Rant of the Moment 2.0

This is the 21st Century. We consider ourselves a “progressive” society. We have over come many relationship stigmas in the past 30 or 40 years. It was not that long ago, November 22, 1968, to be exact, that that the sight of Captain James T. Kirk (Caucasian, male), of the Starship Enterprise, kissing Lt. Uhura (black, female), set the switchboard at NBC on fire. It was the first time two people of different ethnicities had a scripted kiss on national TV. We have certainly come a long way since then. Today, the sight of a couple of mixed ethnicity either on TV or in person doesn’t even raise eyebrows, except for a few older folks, and from the bigots that will always be with us. Even Disney Channel routinely shows boys and girls of mixed ethnicity dating and kissing, and I applaud this!

Another relationship “taboo” that in recent years has not only been broken, but is actually celebrated is the older-woman/younger-man relationship. Commonly known as “Cougars”, older women are seeking the company of young men, sometimes as young as half their age, for companionship, and sexual relations. I am not sure if it is art imitating life or the other way around, but it has been made “mainstream” by such things as the marriage between actress Demi Moore and actor Ashton Kutcher (she is 16 years older) and by the TV series “Cougartown” on ABC. Unfortunately, the Moore/Kutcher thing fell apart recently, but my understanding is it is not because of the age difference, but rather, Mr. Kutcher’s inability to keep his little “Punk” in his pants.

So, with all of these other obstacles gone, why is one relationship coupling still considered “weird” or “taboo” by many people? Of course I am talking about “older-man/younger-woman” relationships.

Now, I’m not talking about SERIOUSLY old guys and severely younger women, like Anna Nicole Smith (26) and that old millionaire codger she married (90), (“Oh, it was for love”… riiight), or that actor that no one has ever heard of, Doug Hutchinson, age 51 marrying that 16 year old nymphet, and wannabe singer, Courtney Alexis Stodden. That just screams “ICK!”, and I would think “statutory” in most places. No, I am talking about two adults, both of legal age, both in reasonable health, who care about each other, who although there may be a measurable difference in their ages, still have a LOT in common, and who make each other happy.

The woman who is older is called a fancy name like “Cougar”. The man, though, is still called “A Dirty Old Man”.

Of course, society has LESS of a problem if the man is rich and/or famous… Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta Jones… she born in 1969, he in 1944 (25 years difference)… then there is Donald Trump, Paul McCartney, Nicholas Cage, Bruce Willis, Harrison Ford, JFK, Ronald Reagan, Elvis and Tom “Still in the Closet” Cruise… ALL significantly older than their wives. Heck, McCartney and Trump keep repeating marrying younger women, over and over. It must be OK, if they have money. They may have nothing in common (except for the money) but it is OK.

Now, I will admit that the whole Scarlett Johansson / Sean Penn thing kinda creeped me out, but that was not an “age” thing… it was a “he looks like his face caught on fire and they beat it out with the butt end of an ugly ape” and “Goddess” thing. The thought of his disfigured visage kissing her pouty, full lips made me want to drill a hole into my head with a spade-bit and pour liquid Drano into the part of my brain that processes imagination and memory. Black Widow and Jeff Spicoli… it just ain’t right.

But, where does that leave the common man? Oh sure, there are a few cases I can sight. A guy I used to know, “Alejandro”. Honestly, his name is really “Joe”, but I thought you might think I made that up… Anyway… Alejandro was a divorcee, and met a girl at a pet store at which they both worked. They started flirting, then dating and ended up getting married. When they wed, he was 44, she was 22. They have been happily married over 12 years now, and had a couple of children, even though Alejandro already had three from his previous marriage. They are not rich, but love each other deeply. They had so much in common to begin with, their age did not matter. Unfortunately, not all couples are that lucky. Society still wants to stigmatize what could be the happiest relationship in two people’s lives.

So, as a public service, if you are a young lady considering seeking a relationship with an “older” man, allow me to state the logical reasons why you should pursue this relationship…

(Of course, these are based on “typicals”, results may vary)

1. Older men are more attentive: Face it, the average dude in his late 20s to early 30s is pretty self centered. It has been a known scientific fact for decades that females mature faster than males. A woman in her early 20s may be thinking about marriage, raising a family, maybe developing some stability in life. The average male in that same age group still wants to run, constantly party, avoid “entanglements”, and still have the “bros before hoes” mentality. Honestly, many of them who DO get married at this point are just hoping for regular sex, and get sadly disappointed when they find out that marriage is a little more involved than just that.

An older guy, on the other hand would typically rather have stability, and would rather spend time with you, than be out trolling around with his buddies. I am not saying a guy in his 40s or 50s would just want to sit at home and watch “The Wheel”, but he would probably rather take a walk with you in the park while holding your hand, be more likely to take you to a candle lit dinner in a NICE restaurant (one without a clown), and would love to take rides together, just to see where you end up, than dump you, and take off with his buddies.

2. Older men are typically more financially secure: Simply put, men in their 40s and 50s (economy willing) have been working (hopefully) in their chosen field for a while, and have (hopefully) built up enough assets that they can afford luxuries in life, like the aforementioned dinners, weekends at a B&B, and a full tank of gas. I would venture to say that seldom would an older guy ask, “hey, babe, do you got, like, $6 I can ‘borrow’?”

3. Older men are more patient lovers: Speaking from the point of view of someone who has been a male through the teenage/20-something years, and has survived into his 40s, I can say without hesitation that “younger guys” really have only one thing on their minds. They do. To refine that idea even further… they have one final, ultimate…uhm… goal, and unfortunately for most of them, it is more fun if a woman is involved. The younger, less mature male simply wants to minimize the amount of time between his “Oh-Face” and eating a “sammich” in front of “the game”. If he can get his…uh…goal, AND get the girl to MAKE the sammich for him…SCORE!

The older guy, on the other hand, is typically more patient, less likely to rush towards the “goal”, and is likely to spend more quality time moving towards it (you may read anything into that statement you wish…). For a more mature man, the “journey” is as much fun, if not more, than the “final destination”. Don’t get me wrong, now. He still wants and enjoys the “Oh-Face”, he just likes to take a slower, more winding route to get there. And as everyone knows, sometimes when you take an alternate route, you may discover “sights” you have never experienced before, because you were on the expressway, and not taking your time on a less traveled road.

4. This one is pretty self-explanatory: Typically, more mature men have come to grips with their “demons”. I’m not saying they have conquered them all, but, at least by their 40s, most rational and semi-sane men can at least identify them, and if they are able to name them, they are at least dealing with them.

5. Single guys in their 40s and 50s are more self-sufficient: Too many 20-something boys may have their own apartments, but still ride on mommy’s apron strings. A more mature single man, on the other hand has had to learn to survive. He knows how to buy toilet paper…AND knows the right way to replace the empty roll. He can do his own laundry, has learned how to clean, and he has learned how to shop. He doesn’t raise a fuss if you ask him to stop and grab a few things on your way home.

Please, do not ask any man to buy you “feminine products”, though.

Let me dispel a myth: Men don’t like buying “those things”, but not for the reasons you may think. No, the reason men dislike buying them is because there are TOO DAMNED MANY CHOICES… and the LAST thing a man wants is his crampy, bloaty, hormonally enraged woman filleting him because he got “wings” instead of “trampolines”, or he got “paper applicators” instead of “unfiltered”, or whatever the options are. Let him make you a nice cup of chamomile, or make dinner instead, in support of your monthly “achievement”… please?

6. Mature men are still capable of reproduction: Here is another cruel joke nature has played on women… a woman is essentially born with all of the eggs she will ever have. Once the woman runs out, she is incapable of bearing children any longer. Men, on the other hand have what seems to be an endless supply of sperm. Men (provided they do not have any other health issues preventing it) can father children up until they die. Every time a man has an “Oh-Face”, his body goes right out and starts reloading his pea-shooter with fresh ammo for the next round.

The actor, Tony Randall, fathered a child when he was in his 70s… now… that is sort of doubling back to the “grotesquely older man” that we have been avoiding talking about, but it is an example of my point.

Finally, older men can also be more attentive fathers to their children, as well as mates for their women (see point #1).

By this point, I may have convinced you. You also may have lost all interest and went to see if “Jersey Shore” is a rerun, but I am hoping you are still with me.

One final concern, I am sure, is the question of “What will our family and friends say?”. Bottom line, although your family and friends may resist your choice at first, ultimately, they only want to see you happy. It makes no sense that they would rather see you with someone “about your age”, if that person and you had nothing in common, except who the President was when you were born, or if they treated you badly. As a father of daughters, I didn’t care if the boy had been born at the same precise minute as my daughter, I resisted. It was only through seeing my children happy did I begin to accept their relationship choices.

If you are an adult, and he is an adult, you make each other happy, and you enjoy each other’s company, what “others” say, ultimately does not matter. It is YOUR life after all, and you deserve to be happy with someone who loves you, in spite of when your date of birth is.

Now, if we can just come up with a snappy name for it, like “Cougar”… with the right packaging, we can get it into the mainstream! The term “Experienced Love Monkey” kind of appeals to me. Think on it and get back to me.

Applications are now being accepted… no crayon or hearts dotting your letters “I”, please….

You really have to know Simon to appreciate this, but even if you don’t you might get a giggle, anyway:

Anyone who follows me on FaceBook has no doubt heard all about the “new girl” at my house: Lucy the Pit Bull, Princess of the Universe. She is a 7 month old Pit Bull puppy, who came to live here from the Toledo Area Humane Society. Lucy saw me and said, “Oh yeah, this human is MY new daddy…”. Anyone trying to perpetuate the “Myth of the Evil Pit Bull”, would shun her. She is perky and sweet, and the most viscous thing she may do to you is give your face a wicked, wet kiss.

I have learned a LOT about Pits in the last week or so. They are HIGH energy dogs. Somewhere I read, “A tired Pit Bull is a happy Pit Bull”. A tired Pit Bull also allows you to have a few minutes of peace! Contrary to the over-blown, exaggerated and in my opinion, sometimes media fabricated “Zombie Pit Bull Apocalypse” stories, Pits are EXTREMEMLY people oriented. A well loved Pit Bull behaves (most of the time), is easily trained, and only wants to please their two-legged family members.

On the OTHER hand… a bored Pit Bull… like ANY dog who is not given positive things to do, like chew appropriate toys, can be destructive. Left to their own devices, any bored dog will shred your couch and eat your new Jimmy Choos that you carelessly left laying about.

So, I came home today, all set on taking a little nap… new puppy in the house equals less sleep for a little while. I figured Lucy would just hop up on the bed and cuddle up with me. Of course not. Since I am crate training her, for her own safety, and the safety of my meager furniture, and my Jimmy Choos, she was all rested up from probably sleeping all day, and was ready for some action… great.

I decided we would go for a stroll somewhere, to help her burn off some energy. I also could use the exercise, so I decided we would go walk the path at Strawberry Acres Park a few times. It is a nice little paved path that encircles the entire park in sort of a lazy back and forth curvy way, so it is pleasant and not tedious.

I put on her prettiest party bandanna, and grabbed her leash and walking collar, and what to my surprise, Simon… old… fat… grouchy Simon hopped off of the couch and came and sat by the door.

“Where do you think you are going?”, I asked him.

“I don’t know where you are going, but you put her fancy bandanna on, so I figured it was fun, so I am going too”, he replied.

“OK”, I said, “but you aren’t going to just sit in the car while we walk”.

“Fine by me”, he said, and walked with us out to the car.

I opened his door, and laid the seat forward to give him access to the back seat. He hopped right in (or whatever you would call the action of a four-legged tub of goo pouring himself into the back seat of a Honda). Lucy got in, and away we went. I already had his leash in the car, and the ride to the park was just a few minutes. When we got there, I opened the passenger door, he oozed out, and I hooked him up.

By golly, Simon walked with us. It was at a slower pace, because he is 13 years old, but so help me, this self-proclaimed sofa spud actually walked one full lap of the path. For two healthy adults walking at an exercising pace, one lap takes about 10 minutes. There were times I felt like the middle car of a train…Lucy pulling as the engine, and Simon acting as the caboose, but God love him, he made one complete lap of the walking path in about 15 minutes, his short little legs carrying his grossly obese, beer barrel of a body as fast as he could go… and he didn’t die… much to the dismay of this old crone we encountered in the last turn of the loop.

This little blue-hair we ran into with only about 50 yards to go asked, “is your dog OK?”

I said, “Oh yeah, he’s fine. He IS an old, fat dog. He is just tired.”

“But is he OK?  He looks like he is going to die.”

“No, mam. He is just 13 years old, and fat. He is just worn out.”

“Are you SURE? He is limping and looks like he is going to die.”

Then she scolded me because she said Lucy was going to tinkle and I pulled her away and stopped her… in reality, Lucy was pulling away, interested in a squirrel that just scampered up a tree. I was just guiding her back to my side with the leash.

“Well that dog looks like he is going to die.” That was the last straw.

I said, “Oh yeah, you old biddy, you look like you are going to die!”. Then I gave her a Depends wedgie, pimp smacked her and shoved her wrinkled carcass into the bushes, her Dr. Scholl’s orthopedic slippers straight up in the air. Last I saw her, it looked like a re-enactment of the Pre-Civil War South… she was just a-pickin’ cotton… if you know what I mean… but I digress…

When we got back near the car, I sat on a picnic bench, while Simon caught his breath. Finally, we walked back to the Honda, and I let him in. He got in and promptly sprawled out on the back seat. I made sure he had ventilation, and I locked him in. I wasn’t going to make him walk the path again. That was more exercise than he has had in probably the last, oh, I don’t know, LIFETIME!

Lucy and I took another round on the path. This time, she was a little less energetic than the first go-round. On this pass, we met a girl walking a pretty white boxer who could not stop talking about how beautiful and well behaved Lucy was (SCORE ONE FOR GOOD PIT BULL PR!). She acted genuinely surprised when I told her that Lucy was a Pit Bull! I think the party bandanna made all the difference. After our second pass, Lucy and I also got into the car and we left the park.

Now we are home. I have no puppy running around looking for fun. No, in fact all I hear is the rhythm of alternating snores coming from the dining room. Mission accomplished!  I am wondering if Simon will be as willing and eager to go next time he sees me getting Lucy ready to go. If he is, I will take him. Heavens knows he can use the work out.

I suppose I should go back and help the “Angel of Dog Death” find her teeth that flew out of her pile hole as she toppled into the junipers. Even without her dentures in, that old broad had quite a mouth on her.

This is a family photo taken at TAHS before Lucy came home

10 yrs ago today, It was a beautiful, cool, clear, Tuesday morning, much like it is on this September 11, 2011. We had just put our oldest daughter, Katie, on the bus to go to 6th grade outdoor education.

I was sitting in my boss’ office having a meeting with him, when his phone rang, and he said, “I need to get this”. I sat there while he talked for a few seconds. He asked me, “Do we have a TV somewhere?”, and I replied, “In the server room, why?”. He said, “A plane just flew into the WTC”.

I got the TV, and after I messed with trying to get a signal on the set, we sat there, stunned, as we watched the second plane hit the other tower… then the Pentagon got hit… and a plane went down in a field in PA… then the towers fell.  That also was the day that many people first paid attention to the name “Osama Bin Laden”. All I wanted to do was be at home, with my family.

Against all instincts, we did not go pick Katie up. It was agreed that NOT telling the children at camp about it was the best thing, to not cause a panic. When we did get Kate at the end of the week, we had all lived with it for 4 or 5 days. In fact, they had quit running “the” videos on TV, I think that was a bad move. I remember picking Kate up trying to explain what had happened, and I don’t think she got it at first, because the videos had been “removed”.

In the weeks and months that followed, we lived in a state of fear. Powdered Anthrax showed up in envelopes. We all learned the name of the antibiotic “Cipro”. We began getting instructions on how to seal up our homes with plastic and duct tape. Hand gun sales soared. Talks of “dirty bombs”  and “threat level colors” filled the news.

Much has happened in the past 10 years. The political landscape of the world has changed. Our country has dipped into the deepest recession in decades. We are still involved in two wars, and the threat of terrorism is constantly looming over us. We also are currently in the middle of one of the most arguably divisive Presidencies in history. On this September 11, 2011, we need to stop and remember…

I will never forget the sight of all of our US Senators and Congress members standing united that evening. Unprecedented in my lifetime. Our elected officials, standing together, not as “Republicans” or “Democrats”, not as “Liberal” or “Conservative”, but standing as “Americans”.  For a brief moment, we were a “United States”.

Unfortunately, it did not take long for political division to resurface… finger pointing… the left blaming the right, the right blaming the left… conspiracy theorists concocting all sorts of outlandish scenarios…

On this 10th anniversary of one of the most tragic events in US history, lets refocus our attention on what really matters: our families, our communities, and our Country. It is time we stop petty political bickering. We owe it to the 2,977 innocent citizens and first responders who lost their lives at the WTC and Pentagon that day… to the people who fought what is called “the first battle in the War or Terrorism” on Flight 93, in Shanksville, PA, to the thousands of Military heroes who have lost their lives in the War on Terrorism all around the world.

There is a saying: “The best revenge is to live well”. We owe it to all those mentioned above, and to ourselves, to live well, and show the rest of the world the true meaning of “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness”.

God bless, you, and God bless the United States of America, and all lovers of liberty, the world over.

It is awesome to be proven right. It kinda stinks to be right and have no one to look at and to whom you can say,“AH HA!”. Congrats, you are my “AH HA!” people.

As I write this, I am currently living in a hotel in a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio, for about 2 ½ more days. I am here for training for work. Cleveland is a great City! Worthy of being a vacation destination, home of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and birthplace of Bob Hope, Clark Gable and Halle Berry. Thus ends my commercial for Cleveland.

I have had two long held beliefs; #1 is: “Always be where you say you are going to be, with the people with whom you say you are going to be keeping company. Inevitably, SOMEONE will see you.” and #2: “If I can get you to answer 5 simple questions, we will either have a friend in common or in many cases be related”. The second one holds true when at home in the Toledo area, especially.

Just about everyone knows the “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon Game”, in which you have to link an actor in six steps or less to actor Kevin Bacon, who has been in a lot of movies with a lot of different actors. That was a tongue-in-cheek parody of the Theory of the “Six Degrees of Separation”.

As Wikipedia puts it: “’Six degrees of separation’ refers to the idea that everyone is on average approximately six steps away, by way of introduction, from any other person on earth, so that a chain of, ‘a friend of a friend’ statements can be made, on average, to connect any two people in six steps or fewer. It was originally set out by and popularized by a play written by John Guare. “

So back to Cleveland, and my story… I am here with a great bunch of guys from all over the US who all work for the same company as I. We have really connected and are having a great time learning, and in many ways, living together in this hotel. My new buddy is Ricky, a good ol’ southern gentleman from South Carolina.

Every night from 5:30 p.m. Until 7:30 p.m., our hotel hosts a “Manager’s Reception”… that means open bar and snacks for anyone staying here. We all usually go down, have a beer and talk about the day’s lessons and decide where we are going to eat. Tonight there was two ladies sitting by themselves at a nearby table and Ricky, being the hound dog….er… gentlemen that he is, invited them to join the 12 of us.

Through introductions, it was revealed that the two ladies where both RNs from the Toledo Area (actually, West Toledo and Perrysburg). Through conversation, I brought up my theory and we put it to the test. I told them that within my five questions, one of them and I would have a person in common.

My five questions are this:

1. In what part of town/ neighborhood did you grow up?
2. Where did you go/have you gone to school?
3. Where have you worked/ do you work?
4. Where have you or or family gone to church/ to worship/ belonged to clubs or organizations?
5. Where do you live now?

“Jane” thought she would play along… She went to Whitmer HS… everyone I know from that school is either older or younger than she. She works for a small healthcare company that I have never heard of, and will probably never deal with in my job. She currently lives near the corner of Sylvania Avenue and “X” street… This is where my radar went off.

I said I lived near that corner at one time… I lived on “Y” street, right off of “X” street… so did she, currently. I told her that and her mouth fell open, most people don’t even KNOW where “Y” street is, and I swooped in to prove my point.

She said that she had lived there almost 20 years. I said, “when I lived there, I lived with a man who had been paralyzed from the neck down in a motorcycle accident. Her jaw dropped further. I told her the name of the man, and her face went totally white… “Jane” had the same last name… she had married the eldest son of the man for whom I cared about 30 years ago. Her husband had only been 14 or 15 the last time I had seen him. They lived in the same house, and in fact their bedroom is the same room I occupied while I lived in that home.

This actually goes to prove both theories of mine… the bottom line is: This is just more proof that you should try to be friendly to everyone, because you never know when you will run into them or someone they know. Now if everyone will join hands and make a circle around this paper mache globe, we will sing “Its a Small World” until we all pass out from the free beer the “Manager’s Reception”.

That’s all… no heavy rant, no angry words. I just wanted to tell you about this and hope that maybe you can find some deeper meaning in it. I’ll be darned if I can, but I lived it. I guess it DOES confirm that I could never commit a crime in North West Ohio, and get away with it… too many people know me…

For my next trick, I will find a long lost relative you wants to leave their fortune to me…

My hat is off to all of you parents preparing to start a new school year with your children… the lunches, and the back packs, making sure clothes are clean, homework tucked safely in folders, permission slips signed, the last minute “Mom I need”s, the “I need money for”s, the shadow boxes and dioramas, the new math and spelling words. The supplies shopping lists… “do you really NEED 64 colors?”…”This calculator costs as much as my first car”… Classroom parties, field trips, Valentine boxes and costumes for the school pageant. Taking time off work to go to school functions, and awards ceremonies. The runny noses passed from kid to kid, as well as the “lice checks”

As hectic as it is, someday you WILL miss it. I kinda get a melancholy feeling in my stomach this time of year thinking of the fact that it seems like it was not that that long ago all of that was happening here, and now, nothing.

I would like to borrow a chorus from a Trace Adkins song, called “You’re Gonna Miss This”:

“You’re gonna miss this
You’re gonna want this back
You’re gonna wish these days
Hadn’t gone by so fast.
These are some good times
So, take a good look around
You may not know know it now
But, you’re gonna miss this”

I get a little sad around Halloween-time, too. I was the official costume maker in our house. Every year, my kids would dream something up, and it was my charge to “make it so”. Thanks to needle and thread, JoAnne Fabric, and armed with an ample supply of glue sticks and a hot glue gun, I always got the costume done in time. It was hectic some years, finishing up right at the last minute, but I always kept my promises, and delivered. I do miss that now.

My mom had a saying, “Don’t wish your life away”. I know you may be wishing all of this school days mayhem was done, but when it is, there is nothing else like it to replace it in life. The days of my girls in school, and all of the madness that surrounded them truly have been the best days of my life, so far. Enjoy it now, because tomorrow it will be a sad-sweet memory (except maybe the “lice checks”).

Katie and Kelsey, first day of school (some year)

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Dogs…

People who study history say that the human/canine connection goes back almost to the beginning of civilization. Dogs were the first animals “domesticated” by men… but I think it is the other way around. Dogs taught humans how to interact more civilly. The original human-dog bond was probably one of economics: they figured out that together they made a better hunting team, a tradition that is still practiced today.

Through the years, we have probably studied dogs more than any other animal. They possess the unique qualities of both stealthy beast and compassionate, almost human behavior. Dogs are one of the few animals, if not the only species that will “accept” something from another species into its “pack”. That is why we have so many cute YouTube videos of dogs playing with cats, other dogs, birds, raccoons, and other animals. They just unconditionally accept them. We as humans should be grateful for that fact, too.

Canines are one of a handful of “self-aware” animals. They understand they are a being within an environment, not the center of the universe (sorry cat people, but you know what I mean). The other members of this “club” are dolphins and whales, elephants, equines, high order primates like gorillas and chimps, goats, and humans…although I know a few humans who STILL think they are the center of the universe.

Fun Dog Fact: dogs are the ONLY creature, besides humans that understand the “pointing gesture”, as in “look, there on the floor”. Try that with a cat, and they will look at your finger, if they even notice at all. Try that with your teenager, and they will just blankly stare at you.

Humans also have a unique fondness for puppies. I have a theory about that: puppies, babies and teenage girls… the reason God makes them so cute is because if they were unattractive, we would never put up with their behavior. Just a theory…

Research has shown that being around dogs lowers blood pressure and helps relieve stress for their humans.

Dogs have also, through the years, proven themselves to be not only companions, but also capable of performing productive services. Their intelligence and quick wit have helped some dogs give quality of life to people with vision problems, and have become hands and feet for people who use wheelchairs. Their keen sense of smell has been used to find everything from stashes of drugs, to bombs, to missing persons. Some of the latest revelations about dogs are that they also have the ability to sense when a person who has epilepsy is about to seizure, warning them, and staying with them until help arrives, and even the ability to detect cancer in some patients, even before traditional tests would even begin to show it.

We buried my puppy girl today. Sandy Lou was hands down, one of the most intelligent dogs I have ever seen.

We got her when our daughter Katie was 7, and now she is 21, so Sandy was going on 15. It hurts to lose a friend that you have had in your life that many years.

We always said that we did not pick her, she picked us. She was in a litter that was abandoned at the Humane Society. She was Sheppard x Lab x Chow. The rest of her litter looked like little teddy bears with curly tails. Sandy had beautiful Sheppard markings, and a Lab build. The only Chow in her was one black spot on her tongue. She was beautiful enough that people thought she was a rare pure breed of some sort. We started telling people she was a “French Yak Hound”.

She was a stubborn girl, very strong willed. We took her to obedience, which was a good move. She also ran like the wind, and was a master Frisbee catcher in her day. She loved to swim, and would actually dive to retrieve objects thrown in the water. We were at the circus once, and saw dogs jumping through hoops. I said, “Sandy can do that”. The next day, with a Hula Hoop and a couple pieces of hot dog, she figured it out in like 30 seconds.

The Sheppard in her was funny to watch. When the girls were small, she would herd them around the back yard. Even up until a few days ago, she STILL was herding the goats, although the goats were not too crazy about it.

The past few years, her ears began to dim, until she was completely deaf. We knew that was the case when words she used to react to, suddenly had no impact. Her eyes were glazing over a bit, too, but as long as she knew where her daddy was (me), she was OK.

Being a country kid, I have always been able to deal with the death of animals, as most country folk can do, but the loss of someone so near and dear to me has left me in tears on and off for the past 24 hours. I put the dogs out last night, and she just never came back. I went out to look for her, and she was peacefully lying on the ground, just like I could poke her and wake her up, except this time, I couldn’t.

My cousin Brent may have said it best, “To lose 100 percent unconditional friendship is sad”. To lose someone who loved me and didn’t ask for anything in return is devastating.

To my beautiful Sandy, I say, I will miss you every day for the rest of my life, you with your crooked ears, who could steal food off the counter like a master thief, and would hog the bed, like you were 10x your size… sleep well my puppy girl. I know you will be waiting for me, when I finally lie down and don’t get back up.

Dogs…

You know, sometimes I am all fired up about something, and sometimes I just have a story. Today is one of those story days. Here is one of my family legends I wish to share with you:

In the 1970s, my Aunt Ann, who was my father’s sister, lived in Miami. This is when Miami was still a city and Dade was the county. My Aunt Ann was born in North East Ohio, like the rest of us, but after she married a small time boxer named Max Catalano, she moved to Miami.

I barely remember my uncle Max, he died when I was quite young. I think my Uncle Max’s claim to fame was he got his butt handed to him once by Sonny Liston. Just for the record, Sonny Liston got HIS handed to him TWICE by a handsome, charismatic, loud mouthed young boxer named Cassius Clay.

Back to my Aunt.: Ann Catalano did not live too far from the Miami-Dade County Fair Grounds. One afternoon, while the Ringling Bros., Barnum and Bailey Circus was set up at those same fair grounds. My Aunt Ann was in the kitchen, when she looked out and there was an elephant in her yard. Said elephant was tearing out bushes and knocking over her fences.

My Aunt Ann called the police, and had to convince them that there WAS an elephant in her yard, and NO, she had NOT been drinking.

The police came, and on discovering that indeed, there WAS a rogue pachyderm in my Aunt’s yard, called Ringling Bros, who came, collected the elephant, then paid for the re-landscaping and repair of my Aunt’s property. It made local and state news.

Flash forward about 5 years: The Ringling Bros, Barnum and Bailey Circus was set up at the Miami-Dade County Fair Grounds. My Aunt Ann walking into her kitchen, She looked out the window, and once again, there was an elephant in her yard, tearing out bushes and knocking over her fences.

My Aunt Ann called the police, to whom she again had to convince she had not been drinking. The police came, who then called Ringling Bros. to come get the elephant.

I know you have been WAITING for this… YES… it was the SAME elephant. Ringling Brothers, AGAIN paid to landscape and repair my Aunt’s property. This time it made national news.

Not everything needs to be an angry tirad, although those are fun. Sometimes life is just a simple story. Be well. Oh, for the record… HAPPY 30th Post!

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Go and grab your gas bill, I want to show you something. I’ll wait…

OK, somewhere on there is two different charges, one will say “gas charge”, and the other will be “recovery charge”. You can go to a zillion web sites that tell you how to read your bill, and most will gladly explain what the “gas recovery” charge is. I promise you will not have any better understanding of what that charger really is, even after reading their explanations. The reason for that is simple, they don’t want to tell you EXACTLY what that charge is. Let ME tell you…

The “gas recovery” charge is YOU paying for the gas company’s leaking pipes, and to help cover the bills for people who cannot pay their own. Seriously

First let me say that a friend and I had a much heated debated over this. She tends to be on the liberal side of things, and I tend to be right most of the time. She was all upset that I would even MAKE such an accusation, and did not want to hear any more of my “making stuff up to start trouble”.

This was a fact, told to me by one of the guys who comes out to read my meter, but she would not hear of it! So, the next day, I called my friendly gas company to ask, point blank, if this was indeed the truth. The conversation went something like this:

“Ohio Gas, this is Charlene, how may I help you?”
“Charlene, good morning. I have a question… now I’m not trying to start a fight, but can I ask you a point blank question?”
“(chuckling) OK, I’ll try to answer”
“I was told by my meter reader that the ‘gas recovery charge’ essentially is to pay for your leaky pipes and for people who cannot pay their bill, is this true?”
“Pretty much”

Charlene went on to explain it to me this way: Because of Public Utility Commission (PUC) law/rules, a natural gas provider may not make a substantial profit, and conversely, must not suffer any financial loss, and their books must balance. If they distribute X-amount of gas out of their facility, they must be paid for X-amount of gas.

Let me try to illustrate (I like to draw pictures!)

1.    The gas company measures 100 units of gas out of its facility.
2.    While being delivered, 10 units are lost through leaky pipe connections, etc.
3.    The Meters at houses A-E read that each family used 18 units of gas (18 x 5 =90)
4.    Houses A and E both have filed bankruptcy and cannot pay their bill, but the Gas Company must collect enough money to cover the cost of 100 units.

Essentially what happens is houses B-C-D end up paying for the 18 units they each used PLUS they divide the 46 units lost or unpaid for by the other homes. So houses B-D will pay for their 18 units, plus each pay for 15.33 units of the other… to help the gas company “recover” their lost gas. Get it? “Gas recovery” charge.

Now, let me put it in some REAL WORLD terms for you… When December’s gas bill came, I looked it over. The bill was $282. Looking at the itemization, the ACTUAL usage was $42. The rest was penny here for tax, miscellaneous charges…and almost $240 “gas recovery charge”. So, even though the boiler, water heater and stove only used $42 worth of gas, the bill was 7X as much…to pay for the gas company’s losses? Does this sound right to you?

Now, where once I used to get mad at the gas company, I now understand, their hands are tied by State and Federal laws. I think it is about time that the politicians get OUT of the natural gas business. They have the corner on “hot air”, so they think they need to regulate OUR homes’ temperature also?

In this spongy-soft economy, how…no…WHY should the American households, many of who are already struggling to stay in their homes, let alone heat them, be expected to pick up the losses from people who steal gas, people who file bankruptcy and never pay, and leaky delivery systems? In fact, logic (which I know the politicians seldom employ) says that as more people file bankruptcy, that “gas recovery charge” will go even higher. I know life isn’t fair, but THIS is a major “green weenie” being forced down all of our throats!

Hey, HERE’S an idea… instead of bailing out big business, and big banks, how about doing away with that stupid law saying that natural gas companies can neither make or lose money, and subsidize them in hard economic times? Take the burden off our pocket books for a change. If you want to see a happier citizen in a recession, make them only have to pay for what they actually use and not everyone else’s bill, too. If everyone’s bill was reduced by 700%, what could struggling American families do with that money? Let’s see: Feed themselves? Buy clothing? I know, the thought is staggering, isn’t it?

Another thing these laws do is remove entrepreneurial competition. Here in the “real” world where us non-politicians live, businesses come and go every day. If Ohio Gas would go out of business because of losing too much money, there is always someone who will gladly come along and assume their customers. Columbia Gas would love to have them, I am sure, and if not them, someone else. It would also be an incentive to gas companies to innovate new, better systems to help prevent their current lossy systems. If they know they can just pass the loss onto innocent customers, why bother trying?

I thought of another business that might benefit from this sort of “pricing structure”: restaurants! Think about it, you are on a date, you go to a nice restaurant (one without a clown or a ball pit), and you and your date order a nice Porterhouse dinner, with baked potato, salad, bread and your choice of vegetable (try the pilaf, it is to DIE for!). You also have a good bottle of wine. Your bill comes and you look it over: $30 for each of your meals ($60), plus $20 for the wine = $80 plus tax (6 ¼%) $5 more comes to $85. Reasonable, since the food and the service is good… oh the service… tip 25%, you cheap skate… so $20 for the waiter. The evening will cost $105… as you reach for your wallet, you notice another line item “Food Recovery Charge” $560, your grand total being $680… your original $80 + $560 “Food Recovery Charge” + $40 tax on the whole amount.

You frantically summon your waiter and ask, what on earth is the “Food Recovery Charge”?
He answers, “Oui, Monsieur (you are sure the accent is fake), that is a government mandated charge that all diners must pay. It covers when people have eaten and did not pay their bill before leaving, spoiled food in the kitchen, and alcohol accidentally spilled by our bartenders. You have no choice, it is the law.” You begin to wonder, do you tip on your original bill, or the whole amount?

That scenario is ridiculous, is it not? Still, that is exactly the same thing that gas companies are forced to do to us, thanks to governmental interference.

They really have been obtuse about giving us this information. Just for fun, Google “gas recovery charge” and read some of the explanations, with what I have told you in mind. The authors of these pieces of literature truly are talented folks. They almost make paying this charge sound “patriotic”.

If you are as upset about this as I am, don’t bother complaining to your gas company, they cannot do anything about it. Instead, write your Senators, Congress Representatives, even write your PU Commissioners. Nothing will change, if you don’t voice your opinion!

The best news I can offer is that spring is almost here, which mean that the furnace or boiler can go off, saving you money. Then again when your summer bill is only $35 and your actual usage is $8, you can still be mad then, too.

Hey, follow me on Twitter, and since I am held to 140 characters per Tweet, I am a lot less wordy!

Do I begin with a joke or a fact? Oh heck, I will start with a joke: A Marine and a Sailor are in the bathroom. The Sailor finishes his “business” at the urinal, zips up his trousers and turns to leave.
The Marine says (in a very loud Marine voice) “Hey, Sailor-boy, wash yer hands! In the Marines they teach us that ‘cleanliness is next to Godliness’!”
The Sailor turns to the Marine and says, “That’s funny. In the Navy they taught us not to pee on our hands”.

The fact is, and this applies to women as well as men, more than HALF of the people who use public washrooms DO NOT WASH THEIR HANDS after using the facilities. May I just say “Ew”?

Its really NOT that difficult, people. With all of the modern doo-dads that they install in restrooms that allow you to wash without any exertion on your part, washing your hands is actually EASIER than unzipping your fly. Still, more than half the people who use the plumbing don’t do it.

Now, for the ladies, this may be a foreign concept, but bear with me. Fellas, how much extra effort does it take to actually flush the urinal? I mean, COME ON! No one likes to see your yellow mellowing.

“I don’t want to touch the handle”, some might say. You know what? If you WASHED YOUR HANDS when you were done, that wouldn’t be an issue. Besides, I, being a mild germaphobe myself, am still limber enough to flush with my foot. Yes, I can flush a urinal handle at chest height with my foot. If anyone from Circ de Soleil wishes to contact me, please drop me an email.

I know many restrooms have installed electric dryers, instead of paper towels. I am sure this is to eliminate paper mess, save money and save trees. Some offer both the dryer and towels. For the restrooms that offer both, here is a suggestion on how to save even MORE on paper towels: make the door open OUT not IN!

Seriously, I think that should be a law! Even if you wash your hands, if you then grab a door handle that 50% of the people who touched it before you neglected to wash, you might as well have just not washed yourself. To put it another way, if a man who washes his hands then touches the door knob on the way out of the restroom, he is basically touching every guy’s “knob” that DIDN’T wash before him. All together now: “Ewwwww!”

How would making the door to open out save paper towels? Simple: men, who are like me and DON’T care to catch e.coli, a cold or flu, or whatever nasty STD the dude before us had, will grab a fresh paper towel to grab the door handle, then whip it in the general direction of the waste bin before the door closes. If doors opened outward, those of us who choose cleanliness over being a walking germ factory could use our foot or backsides to open the door, rather than our hands.

Sometimes you can use your sleeve, if you have a long sleeve shirt or jacket on, but this does you no good in the summer time.

I will make a somewhat sad confession, partly to show the depth of my conviction about this topic (and what I mean by that is “how crazy I am”), and partly for pure comedic effect: If I am in a restroom and there is ONLY an electric dryer, and I am wearing a short sleeve shirt, I have actually just stood there, waiting for someone to come in, so I could catch the door with my foot to get out. It’s not bad in a restaurant where there are lots of people. On the other hand, using a restroom at a remote place, like a State Park, can take a while longer before someone else comes in. It’s a good idea to have a smart-phone with games on it, or a book to read, while you wait for your Men’s Room Messiah to come. Word-search puzzle books are good, too.

I wonder if 911 would come out to open the door if I called?

“County 911, what is the nature of your emergency?”
“Yes, I am trapped in a bathroom”
“Are you injured, sir?”
“No, just washed my hands and don’t want to touch the door handle.”
“Is the door locked or jammed, sir?”
“Nope, just germy, and I don’t want to touch it.”
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“May I suggest that you seek a mental health professional’s assistance, ASAP?”
“So, you are leaving me in this restroom?”
“Yep, pretty much.”
“Crap.”

Let me put THIS unsavory thought in your head: next time you are in a crowded restaurant, look around… many of those people will be eating with hands which touched the restroom door handle, even if they did wash their own hands. Again, all together: “Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww!”

Let me end the same way I started, with a joke: A couple are at a restaurant. They notice that all of the wait-staff are men. The man asks their waiter, “We noticed all of the wait-staff are men, why is that?”
“They have done studies”, the waiter replied, “and men are more efficient than women when it comes to waiting tables.”
The man thanks him and he goes about his business. A few minutes later the couple notice that all of the waiters have a spoon in the breast pocket of their shirts, so the man again asks, “We noticed all the waiters have a soon in their pockets. Why is that?”
The waiter replied, “They did a study and they determined that if a patron drops a piece of cutlery, it would most likely be a spoon. Therefore we always have one ready to replace in case one of our customers drops one”.
They thank the waiter again and he goes on his way. A while later the couple notices that every waiter has a piece of white string hanging from his zipper. They ask the waiter why.
“They did a study, and they found that the one thing that male waiters do that wastes the most time is wash their hands after using the urinal. The string is to allow us to zip and unzip without touching ourselves”.
As the waiter started walking away, the man asked, “Wait! If the string is to prevent you from touching yourself, how do you tuck “it” back in?”
“I am not sure about the other guys”, replied the waiter, “but I use the spoon”.

Great. Now I have talked myself into it. I have to pee. Sorry I have been away so long. I am back, and ranting at full strength!

Please follow me on Twitter! I am funny there too, just limited to 140 characters per rant.