. Neither work with this guy.

Today, for instance, I got up at the crack of dawn to drive Son Sneed to his ECT treatment. He had to be there at 6:15 am, meaning that we left our house at 5:40 am. I got out of bed at 4:50 am. Way too early for me. Normally, I wake up at 5:30 or so. You wouldn't think 40 minutes less sleep than normal was make a difference, but it does. I was tired. In fact I dozed off in the waiting room at the hospital.

The treatment went quickly and we were home by 9:00 am. I thought I had time for a quick snooze before I had to meet my pal Lonnie at 11:30 for lunch. No sooner had I dozed off than the calls began.

First, Cletus called asking if I would be at home. I didn't recognize the phone number as one of his regulars. Without my glasses I can't read caller ID anyway. He said he had some papers to fill out and needed my help. An obvious lie. I told him I was going out. Would I drive him to court at two? I repeated that I was going out. He hanged up.

Next, a guy called from an auto detail shop. Wonder Boy applied for a job and the guy needed to talk to him. I told this fellow that Cletus doesn't live here but I would give him the message if I saw him. Then the lawyer called, or at least I think it was him. Same drill.

Back to my nap. At ten the doorbell rang. Cletus was on the door step. He wanted to use the phone, so I let him in, but reminded him that I was leaving.

He called the detail guy who fortunately was in, eliminating the need for more phone tag. Then he called the lawyer and left another message with our phone number as a call back. This set me off. What kind of half wit leaves his lawyer a message to call where he is very unlikely to be? And what type does it within a few minutes of being told to knock it off?

Finally, he got to the real point behind his call and uninvited visit. He needed a ride to a laundromat where he had left his clothes two days ago. I'm not kidding. Evidently someone dropped him there, but he had no way to get the clothes home on his bike, so he just left them in a hamper in the laundromat.

I grudgingly told him that I would drive him on my way to lunch. In route, Son Sneed called me to say the lawyer called our house again and was kind of perplexed why Cletus keeps leaving our number when he is not going to be here to receive the call. Well, welcome to the club. Oh, and he needed a buck to ride the bus to court. I reminded him that he actually needed two so that he could get back home. His response was, "Good thinking." Good thinking beats bad thinking every time.

So, we may change our number, even though is irritates me to no end to do it.

In non Cletus-related news, I had lunch today with my pal Lonnie, and our ninety year-old friend Chuck. The old guy's wife of sixty years died a couple of months ago and we worry that he is lost without her.

Having a ninety year-old friend is sort of nerve wracking. We only see him at the bar on Fridays so when he doesn't show up, we worry about the worst.

There was no cause for worry today, though. When I arrived for lunch he was already there, sitting at our table. His first words were, "look at this".

He pulled out a boarding pass for a fight to Las Vegas tomorrow and showed me a giant wad of cash he is taking with him. He is going to Las Vegas for five days. He plans to lay low tomorrow and to gamble like crazy on Sunday and Monday. Those days, he told me conspiratorially, are when the savvy players gamble. Too many yahoos from California in town on Saturday. Whatever. I'm pretty sure that he will be plugged in front of a nickel slot for five days.

He said his relative has a friend who is a chef at one of the big resorts and that he is making them a big deal special dinner while they are in town. He assured us that he is not just some old geezer wandering around. No sir, he knows his way around.

He said that he was a the Venetian a couple of years ago and two attractive women asked if he wanted to have "a party". He actually asked what this would cost a guy, but decided that two grand was a bit steep. He claims to have told them that he was a renter not a buyer, but he may be lying about that part. It's hard to tell with him.

He also claims he asked how much just out of curiosity, not a real interest. He was eighty-seven at the time. What kind of hookers proposition an eighty-seven year-old man, lazy ones? Talk about your easy money.

Some relative, a policeman, is coming from California to ride herd on him so that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. He promises to meet us next Friday with the details. Oh, and he is buying our lunch with his fabulous winnings. I'm bringing money just in case.






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

Meltdown

A sad thing happened in our fair city this morning. One of the largest mortgage companies in the country, and one of the few companies headquartered here in our fair city, shut its doors. This threw hundreds, maybe thousands of workers here and in cities across the country out of work, suddenly and without warning. One worker is quoted as having said that a sudden layoff is not something you can plan for. That is wrong thinking, but I see his point. Perhaps the workers should have seen this coming, but so what if they did? When you are drowning, thinking that you should not have stood up in the boat isn't much help. That is kind of where workers are. They plan their lives around their jobs and turn a blind eye to the possibility that they might lose the job. Thinking that they should have saved some money isn't helpful now. Home values are down after a record run up, interest rates are up after historic lows, adjustable rate mortgages are adjusting and all the people who were loaned money when they didn't really qualify to borrow it, are defaulting on the loans. This company is caught in a bind, so they are shutting down. It is a sad situation. As I have repeatedly posted, the housing market was caught up in a cycle of greed and stupidity and this is the fallout. It is the dot com bust on a smaller scale. In other news, I played golf with the Seafood King and Some Guy Named Bob today. It was hot and humid. I guess I am going to have to resign myself to the fact that I am never going to be a good golfer. There are worse things. The Seafood King asked me to look at the telephone situation at one of his restaurants again today. It was a quick fix. This is becoming a side job. If only it paid something. 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

What's Next?

Image property of Mcclatchy-Tribune Information Services.


You know, someone keeps inventing solutions to problems that don't exist.

I read a story this morning about colorful cauliflower. Apparently some scientists with a lot of spare time on their hands, have figured out how to make cauliflower green, orange or purple. I don't get the attraction. It's still cauliflower, the second most hideous vegetable on the planet after Brussels sprouts.

One of the very helpful pieces of information in the article was not to store sh*tweed, I mean cauliflower, too long because it develops a skunky odor. Flash to the writer, it comes preskunked. Some people like, even love cauliflower. My mom loved the stuff.

My sainted mother died in 1988 at the young age of sixty-three. She died from complications of diabetes and hard living. I suspect eating her own cooking was also a factor.

My mother was not a good cook, very nearly killing us on more than one occasion. One problem was that she thought that refrigeration was overrated. It was not unusual for her to fry chicken in the morning and leave it sit out until we ate dinner at five.

One time when I was about eleven or twelve my mom made pizza for my friend Peter and me. This was in the days before the fast food pizza joints, at least in Bellevue, Nebraska. She didn't exactly have the actual ingredients to make pizza, so she made it with Bisquick, ketchup and Kraft American cheese slices. She insisted that it was basically the same as real pizza. It was thoroughly inedible. We choked down a bit and hide the rest under the couch until we could sneak it out of the house.

Another time someone gave her a bushel of peanuts, which she attempted to turn into peanut brittle. Unfortunately, she over cooked the sugar base and wound up with peanut brittle that was clear and had a terrible burnt taste. She told us we were going to eat it or else. I think we outlasted her on that one and she threw it out.

Mom had a love for odd vegetables, especially Brussels sprouts. She adored the little balls of puke juice. We were also subjected to kale, okra, egg plant and of course, cauliflower. A regular yukfest. We lived, literally surrounded by cornfields and we ate canned creamed corn. She served canned peas, little balls of gray-green mush.

My mom was also famous for her mashed potatoes, which were both lumpy and runny. She never actually owned a mixer so she would add too much milk to the potatoes and then mash them with a giant fork. As in most things, she worked on the "close enough" principle. There were many times when the mash potatoes literally ran on your plate.

Another favorite at our house was corn fritters. This involved dumping a can of corn into batter and then frying the resulting goop. These were actually pretty good. Mom believed that most things could be improved with a little frying, which isn't an entirely bad trait in a mom when you are a kid.

When people ask me why I don't eat beef, I tell them that my mother ruined it for me. We regularly had the cheapest cut of meat that she could find, because she believed that separated good cuts of beef from cheaps cuts, was a good pounding with a wooden meat mallet. She made meatloaf that was undercooked, at least for me, and filled with crackers and ketchup. Mom also believed that ketchup covered a multitude of culinary sins.

My mother had a co-conspirator in my father. As long as food was fried,, he was a happy guy. My mother would cook him bacon or sausage nearly every morning, topped by several eggs fried in the fat of the dead pig. My father's idea of a delicacy was creamed chipped beef on toast, which he referred to as SOS, or sh*t on a shingle.
Is it any wonder that I am a mess?

My mom has been dead for almost twenty years and I still think of her often. She was a wonderful woman. She was funny, a smart ass, kind, generous, a loyal friend and she took care of us the best she could given our family dysfunction. But she was a terrible cook.



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

Talk To Me

I made it quite clear to Sneedlet One yesterday that he wouldn't be coming back to my house until Friday, his usual day. He comes on Friday night and leaves Sunday noon. This arrangement gives his mom a break, him a change of scenery and a day and a half is about all my nerves can take. But I do love the little guy. Son Sneed and I went to the movies this afternoon to see Talk to Me, the Petey Greene story. Don Cheadle does a fine job playing a fast and loose with the facts version of the real Petey Greene. The movie credits Petey Greene with calming the rioters in Washington, D.C. following the murder of Dr. Martin Luther King. I'm fairly sure that they film producers made up that story. Mr. Greene's contribution to civil rights for African-Americans, and for ex-convict is far greater than what is portrayed in the film. He was a far more complex character than was presented in the movie. The movie is a loose adaptation of Petey Green's story, very loose. I'm not sure that the producers were clear on what story they were trying to tell. It began as the Petey Greene, feel-good story, morphed into a story about a brilliant but self-destructive man and wound up as a story of the relationship between Petey Green and his friend and business manger, Dewey Hughes. In all, Son Sneed and I agreed that it is worth seeing, if for nothing more than Mr. Cheadle's entertaining performance. Look up Petey Greene if you really want to know about his life. The movie got me to thinking about Martin Luther King's murder. I was a senior at a predominantly minority high school in the San Joaquin Valley in California when Dr. King was killed on April 4, 1968. Beyond Dr. King's name I knew next to nothing about him. I knew he was a civil rights leader, but I wasn't really paying much attention to civil rights. Basketball and my futile pursuit of girls were the focus of my life. What I do remember was that the white students at my school were very afraid in the days following the assassination. There were demonstrations and boycotts at our school. Many of the black students refused to attend class, milling around in the open areas of the school, protesting, demonstrating, singing and listening to the news coverage. Some parents, black and white kept their children at home. I don't think we had any real violence, but tensions ran high. The African-American guys I knew from school athletics, even my varsity tennis doubles partner, a black kid named Tony Henderson, suddenly found that there was a great divide between us, one that I at least, hadn't been aware of. 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

Fabulous, Darling!

When we were leaving the birthday party yesterday, a cranky and tired Sneedlet One wanted to come home with me and the lovely Mrs. Sneed, rather than his mom. In an effort to placate him, I said yes when he asked if he could come to our house tomorrow. Big mistake. I assumed that by tomorrow, he meant sometime in the future, not literally tomorrow. I was quite wrong about his ability to conceptualize time. Bright and early this morning, Daughter Sneed called to thank me to telling him he could come over today. He was confident that I was picking him up from daycare after his nap and bringing him home. When she told him that he wasn't going to Grandpa's house today, all Hell broke loose. She wondered what I was going to do about it? I picked him up at two thirty and as I type he is playing with his bug collector set on my living room. Daughter Sneed will be here shortly to get him and I am sure it will get ugly. What I have learned is that when he says tomorrow, he means it. Here;s something else. There was a special section in our afternoon paper today devoted to forty young community leaders, all under forty years of age. They were nominated for this recognition by their employers or, and I love this word, their mentors. They are all young, pretty and energetic and they do fine things for our community. What's not to like? I'm not completely sure why this annoys me so much, but it does. I am a bit put out by this because this is just a parochial love fest. The older generation of business leaders anointing the next. Our young climber's good deeds tend toward, board member or committee member, and away from the drudgery that goes with helping the less fortunate. They are leaders, not workers. Their causes range from community-wide things like serving on the board of the United Way, to obscure ones, like membership on the Lutheran hymnal task force. These are people who are successful, some worked their way from nothing, but many are the children of privilege. To paraphrase Jim Hightower commenting on the first George Bush, many of our fabulous forty were born on third base and think that they hit a triple. Self promotion is a huge part of being a big fish in the pond, but it makes me uncomfortable. 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

Happy Birthday, Matey! Arrgh!

Today was Sneedlet Two's fourth birthday and there was a party at his new house to celebrate the occasion. The theme for the party was Pirates of the Caribbean. All pirates were present and accounted for.




Daughter-in-law Sneed went above and beyond the mom birthday duty by creating this giant pirate boat. You can get the scope of its size from the Sneedlets sitting in it. It was truly impressive.



Then, as if the boat wasn't impressive enough, she made this very clever treasure chest cake. It is entirely cake, including the jewels and string of pearls. It was also delicious.



This has trouble written all over it.


It turns out that when your mom told you to be careful or you would put out your eye, she knew what she was talking about. Luckily, Sneedlet took one off his forehead, and not in his eye.



The birthday boy got this swell Mustang convertible and the Sneedlets took it for a spin. Since it was a hundred and six degrees today, it was a short spin.



After a drive in the hot August sun a guy need a cool dip. This is what the well-dressed swimmer is wearing this season.



The new house has a terrific view.

It was a great party. In twenty eight days we get to do it all over again. The other Sneedlet turns four on September 10th.



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

Don't Take Fashion Tips From This Kid

I was sent off this morning with Sneedlet One in tow to find a pair of pirate boots. A quick check of our local phone book didn't yield any pirate shoe stores, so I was left to fend for myself. I'm not even sure what type of boots pirates wore.

Sneedlet Two will be four tomorrow and he has a thing for Captain Jack Sparrow. The Lovely Mrs. Sneed bought Sneedlet Two a pirate costume for his birthday. It is very cute except that it has no boots, just shoe covers that sort of look like boots. Not good enough.





We went to a local cowboy outfitter and they had a pair of plain black boots. Close enough for me. Hopefully, they will be satisfactory.




Of course, you can't drag one Sneedlet to the store to buy boots for another Sneedlet without buying him some too. Especially when he grabs a pair and shouts, "Mine have red on them". Doubly especially when he grabs his very size. The little goof ball hasn't taken them off since we bought them.

I'm reminded of the time Sneedlet One's mother, Daughter Sneed got a shiny new pair of red shoes. she was so proud of them that she climbed into the bathtub wearing nothing but the shoes. She was in before Mrs. Sneed noticed that she still had them on.

In other news, I got a call yesterday from the County Extension Service about my application for the Master Gardner training. I have an interview with on August 22. Hopefully, I will charm them into accepting 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


Tag: Daily Life
Personal Finance
Humor

A Surprise Visit

We went to the store this evening and arrived home to find these two little girls waiting with their father, Cletus Sneed, in front of the house. They are two of the three missing Sneed granddaughters. Cletus badgered their mother into bringing them over.

The entire visit, which lasted about ten minutes, was just a freak show. The mother wouldn't come in or bring in the littlest child. She waited with the baby in the car. I believe that I have only seen the baby once. She is about one and a half, and Cletus denies paternity. He has no interest in her. Jackass.

I guess Cletus figured that since he had the kids it was okay to come by. It was really a sad visit because we see them so little, that they are like strangers to us, and us to them. It felt like when my mom would drag us to see some old aunt that we didn't know.

The girls are 9 and 7. They don't know the name of the school they will attend beginning next week. They change schools about once a year, so it is constant turmoil in their lives. These poor little children have no chance in life. Their mother drags them from place to place living where they can.

Once, a few years ago, they were a struggling family, but still a family. Cletus worked steadily, often at two jobs. Then he began to use drugs heavily and things came apart. Unfortunately, he takes no responsibility for his behavior and his children suffer. It is just tragic.

The rest of this post was written earlier today.

We were lucky enough today to have weather that was both hot and humid. What a break, many places get hot and many get humid, but we got both.

I was up at the crack of dawn to take Son Sneed to get his treatment. We arrived at the hospital at six fifteen am and were home by nine. That make the whole ordeal a bit more tolerable to both of us.

There was an odd couple at the hospital with a "Companion Dog In Training", at least that's what his green dog vest said. This was one of the oldest dogs I think I've ever seen, an ancient Golden Retriever. He was a sweet dog, but I have to think that once he is trained, they should give him to a ninety-year-old, because the end seems near for the old guy.

This meth epidemic has really taken its toll on crime, or at least on the quality of the criminals. There was a time when criminals put a little brain power into their schemes. Not so much anymore.

Last night in our fair city, a very large piece of machinery was stolen from a work site at our interstate highway widening project. The criminals, three meth heads, hauled it to their spacious single wide trailer and threw some tarps over it. Early this morning while they slept off their highs, the cops tracked it to their house using the Lojack device on the machine. They are in custody, along with a skanky meth mama who was arrested on unrelated charges.

I had to make an emergency Sneedlet pick up this afternoon. Daughter Sneed is redecorating his holiness' bedroom and he proved to be no help. In fact, some might call him a hindrance. We spent the afternoon playing a spirited game of Lookit, Grandpa!

At the moment we await the arrival of the lovely Mrs. Sneed. Sneedlet is laying on our bed watching a Richard Scary DVD and I am getting a much deserved respite.







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

You Promise To Pay?

The lesson that you can't loan money to people who cannot repay it was revisited today on Wall Street. The world financial markets took huge losses for the day, continuing a month-long downward slide, resulting from the mistaken idea that people who can't afford to buy a house, can.

Mr. Royal Hammerstein, a trader speaking from the trading floor said, "Geezaloo, you would have thought that someone would have checked some credit apps, but apparently they didn't. This collapse in the credit markets will screw me come bonus time." Well said.

Marshall Stummond, a senior vice-president at the mega mortgage company, Eager Financial, denied that part of the problem can be traced to a simple office supply snafu. According to Eager Financial insiders, who spoke off the record, there was a shortage of red ink for the giant "Rejected" stamps in 400 Eager offices in 46 states. The underwriters were using the "Approved" stamp until the back-order for the red ink was over.

A Senior Underwriter at Eager Corporate in Chicago said, "Our policy manual is very specific. We have 72 hours to provide an answer to our clients regarding their loan application. Without that red ink we had to approve the loans. It is our policy, page 39, section 3. Look it up."

Delores Platt, Office Manager, in the Des Moines, Iowa office told reporters that she had several fifty-five gallon drums of red ink in the storeroom and would have made some available if she had realized there was a shortage.

"If the US economy collapses because I stocked up on the red ink, I'll feel like a damned fool," she added.

Eldon Birdwell, a lobbyist for the Mortgage Fraternal Society, a mortgage industry trade group, vigorously defended the professionalism of his membership.

"Look, we made what we thought, what we had sound reason to believe, were good loans. The fine professionals of the Mortgage Fraternal Society, asked every borrower if they intended to pay the money back. If they said no, we didn't make the loan. Almost everyone said yes. We can't be held responsible for liars, we are mortgage professionals, not mind readers."

The situation was best summed up by Oliver Klozoff, foreclosure expert.

"We could be stripped buck naked by this situation."

In the meantime we wait.

In other news I played golf with the usual suspects today. I played fantastically on the first five holes, playing even par through five. After that I reverted to form. What can you do?

Lastly, I laid down the law for Cletus Sneed. I told him that he and his children were welcome at family functions, but beyond that he was not to call or visit us, period. Let's hope it takes.

Son Sneed thinks that his symptoms yesterday are consistent with meth use. Let's hope not. Cletus had this brilliant idea that he could come and stay with us, rather than going back to his flop house. He was indignant when I said no. According to him, his current living arrangement will kill him and I don't care. He has refused my attempts to get him into a program, so it is his decision.






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: Daily Life
Personal Finance
Humor

We Have You Surrounded

I normally post at the end of the day, but sometimes there is breaking news that just can't wait.

I'm caught in the recurring nightmare that is Cletus Sneed again. You may be saying to yourself, "For God's sake, is there anything he keeps private?" Just think of yourselves as therapists for the cheap man.

Today was bug man day. "Hold on there Sneed. Aren't you the guy who doesn't kill anything, including bugs?"

Well, yes I am. The bug guy is the idea of another member of the family. A member with veto power. Besides the bug man doesn't actually kill any bugs, he sprays his chemicals and if bugs choose venture into our home anyway, what can I do?

The bug man will reappear in the story shortly.

At 6:40 am, I got a call from Cletus, asking me what I was doing. This instantly pissed me off. The crux of the call was that he was not working today and would drop by if I was going to be home. I was noncommittal on the being home part, so he hung up, leaving me clinging to the hope that I had dodged a bullet.

Then, as the lovely Mrs. Sneed was leaving for work about an hour later, Cletus rolled up on his bike. I was cutting up some tree branches so that the trash man could haul them way tomorrow and came outside to find him talking to his mother in the driveway. Nothing good can come from him being here at that hour.

Cletus announced that he needed to go to the hospital and needed me to take him. Since he rode past two hospitals to get to our house I chalked it up to just more of his BS. A huge argument resulted, leading to the following charges.

1. I make no effort to see his children. The fact that even he doesn't know their current location was not an adequate defense.

2. I refuse to help him get an apartment. I reminded him that I once helped him get an apartment and got sued by the apartment people for my effort. Again, inadequate.

3. I refuse to help him gain custody of his kids. He lives on the street. the answer should be apparent, even to him.

In the end I drove him to our neighborhood hospital and dropped him off. He was genuinely indignant that I wouldn't go in with him. He stood in the emergency room driveway yelling, "The bug man is more important than your son!"

Spending hours in an emergency room with a drug-addled idiot is way down my to-do list for today. It that seems mean, it has been 20 years in the making.

My favorite part was when he tried to physically restrain the car, in a effort to make me come with him. So off I went, arriving home just as Larry the Bug Man did.

Larry the Bug Man is a really chatty guy who likes to keep up on the latest concerning his customers. We were chatting in the kitchen about my retirement, golf, the weather, etc., when, and I am not making this up, two policeman barge in through the garage door. By barge, I mean they opened the door and announced that they had to come in. One had biceps the size of tree trunks and they both had really big firearms, so I invited them right in. They didn't want coffee.

It seems, according to the police, that someone in my house made a 911 call and then hung up. This led to the cops having to search the house, room by room, just in case I was hiding a body on the premises. Let me tell you, the police don't have Larry the Bug Guy's chatting skills.

I told them about the Cletus situation, but since he never came in, I was mystified about the 911 call. We have taken Lacey's phone privileges away, becasue she went crazy ordering dog toys on the phone, so it sure wasn't her. Son Sneed said he didn't do it. A real conundrum.

The police asked me a lot of questions and they both wrote stuff down in their tiny spiral notebooks. Finally, convinced that all was well at Casa Sneed, they left as they had come, out the garage door.

Larry the Bug Guy left and I went back out to cut my branches. I was surprised to see the cops still sitting in their cop van at the curb. I walked over and asked if it was possible that my neighbor called 911 when Cletus and I were in the front yard argu...uh, talking loudly? Nope the call definitely came from a phone listed at our house.

The cop asked me if I had a phone number 874-XXXX? It turns out that Cletus Sneed, jackass, has his cellphone listed at our address and the moron called 911 from it and hung up. Since it is a cellphone and the dumb ass didn't answer when the 911 operator called him back, the police did the only thing they could do, show up at my house and conduct a hard target search. I don't really know what a hard target search is, but Tommy Lee Jones said it in The Fugitive and I have always wanted to work it into a post.

If it's not one thing it's another.

So someone just shoot me now. No wait, I should be careful about what I ask for, Cletus might just do it. Kidding.

To put it in the words of a famous blogger from Texas, "That is all."


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: Daily Life
Personal Finance
Humor