Heat on a Day Off

Is there anything so depressing as that mid-September day when the heater kicks on for the first time since early March? The WHOOSH of the unit as the flame catches. The stink of disuse that lingers for several hours. Of course, it usually happens the evening after you pull out the heavy bedspread from its summer storage. *sigh* Wearing socks around the house again. Ah there, it went off. Thirty minutes. I really don’t want to do anything today.

*sigh*

I didn’t sleep in all that much. But, to quote the great Roy Orbison, I did have “beautiful dreams.”

Day's Off Eve

Why is it that the whole work week you’re tired and tired and tired and then you come to the eve of your day off and you can’t sleep? Anticipation of sleeping in? Can’t wait to do nothing? Looking forward to watching Charlie Rose tonight?

I think it’s a combination of all of these. I have my to-do list right here: Drop off gift for a friend. Maybe stop by for a coffee at this place with an incredibly beautiful barista with an amazing body. Lunch at Long John Silver’s. Send out bills. Do laundry. Prep G.U.R.P.S. for Saturday.

That soreness I’ve been feeling is going away. Earlier in the week, at this time of night…lessee…lemme look…9:45PM Pacific time, I could barely keep my eyes open. On more than one occasion I would be startled awake by an especially loud commercial before snapping awake, sitting up groggily and absentmindedly wiping the sideways drool trail from my cheek.

I'm on my way home

I had an epiphany today. Regardless of whether you live 1 mile or 39 miles from work or school, once you’re done for the day, you just want to go home. You might have errands to run, your nose and stomach might be directing you attention towards Burger King, but the soreness in your shoulders hits the big red Override button and sets your cruise control for home.

Gas Station vs Me

So what the fuck is up with this?!?

I go to fuel up my car this foggy morning. I happen to stop at a 7-11 which has a gas station. First off, the pumps look weird. They’re low slung. Low to the ground. Second, the nozzle seems short. About 6 inches shorter than I’m used to seeing. I set it and prepare to forget it. I start walking to the squeegee bucket hanging from the side of a nearby pump when I hear the clank clank of metal on concrete. I turn around and see the hose and nozzle assembly on the ground, a small amount of gasoline dribbling out. I whisper a curse and re-set the nozzle. It takes this time.

I resume my trek to the squeegee station. As I’ve seen at other stations in recent months: the bucket’s filled with water…no soap, just water. And, as has been my luck lately, no paper towels. So I clean my windshield sans towel and I’m reminded of a move I’d seen a family friend make while making some household repairs some years back. He needed to blow his nose and had no hanky around so he squeezed a nostril and launched a nose goblin to the ground. You do what you can with what you have.

At this point, I hear the click of the pump indicating it has completed the fueling process. I approach my car. The hose and nozzle assembly chooses this moment to test my reflexes as it jumps from my car’s refueling port and drops to the ground. Of course, I get splattered with gasoline.

Then to top things off, I go to gather my receipt when the automated pump smiles it’s LED smile at me and says, “See attendant for receipt.” So I go inside. I was planning on getting a cuppa coffee anyway.

I first stop at the counter. Two clerks are putting away inventory, each trying to avoid eye contact with me in hopes of having the other one help me. One of them, a dumpy, double-chinned, inbred clerk, finally gives in and approaches me. I ask her for my receipt and tell her my pump number. She looks at me and asks, “Uh…how much was it?” I tell her that I was unsure of the amount. I seem to remember telling her the pump number sometime in the not to distant past. She looks at the console and rattles off a number, in the form of a question, which sounds about right. I look at her and, after a pause, I say “…sure.”

I go to get my coffee, pay for it and the gasoline and make my way onto work. Just my luck. “Alex, I’ll take Pump #2 for $1.95.” Oh, wait, I meant to say was “What is $1.95?” That’s it’s. That’s what I meant to say.

Idiots.

Encounter on the Way Home From Work

Okay, okay, so it’s been a while since I’ve written. What can I say…I’ve been busy.

Well…to the job at hand.

Humans never cease to amaze me. Please notice that I didn’t say surprise. I said amaze. I chuckle when I see something like this anecdote I am about to relay to you.

So I’m driving home from work. I’m in the slow lane and signal to turn right. I have the green light, as does the traffic going in the opposite direction. So there’s this American made piece of shit Bigfoot type truck (I think it was a GM) that’s signaling to turn left and therefore going the same way I plan to. He keeps inching and inching into my path and the moustachioed, sunglass wearing homo gives me a look like I just kicked his puppy. He glides into the lane and I raise an eyebrow. Then, 2 Flips in some Honda or Toyota follow RIIIIGHT behind him, all the while avoiding eye contact with me.

The first one sees me as being in the wrong. The second one apparently believes that her time is more important than mine. Each has their own way of rationalizing their actions. They can sleep at night because even though I had the right-of-way, THEY, through some divine right handed down to them from a burning bush atop a nearby mountain, were fated to make that turn and I was in THEIR way.

Amazing.

July 4th, 1776 and the Declaration of Independence

A total of 56 men signed the Declaration of Independence.

Five of the signers were captured by the British as traitors and tortured before they died.
Twelve had their homes ransacked and burned.
Two lost their sons serving in the Revolutionary Army.
Another had two sons captured.
Nine fought and died from wounds or hardships of the Revolutionary War.

They signed and they pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their honor.

What kind of men were they?
Twenty-four were lawyers and jurists.
Eleven were merchants.
Nine were farmers and large plantation owners.
These were men of means who were well educated.

But they signed the Declaration of Independence knowing full well that the penalty would be death if they were captured.

Carter Braxton of Virginia, a wealthy planter and trader, saw his ships swept from the seas by the British Navy. He sold his home and properties to pay his debts, and died in rags.

Thomas McKeam was so hounded by the British that he was forced to move his family almost constantly. He served in the Congress without pay, and his family was kept in hiding. His possessions were taken from him, and poverty was his reward.

Dillery, Hall, Clymer, Walton, Gwinnett, Heyward, Ruttledge, and Middleton had their properties looted by vandals or soldiers.

Thomas Nelson, Jr. noted that the British General Cornwallis had taken over the Nelson home for his headquarters during the battle of Yorktown. Nelson quietly urged General George Washington to open fire. The home was destroyed, and Nelson died bankrupt.

Francis Lewis had his home and properties destroyed. The enemy jailed his wife, and she died within a few months.

John Hart was driven from his wife's bedside as she was dying. Their 13 children fled for their lives. His fields and his gristmill were laid to waste. For more than a year he lived in forests and caves, returning home to find his wife dead and his children vanished. A few weeks later he died from exhaustion and a broken heart.

Norris and Livingston suffered similar fates.

Such were the stories and sacrifices of the American Revolution. These were not wild eyed, rabble-rousing ruffians. They were soft-spoken men of means and education. They had security, but they valued liberty more. Standing tall, straight, and unwavering, they pledged: "For the support of this declaration, with firm reliance on the protection of the divine providence, we mutually pledge to each other, our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor."

They gave you and me a free and independent America. The history books never told you a lot of what happened in the Revolutionary War. We didn't just fight the British. We were British subjects at that time and we fought our own government! Some of us take these liberties so much for granted...We shouldn't.

So, take a couple of minutes while enjoying your 4th of July holiday and silently thank these patriots. It's not much to ask for the price they paid...

Flag Burning

You can tell that the Fourth of July is close by when the online posts start mentioning flag burning. When Hell does finally freeze over, they’ll realize that burning a flag is the ultimate expression of free speech.

There are, of course, certain necessary limits to free speech. You cannot, for example, yell out “FIRE!!” in a crowded theater. Why? Because this could harm your fellow citizens, perhaps fatally. But burning a flag harms no-one. As long as you’re not doing it in a field of dry grass, it’s fine!!

Some will say “I/We/My ancestors fought and died for that flag.” My response is…no, slave labor MADE this flag for WalMart, which is where I bought it. If anything, people died for the freedom it REPRESENTS!! That freedom was a freedom to do as we please, to think as we please, to say as we please, to worship as we please.

I always wonder about flag “retirement.” The local Nob Hill grocery store has a nice little booth up front where you can: drop off/pick up your dry cleaning, buy stamps, get film developed, buy lottery tickets, OH and retire a flag. Retire a flag, you say?!? Yes, retire a flag. And how, pray tell, do they “retire” a flag? By burning it. Boy Scouts, American Legion, they all do it. But because they get dressed up and play some music, it’s okay when they do it. That’s similar to when Howard Stern got reprimanded for saying words like “pussy” and “cunt” but Sally Jessy and Oprah did entire shows on vaginas and said the word “vagina” over and over again. I understand that context is important but it cannot be used to stifle the rights of the individual.

I’m waiting for those opposed to flag burning to come up with a better argument than “it erodes the very foundation of our country.” Until then, God bless America!!