Prosthetic arm

 I was a bit nervous after the accident. I felt the pain of the separation, but seeing my arm separated from my body was more of a shock than a pain.
 It didn't look real. There wasn't much blood. I don't remember how it came off. I blocked it out.
 Later, the doctor said it was "completely severed." There was no chance of reattaching my arm. I thought of all the pain, the embarrassment, and the frustration my life would have without one of my arms.
 Sure, I could eventually manage typing with one hand, putting on my clothes, taking a shower, shaving, driving, etc. But one handed won't let me do the simple things, like zip my pants (very well).
 And I'm gonna stink at video games. Wait, I don't play them anyway. No loss there. But there goes my career as a guitarist, or a sharpshooter. Can I hold a rifle properly anymore? Not that I ever really owned a rifle or a guitar, but that's beside the point.

 Oh, and my piano playing will suffer. Wait, it has suffered for years due to neglect anyway.
 Hmmm. What else? What can I do?
 I know, I know, I'll get a prosthetic arm. They make them almost like real arms these days. I wonder if it will be like the $6 million dollar man, Lee Majors. Wait, he had a stronger bionic arm. Maybe I could get one of those. If an I-beam drops from above, like what happened to Lee Majors' character on TV, I could deflect it with little pain or discomfort with my trusty bionic arm. Not sure if I'll be in a position to deflect a falling I-beam anytime soon, but I suppose anything's possible. And I don't have six million bucks to get bionics...
 Just a regular prosthetic arm might look similar to the real thing; but I know it won't be. I can detach it and not feel a thing. It won't be necessary to sustain me. It can be replaced.
 My body will appreciate it for its functionality, but will have no emotional or physical connection to it. It will be like living separately, independently, without a care.
 I wonder if a family can have a separation and survive like this? I wonder if "prosthetic relationsips" are possible? Is a family member discardable? Can he be recycled? Can he be replaced?
 People do it all the time. But now that it's happening to me, I can't imagine this prosthetic relationship being an advantage to the real thing.

"Mr. Spielberg is on the line"

  The Nyquil wasn't kicking in yet. My head and the entire left side of my face was throbbing. Three pillows, and I still couldn't breathe. Every time I swallowed, my ears felt like I was at the bottom of the leaf pile like when I was a kid; a scratchy, muffled sound.

 Maybe that's why I didn't hear her correctly. My wife's voice interrupted my turmoil from the next room. "Honey... it's Mr. Spielberg. He's on the phone for you."
 My eyes focused on the ceiling fan. Was it spinning? No, that was my head.
 Did she just say, 'Spielberg?'
 She was standing in the doorway now, holding a cordless phone out like a trophy. "It's for you," she said, with a smile. "It's really him!"
 My watery eyes were open wide. I wanted to sneeze, but couldn't. I reached for the phone, hoping I could hear.
 "Hello?"
 "Uh, yes, Mr. Cockroft?"
 "Yes. Who is this, please?"
 "Steven Spielberg here. I just wanted to --- "
 "Steven Spielberg? As in, the movie director?"
 A quiet chuckle on the other end.
 "Yes. The very same. Anyway --- "
 "So, you're actually calling me?"
 Another chuckle. .
 "Well, you didn't call me, did you?"
 I swallowed, despite the fact that it hurt.
 "Um, no sir. I don't even have your number."
 "Well, Mr. Cockroft, I want to extend to you an opportunity to audition for my upcoming movie, Lincoln. Have you heard of it?"
 "Of course, Mr. Spielberg. He's my favorite president."
 "Mine, too."
 "I thought you were a Democrat."
 "What?"
 "Nothing. You were saying something about an audition?"
 "Oh, yes. I saw your clip from South of Black Drink Crier. Very convincing."

 "You saw that? It was a half hour short film produced by college students!"
 "Yes, but your role as a Civil War chaplain was quite impressive. I like your style, Mr. Cockroft."
 "Please, call me John. May I call you Steven?"

 "Let's just stick with 'Mr. Spielberg' until after the auditions."
 "Of course."
 My cheeks are hot with embarrassment. Or am I running a fever?
 "When and where, sir?"
 "A week from this Friday, at 3 p.m., Municipal Auditorium, Kansas City, Missouri. Can you make it?"
 "I'll be there, Mr. Spielberg."
 "Perfect."
 I hung up, wondering if I should have asked for an emergency contact number.
 My eyes flutter open. The ceiling fan is whirling now. My phone is hung up. The entire thing was a dream.
Aaagh.... if only I'd gotten his number in the dream, I could have called Mr.Spielberg and set up my own audition in real life!

 Guess that Nyquil kicked in after all...

Any excuse'll do...

 Me: Where are you?
Friend: In town.
Me: Me too. I'm at church. Come on over!
F: Oh, I can't. I don't have any church clothes.
Me: It's OK. It's a casual church. Even the pastor wears jeans.
F:  I can't. I think it's disrespectful.

Me: Disrespectful? Of whom? So you think the pastor is disrespectful?
F: Oh no, I was in the choir at that church for three years.
M: Then come on over!
F: No, it's just how my mom raised me.
Me: Mine too, but she and I learned to adapt to change.
(awkward pause)
Me: But, to each his own.
F: Thanks.
Me: But next time, just say you don't wanna come to church and it'll come across more sincere than some excuse about clothes.

The above conversation reminds me that people should just voice their reasons without trying to sound official; the fact that we make excuses is not the problem; the fact that we often prop up the excuse as the "real" reason is. The truth is, we don't want to do some things, and we aren't ready to adjust our schedules. Fair enough. Be real out there, people!

Google poops on my Christmas parade

 Ah, Christmas eve has arrived. The joy of remembering our Savior's birth. 'O Holy Night' comes tonight. But you'd never know it if you did a Google search today.
 Google prides itself on altering its logo to fit special occasions. However, the company not only seeks to be inclusive, it forces "inclusivity" down your throat so hard you gotta spit out your tonsils.
 When it comes to the sacred and most time recognized holiday of the year, Christmas, Google can't create a Nativity scene with its logo. It can't even manage a Santa Claus and reindeer mindset. (Sorry Rudolph, you're as Politically Incorrect as Jesus Christ now.)
 No, the Search Big Block Engine has to rev up to a hideous, clip art display of images portraying what "every miserable and conceivable religion and anti religious nut job in the universe" would see as a selfless act of inclusiveness.
In other words, Google threw in a collage of art portraying images of Kwanzaa, Hanuka, Santa's version of Christmas, the Middle East, Sahara Desert, Polish desserts, ANYTHING and EVERYTHING that DOESN'T represent Christmas or even this time of year.

 It's a sickening display of Political Correctness so correct it's incorrect. It's enough to make a Pharisee wanna go liberal.
 It's so over the top tolerance forced that one can only look in despair at the hideous collage and say, "Where's the Google logo?" At least make the ugly images configure the name, "Google." As it is, it looks like a shotgun confetti drive by assaulted the page.
 How insulting it is to have a global giant defecate on its page and call it tolerant!
 I feel like I got puked on, dumped on, and crapped on by Google and all I wanted was a Merry Stinkin' Christmas! Ebenezer Scrooge at his worst wouldn't go that far...

Magic wand

 I was recently cleaning out my closet when I came across a dented, dusty purple box on a high shelf. The box bore a picture of a black top hat, trick cards, a handkerchief, some rigged dice and a glass made for disappearing milk... and a magic wand.
 I smiled as I opened the box, remembering the fun I had "wowing" family and friends with my illusions.
 The old magic wand was in my hand. It looked smaller now, just a simple black plastic tube with white plastic ends. Nothing magic about it at all. And yet, as I waived it once again, I imagined what life would be like if it held real power...
 I imagined myself waiving the magic wand and making the past disappear. I imagined my life being put together properly; my choices altogether different in this new, magical world of realization.
With the benefit of hindsight, I imagined my magic wand swishing over my thoughts, transforming them into proper thinking followed by appropriate actions, attitudes and words.
 My entirely different choices now affected who I am. My shattered and fragmented relationships were healed. My dismal financial state transformed into an empire of financial stability.
 As I reveled in my new found world of healthy choices, I realized with sadness it was only an illusion brought on by a worthless piece of plastic.
 Then I thought about it again.
 There, in my closet, I set down my magic wand and picked up another, more powerful one. I picked up my Bible, shoved into a corner behind my shoes. There it was, it's pages slightly yellowed, its words underscored in places long ago visited.
 It beckoned like an old friend, and I found myself leaving through its pages, recalling the power and wisdom the words brought.
 I realized in my hands was a much more effective magic wand. Not one that would swish away problems in an instant, but one that would cause correct thinking and, if pursued, would immerse me in a world beyond my own understanding. If I truly devoured the words of life contained in the Book, I would certainly establish the necessary ingredients missing in my life that would cause the positive changes.
 Sure, I couldn't wave a magic wand across my past and transform it into something else. But I could use the magic of the Word of God in my hands as a tool for releasing my improper thinking and become "transformed by the renewing of my mind."
 I could allow time to heal me, rather than wallow in the what-ifs and regrets. I could take this magic wand of words and wisdom and apply it now and create a different me for the future.
 My fragmented relationships and broken financial picture could mend much more quickly and effectively under the divine power of the Word of God without me trying to second guess how to do the repairs.
 My magic wand of life hadn't worked any better than a plastic tube. It was time to use the real magic of the Bible to induce a new desire in me; one that would ultimately change my thoughts, behaviors, and responses.
 I am responsible for how I respond to life. I am burdened with the results of my poor choices from the past; but I don't have to continue to bear those burdens alone. And I don't have to create new burdens!
 Naturally, I'll face struggles and setbacks, but I won't have to tackle them on my own understanding.
 I can give my issues to God and learn from the truth in His Word, or I can continue to hide behind fear and doubt and cave in to despair.
 I choose to use the power of God's Word, the Bible, as my new magic wand, and I think I'll wave off the illusions of selfish thinking from now on.

Psst! Hey you!

 I was sitting at Panera Bread, minding my own business, conducting  business, when I heard it. I looked around to see who was talking. No one in the crowded dining area seemed to notice. Maybe it was just me.
 There it was again! Barely above a whisper, beckoning just to me and only me. "Psst!" the whisper said. "Hey you! Over here!"
 I looked at the page on my computer. Same familiar page, but something behind it wanted more. Something, or someone, was urging me to peek beyond where I needed to go. To look at something I shouldn't.
 My heart raced. My mind flashed ideas in my head. Maybe I could get away with a little preview of paradise...
 Wait a minute! Hold on... now, I am in full alert. I recognize that little voice. It's the voice of Deception. I've heard it before. Oh, I used to fall for it hook, line and sinker. I would salivate at that little voice of Deception, eagerly drooling over its naughty list of "forbiddens"...

And now, I blog about it. Because that is one of many ways to overcome the enemy. The voice of Deception holds no more power than I give it.
 And the same is true of you, oh reader. If the voice of Deception creeps into your subconscious, confront it. Make a public display. Shine the light in it's beady little eyes. Deception can't stand the light!
 I stand on the light of God's Word. I stand on the truth that Satan was ultimately defeated at the Cross of Christ and that I don't have to live in bondage to sin.
I am already free; therefore, I don't need to enslave myself to detrimental little voices of Deception.
 Go away, Deceiver dude. I'm no longer available.

Consistency

 Something reared its beautiful head... a thing called Consistency. Something I've lacked for so long. Not being consistent in anything. Good OR bad. I have been on random shuffle mode like a 10 CD changer.
Now I'm looking to hit the play button on my life, and let it run from the start to the finish, uninterrupted.
No more random shuffle mode. No more jumping from topic to topic, job to job, interest to interest.
The solid, consistent living that comes from maturity and focus is growing on me. My wife is taking notice. Who knows, I may become the man I was always meant to be.

Afraid or not, here I come!

  I'm thoroughly enjoying "The Message" Bible paraphrase in refreshing modern language.  It's kinda like reading the Bible again for the first time for a long term Bible scholar like me.
 I like to begin my day reading the "Proverb of the day", the chapter in the Book of Proverbs that coincides with the date. Today was the 15th;  so Proverbs 15 was the read. But that only whet my appetite. I needed a more in depth Bible experience this morning.
 You see, I've been facing a huge valley experience. A dark trial which could ruin life as I know it. I'm on the brink of disaster, and no one may be able to tell at first glance. But it's there, beneath the surface.
 And so, after reading the chapter in Proverbs, I began to pray. I mean, soul searching, anguished, calling out to God for wisdom and deliverance from my own twisted thinking that got me in this predicament in the first place.
 Don't ever pray for God to get you out of something; pray for the wisdom to handle the problem correctly. If we get delivered from problems, we are thumb sucking sissies for life, stunted spiritual midgets without a clue how to help others or grow and change for the better.
 No, I take on trials and tests of my will and faith as signs to help me grow and mature.
 So, this huge trial in my life was welcomed today, for that  reason. In my prayer, I gave God everything. I especially asked Him to take over my thoughts and completely change the way I think. My improper thinking has caused me to make choices that have dramatically damaged the relationships with those closest to me.
 And I can't unthink my incorrect thinking without Divine Intervention.
 As I prayed, God directed me to a selection of scripture in I Samuel 23 where David, who was supposed to be King of Israel, is being pursued by the hotheaded and irrational King Saul, who wants to take David's life. David and his band of men are hiding out in remote areas, fleeing from Saul.
 The Philistines are the arch enemies of Israel and are tormenting a certain Israeli town and stealing their grain.
 David hears of it and asks God if he should take his men and rout the enemy and rescue the town. Just one big problem. The town is buried behind enemy lines, thick with Philistines who want to see all Israelites die a slow, painful death.
 So, David asks God for wisdom. And God answers, "Go, and I will deliver them into your hands."
 But his men say, "David,  we're already in trouble for our lives our here in the middle of nowhere, and you are asking us to go into the den of swarming Philistines?"
 David scratches his head and tends to agree with the men. After all, these guys are fierce warriors. He picked them himself. If these Mighty Men are too afraid, he reasons, perhaps God didn't fully understand the seriousness of the situation. I mean, how would God defend his precious nation of Israel if all the Mighty Men died in battle?
 Well, David gets on his knees a second time and asks God, "Do you REALLY want me to go after the Philistines?"
 God says, "Go, and I will deliver them into your hand."
 Confirmation. Time to make a decision.
 Even though the men were afraid, they followed David into the heart of Philistine country and came out victorious. They completely annihilated the enemy and were fully successful.
 Why do I point this story out? First of all, David asks God for wisdom. That's what I did today.
 Secondly, David knows that he must obey God rather than his feelings.
 I did that today, and it's time for me to step out into my own Philistine jungle and face my fears of losing relationships and life as I knew it. I am stepping forward, and praying, like David and the mighty men of old, that God will eradicate the enemy before my eyes. All I've gotta do is pray and pick up my sword and go after the enemy that's stealing my grain and harassing me.

Runonsentence

 IfyouneverknewwhatarunonsentencelookedlikewellnowyouhavereallytrulyseeenonebutnoonedaresexplainwhyIdidthiscompletelyinsanelylongrunonsentencebecauseiftheyactually didattempttoexplainitthatwouldtakethemysteryandintriguefromitrobbingitofitseffectivenessandmakingsenseofthesenselesssodon'tevengotherepleaseIbegyou.

Dark and Cold

 The arctic blast frisks me rudely. I brace against the icy chill, numbed and shocked even though I knew the cold front was coming in.
 It reminds me of a personal cold front that moved in during warm weather and hasn't gone away. As the Christmas season unfolds around me, with the bells, songs, lights and laughter, a part of me cries in the dark, cold wind. My season is clouded with confusion and dismay. There is no warmth for me this Christmas.
 I had to leave the house again this afternoon.
 My oldest son saw me. "Where are you going, dad?"
 I didn't have an answer. "I'm not sure," I said.
 It's dark and it's cold and I'm still not sure where I'm going.
  I'm out in this misery, thinking of what I'd normally be doing on a Saturday night like this. I'd be sitting in front of a Christmas movie, my wife sitting next to me, her right leg drapped over my left one. One of our boys would be cuddling me on the other side. We'd spike our hot chocolate with homemade eggnog.
 TheChristmas tree lights would reflect in my wife's sparking blue eyes. But now those eyes have lost their sparkle for me.
 I'm still out in the cold and dark and I still don't know where I'm going.

Public Tantrum

I'm at the Bistro Market, a hip downtown Price Cutter owned everything place on a bustling corner. Free WiFi, a long and attractive buffet, a complete fish market and grocery store, a trendy bar and the most incredible olive assortment on planet Earth. I'm talkin' olives the size of your grandpa's thumb and tangy as a green tangerine.
 I'm sitting by the door at nearly nine on a Friday night. The place in hopping. In walks this beautiful blonde suburbanesque housewife and her matching beautiful blonde housewife friend, their two daughters in tow, something around five years old each. They sit at the bistro chairs and eat at the long table running the length of the plate glass forming the front of the building.
 Within moments, one girl is pitching a fit. I mean, a hissy style selfish mad-on. Her little boots and leggings match mommy's, and she's cute as heck, but rotten to the core.
 She leaves her perch and crosses her arms, showing utter contempt for soccer mom's wishes. The blonde mom pleads, then tries a firm approach. Finally, after an awkward standoff five feet from my table, mommy dearest picks up the youngster, who cranks up the rotten meter. Kicking, twisting, and whimpering as if her mom has just decided to lock her in a smelly closet for no reason.
Now the scene has become too distracting to ignore, so I watch openly. The little one is forced into a lap sitting session, which lasts all of 18.5 seconds. The squirming proves too much for mega mom, so she delivers the ultimatum in the naughty girls' ear, "All right, you'd better shape up in 5, 4, 3... she slows her counting as the squirming continues, hoping for victory, but fearing the worst, which of course, comes. She continues, half heartedly, 2, 1... Nothing happens. The kid stops for a micro second, as if on cue, and is gently placed on the floor, her desired destination. The little puss in boots assumes full rights to her crown now, enjoying the submissive status her tantrum has placed her mom. To secure her royal reign, little miss insists-she-be-right squares off for another standoff, her phony bellows not even close to a real distress signal. It's a well rehearsed show, achieving all the desired results the young girl has grown so accustomed to.
 Mom has a piece of food in her hand, holding it up like a prize. Puss in boots backs up with each attempt by mom to coax her into tasting it. The food item is held up like a Scooby snack, but the kiddo won't buy it. She backs up again, nearly knocking into a college age girl.
 Mom is clearly embarrassed. The other mom and daughter look on in dismay. I want to strangle the kid. But, more than that, I wanna strangle the mom who has created this manipulation mistress.She's the kind of girl who will grow to torment boys the age of my sons about ten years from now. The drama princess balks as helpless mom's pleas are again ignored. Threats and idle promises of rewards are equally ignored. Mom finally picks her up and the coddled cutie cuddles close, enjoying the power with a contented smile as she peers down at her more obedient friend. The foursome soon go to the frappaccino counter for some more sweet tooth rewards, of which the little lady is also privileged to partake.
 Return trip to the table. Perhaps dessert will calm the brat down. Nope. The new treat won't suit miss fancy boots. She refuses all offers of ice cream, and returns to mom's willing arms again. The kid is so big, she looks ridiculous throwing her tantrum, but mom is more than willing to oblige and hoist her not-so-small child into her arms once again.
 After a brief, unfulfilling conversation between the moms, the little miss muffets are bundled up and escorted out. The untouched ice cream beckons me from their vacated table.  If little brat won't enjoy it, at least I will.

Real Men

I talked to two real men today. From the "greatest generation." The real deal World War II veterans.
 The first was wearing a Order of the Purple Heart hat, signifying his being awarded for enduring injuries he didn't choose to talk about. An army veteran, he fought in the infamous "Battle of the Bulge."
 "Our unit was dubbed the 'bloody bucket' by the Germans," he told me. His wife of 65 years was beaming at his side as I repeatedly thanked him for his service to our country. I try to personally greet each World War II veteran I see. These "real men" won't be around much longer.

 A little later, I noticed another older gentleman with a World War II, Korean War, and Vietnam War cap.
 It takes a real man to earn the right to wear a hat like that. In moments, I had introduced myself and was learning about his experience on a Navy ship in the Atlantic during World War II as an 18-year-old from Massachusetts. He then went on to join the Air Force, where he flew B-26 bombers over Korea during that bloody conflict. Then on to action in Vietnam in 1965-66, retiring in 1967 with 25 years of service. During that 25 years, he'd lived multiple lifetimes in vastly different combat zones.
 He'd gone from the victories of World War II to the drastically different political culture of the U.N. dominated Korean and Vietnam conflicts, where the U.S. troops' hands were tied by rules that made no sense then, and make no sense now.
 "We're too busy kissing everyone's ass," he commented on the politics of today. "We have no sense of nationalism."
 I had to wholeheartedly agree. Our sense of loyalty to the grand old U.S. of A has whithered to a wimpy apology to our enemies. We are so busy not offending those who want to harm us that we bolster their resolve against us.
 Bring back Truman. Bring back Reagan. Let's quit kissing ass and start kicking some.

Battling the Google gods

 I'm officially at war. Bring out the tanks, call in the air strike. I'm on a one-man crusade to crush the Google god... yes, the mighty King of the Search Engines and I are at odds. Not that the Internet "go to" site cares. My raging against that machine is similar to shooting a rubber band at an Apache helicopter.
 But, doggone it, Google has vomited political  propaganda once too many times, in my opinion. The search engine king is an abject liberal cesspool.
 Let me explain.
 The Google guys are always throwing it special graphics on the Google logo for special occasions, like King Tut's birthday or Ghandi's first haircut... you know, the really "important" dates in history. (Can you see my eyes rolling back in disgust?)
Then comes today, December 7, a "date that shall live in infamy," according to President Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1941.
 But, oh, heavens, no! There is no Google reference to the carnage inflicted on American troops by Japanese forces in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii 69 years ago. No, the standard Google flag flies today. Nothing about Pearl Harbor. They're too busy at Google getting ready for the annual "Celebrate pink wig wearing day" or some such rot.
 The folks at Bing, another up and coming search engine, actually know what day it is. They have a reverent photo of the Pearl Harbor memorial, repleat with the oil oozing up from the sunken USS Arizona.
I visited that site in Hawaii. It is a sobering experience. It brought tears. An overwhelming sense of  dismay at the dastardly deviant deeds of the Evil Empire of Japan are evoked there. You can almost hear the cries of the trapped men as they perished in their death locker under the water.
 By the way, there were a LOT of Japanese tourists there at Pearl Harbor, clicking away with their Nikons and chattering in Japanese. Eerie.
 So, Google gods and goddesses, look out. Consider this the first shot fired in the quest for freedom and patriotism aimed at you, the "ignore-er" of importance and relevance.
 I won't use you for another search... (at least until the next time I have to "google" something, but only because it sounds more kosher than "binging" something or "yahooing" something...) Oh, I'm so weak! Aaagh!

Seconds before the attack...

                                   

Unsuspecting Google executive getting a dose of my handgun weilding fury...

I'm Dreaming of a Dark Christmas

 So my friend was telling me about her neighbor's blinding bright Christmas lights. (Some people have a lil' too much Chevy Chase in 'em)...
 And she doesn't get along with this particular neighbor. Those ridiculously gawdy lights burn ever brightly from across the street. She has to close her curtains to ignore their brilliance.
 Me: "Why do people invest in all those lights anyway? They pay for them, put them up, and sit in the house, where the view of them is greatly diminished. They seem to go to alot of effort to impress outsiders."
 She: "I don't like the guy in that house."
 Me: "Hmm. So, where is this coming from?"
 She: "I'd like to unplug them."
 Me: "His lights?"
 She: "Yes. He's mean."
 Me: "What did he do?"
 She: "He made my daughter cry on Halloween. I told him to stay on his side of the street. (Pause) I'd like to go over and unplug his Christmas lights before they blind a pilot flying overhead."
 She went on to tell me the Mean Neighbor Guy's 8-old-daughter, on that fateful Halloween night, saw her walking toward their house, smoke coming out of her ears.
 "Look out, dad!" the little girl said, darting behind her confused father. The poor guy got an earful, as witnessed by my friends' daughter across the street. At least, it was a presumed earful. Her daughter reported only being able to see her mom's hand waiving and head weaving.
 Waiving, weaving, back and forth, up and down, until the poor ol' mean guy shrank into the safety of his house and hid behind his 8-year-old.
 "And stay on your side of the street!" my friend bellowed over her shoulder as she walked back to her house. Better not cross her again, Mr. Bright Lights.
 I can just see it now; a lineup of little blonde housewives down at the county jail. The mean neighbor guy rubs his eyes, staring closely, carefully eyeing each face on the other side of the two way mirror. His eyes light up as he points wildly. "That's her, officer. Second from the end on the left!"
 Cop: "You're absolutely certain?"
 Mean Neighbor Guy: "I'd know her face anywhere. It was illuminated by tens of thousands of Christmas lights just before the blackout."
 Cop: "What do you mean, the blackout?"
 MNG: "She deliberately walked across the street, entered my yard, and unplugged my lights."
 The cops shakes his head, sorry he has to fill out such trivial paperwork.
 Perhaps the mean neighbor guy should thank my friend for saving him a ton on his electric bill.

New Job

 I got a new job finally today. Handing out samples glazed nuts at the mall. I stood from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. handing out samples until my feet were sore.
 But it's a job. Two high school girls also were hired to do the same, starting today. So I'm only going back 29 years in my job status. It was the first job for both of the girls, who are 16. They pay isn't much, but it's pay. Funny thing --- I got a gig doing a short video clip that took a half hour before my mall job started, and got paid more for that half hour than I did all day at the mall.
 Going back tomorrow for the same...

"Don't ask, don't tell"

 My car has faithfully served me since February, 2003. Back then, it had 35,000 miles and smelled OK.
Now, it has 246,000 plus miles and a crack that snakes across my line of sight on the windshield. It has had a mysterious hum for a few years. Other than keep me alert while driving, the hum is likely a wheel bearing gone bad. It also has a leak in the valve cover gasket. Because of the oil leak, I have to add oil from time to time. I haven't had the oil changed in about 25,000 miles because when it gets low, I fill it up with good, clean oil. I figure why spend money to change it if its running out and getting replenished on a regular basis anyway?
 The dashboard lights are out. It's hard to see how fast I'm going at night, even with the orange "Check Engine" light continually illuminated.
 If I checked the engine every time that "check engine" like came on, I wouldn't be driving much. I'd be checking the engine. Frankly, I'm on a "don't ask, don't tell" relationship with my car engine. I don't ask what's wrong, and it doesn't tell me.
 Both of us are content in our blissful ignorance. It's a topic I choose to avoid. Granted, I need to get around to fixing the brakes. They started squeaking the other day, and my friend tells me if I wait 'til they rub metal on metal, I'll pay a lot more.
 I like my car. I wouldn't survive well without it. But I just don't take time to maintain it as I should.
 I've noticed alot of people do that with their health. They like not being in the hospital, but they don't want to stop reaching for the fries, or the Coke, or whatever.
 If I sound preachy towards over eaters, I probably am. But I should be preaching about car maintenance because that's my area of weakness.
 I don't have a steady job right now (refer to earlier blogs) so therefore I don't justify spending money on fixing up my car when it runs as is.
 However, I know that delaying the issues isn't the best way to handle things. Like my bills. I delay them and hope they don't cut the phone or electric off.
 Don't ask me, Mr. Bill Collector, if I can pay you this month, and I won't tell...