Pop! What a Happy Sound

Its Friday, TGIF and all. Throughout this great country of ours, one sound reverberates around it. POP! That's the sound of a beer bottle or can being opened.

Let's face it, we Americans like to drink. Come to think of it , so does everybody else! Let's see, I know the Irish do, the Germans, the Russians, The Brits, etc. Drinking is the one universal thing we can all agree about(unless you are a real devout person). We like to do it. I've already freely admitted to you that I do. Hell, I took up running 18 years ago(but, now I shuffle), just so I could drink the beer I wanted without weighing 300 lbs.

Why is alcohol so popular? well, for one thing it tastes great. Nothing like a good cold one after work, after mowing the lawn, after sex, after the last one. There's nothing like a good cold one after your last beer. That is the problem, beer liking is accumulative. After a while, any excuse is a good excuse to have a beer.

So God in his infinite wisdom, gave us a reason to not drink...work. Let's face it, if we were all rich and affluent, and didn't have to work, we would all be drunk all the time! Since God invented work, most of us have to be semi moderate about our consumption during the work week. The people who haven't learned to be moderate, are the ones we walk around on the sidewalks on the way to work.

Liking something is one thing, being controlled by it is another. The problem with ALL drugs, is the temptation to do them exclusively, and to hell with everything else. Not real good if you have a wife, and kids counting on you.

When I was a teenager, my Dad told me (over a hang-over), If you can't handle your booze, don't drink it! Good words to live by. Yes, its Friday, you probably had a killer of a week; have fun, but know when to say when.

(wow, that was one difficult post, now where did I leave that bottle opener?)

Pop! What a Happy Sound

Its Friday, TGIF and all. Throughout this great country of ours, one sound reverberates around it. POP! That's the sound of a beer bottle or can being opened.

Let's face it, we Americans like to drink. Come to think of it , so does everybody else! Let's see, I know the Irish do, the Germans, the Russians, The Brits, etc. Drinking is the one universal thing we can all agree about(unless you are a real devout person). We like to do it. I've already freely admitted to you that I do. Hell, I took up running 18 years ago(but, now I shuffle), just so I could drink the beer I wanted without weighing 300 lbs.

Why is alcohol so popular? well, for one thing it tastes great. Nothing like a good cold one after work, after mowing the lawn, after sex, after the last one. There's nothing like a good cold one after your last beer. That is the problem, beer liking is accumulative. After a while, any excuse is a good excuse to have a beer.

So God in his infinite wisdom, gave us a reason to not drink...work. Let's face it, if we were all rich and affluent, and didn't have to work, we would all be drunk all the time! Since God invented work, most of us have to be semi moderate about our consumption during the work week. The people who haven't learned to be moderate, are the ones we walk around on the sidewalks on the way to work.
Liking something is one thing, being controlled by it is another. The problem with ALL drugs, is the temptation to do them exclusively, and to hell with everything else. Not real good if you have a wife, and kids counting on you.

When I was a teenager, my Dad told me (over a hang-over), If you can't handle your booze, don't drink it! Good words to live by. Yes, its Friday, you probably had a killer of a week; have fun, but know when to say when.

(wow, that was one difficult post, now where did I leave that bottle opener?)

Santa Redneck Is Coming To Town

 

Christmas comes early each year to our normally quiet community here in Homestead, Florida. Santa's come by the droves, not in sleighs, but in RVs, and campers, and pick-up trucks. They come here each year to watch the last NASCAR race of the year; the one that decides the NASCAR champion, The Homestead-Miami Ford 400. These Santa's, don't come with a bag of presents, but with pockets full of cash. It is a welcome influx of cash for the hotels, shops, trailer parks, and bars of Homestead, and Florida City.

 

My wife, who tends a bar in Florida City, looks forward to this big three day party every year. After bar tending here the last five years, she knows that these folks love to drink, party, and lavish her with piles of dough; and there are few things she likes more than making lots of money.

 

The average NASCAR fan won't win many Nobel Prizes, or even spelling bees in their lifetime; but they remember her little bar, and they even remember her name, so it is like a big reunion for everyone.

 

These folks may be a little grubby, and their smiles remind you of a gap toothed jack-o-lantern; but they are usually well behaved, and very generous. Just be sure that you have countless cases of ice cold Coors Light, Budweiser, and Jack Daniels, on hand.

 

With all the drinking going on, it is a wonder to me how they can even find the race track, let alone keep track of how many left turns their favorite driver Billy Bob Kyle has successfully negotiated but, they do. In fact, they really get into the race.

 

Many of them rent out head sets so they can listen in on the communication going back and forth from the pit crew chief, and the driver. Crackle, static "hey, that was a real impressive left turn yew made back there, Jimmy Joe Don, now be careful, 'cus yew got another one coming up right quick" Crackle, pop "yeah Benny Earl Ray, the car's running real smooth right now, hold on, gotta another one of them left turns coming up."

 

Sheer excitement!

 

I'm not really big on NASCAR racing; just five minutes of watching these guys going around in circles puts me in a trance. But, as long as they keep coming down here every year with pockets full of cash, we'll be glad to welcome them here.

 

"Hey, Kenny Jeb Kirk, how the hell are yew?  Its good to see yew agin!  Did yew bring your sister?"

Wilbur and Us Chapter 7 "Party Animal"

Wilbur quickly learned that he was living high on the hog in our house. Every morning he would get his favorites for breakfast; a bowl of Cocoa Puffs, and a banana. Then through out the day he would get many slices of bread, and anything else we happened to be dining on that day. Wilbur would eat almost anything he was offered. The only things he would refuse would be sour or bitter things, such as dill pickles. Wilbur loved apples, salad, and even meat. He would even devoir pork (he loves pork) when it was given to him. We all thought it ironic, that Wilbur was being a cannibal, and that he never knew it or cared.

We never really thought about the nutritional needs, or the best diet for a pot belly pig. Wilbur was happy, and that was all that mattered. Within two weeks we had to put both Tony, and Bluedoe to sleep, so you would think that our family was starting to shrink. Well the number of our family did shrink, but not the size, because Wilbur was growing…quickly. By the end of October, Wilbur had doubled in size.

At this time I received the notice that my employer (a major airline) of almost twenty years was closing in Rochester, and replacing us with their low cost spin off airline. I had the choice to stay in Rochester and work for them, or to exercise my seniority and to bump into another station. To stay in Rochester, I would have had to take a ten dollar an hour cut in pay, and forfeit all of my health benefits. Since I had twenty years invested with this airline, and could not find a job that would pay as well, Rhea, and I decided we had to move. Since I went to the University of Miami back in the seventies, and adored the warm sunny weather; Rhea and I chose to transfer to Miami, Florida.

We only had three months to get our affairs in order before the station closed. Those three months were a whirl wind of activity as we had to fly down to Miami to find a new house, and to put our present house up for sale. There were many ups and downs, and things were very hectic. We found a nice house just north of Homestead that we loved, but the housing prices were much steeper than in Rochester. I found myself with just two months to raise 16,000 dollars for the closing in early February. Every available penny was getting socked away, and we never got around to get Wilbur fixed. If I knew what we were in store for, I would have begged someone for twenty five dollars.

We had a very nice real-estate lady trying to sell our house. She thought it would be best if we were not at home, and that we took the dogs with us when she showed the house to prospective buyers. That was not a real problem; the problem was what to do with Wilbur? We couldn’t exactly take Wilbur with us for fear that he would get scared and run away, so we decided to put him in the back yard when we left. It was late November by this time, and already getting mighty cold outside, but what were we to do?

On the day of the big showing we packed up Toby, and Dylan, and drove down to the boat launch to let them run around while the house was being shown. In the back sun room, we had a pair of sliding doors that led to the patio, and the pool. The real-estate lady, wanting to show off all the amenities of our house took the prospective buyers to the sun room to show them the back patio, and pool. Imagine their surprise when the real-estate lady threw back the curtains to the sliding doors to discover a very cold pig standing at the top of the steps waiting to be let in! I guess we should have told her about the pig; either way the house eventually got sold.

With just a month before the big move, we decided to have a big “New Year Eve-so long” bash at our house. We decided to have the party in our basement, as that was the only room big enough to accommodate everyone. We decided that this would also be Wilbur’s big coming out party for all of our friends and relatives who had not yet met him. Since Wilbur’s hooves were not designed to go up and down a whole flight of stairs, I had to carry him down. Wilbur weighed about forty pounds at this time, not too heavy for me to lift; and fortunately he gave me only a minimal amount of squirming.

What a bash it was! Everyone was drinking, eating and having a good time; especially Wilbur. Everyone loved to feed Wilbur! Wilbur was in hog heaven as he dined on nachos, pizza, chips, pretzels, and beer. We put a party hat on Wilbur, and he looked very festive going up to all the partiers looking for, and getting hand outs. This pig was definitely a daddy’s boy because he loved beer! He looked like Caesar at a Roman orgy as he made his way around the party feasting and drinking. Eventually the beer got to him, and he started to teeter as he walked among the guests. After a couple of hours of partying Wilbur managed to stagger to a corner of the basement where he collapsed and slept the rest of the night. The next day I went down to bring him back up stairs. Wilbur was so hung over that he did not put up any fight when I picked him up. Oh well, that’s what you get if you want to be a party pig.

Next episode: Road Hog!

I Sing Like a Toad

Like most people, after a hard week of work I feel the need to decompress; you know let my hair down and have some fun. I often like to have fun by going down to the local watering hole where they have karaoke every Friday night. Like most of the people in there, it often takes me a couple of shots of “liquid courage” to get the guts to go up and sing. Well that’s what I call it, singing; however a few of the locals in there would disagree with me on that.

For these folks, and everybody else that has to put up with people like me that think they can sing on Karaoke night; I have written a song. It is sung to the tune “King of the Road”

Karaoke, Friday night,

A few drinks, I feel alright.

Tin ear, no musical sense,

I smoke lots of cigarettes.

Ah but, two hours of sipping drink,

That’s when I start to think,

I’m gonna get up there and sound like Elvis, but I

Sing like a toad.

Bob Segar, the Ramones,

I get up, and they all moan.

I think that I just can't miss,

But my voice is as flat as piss.

Ah but, When I get up on that stage,

I think that I am all the rage.

I think I sound like Sinatra, but I

Sing like a toad.

I know every singer, and every song,

All of the patrons, we all get along.

But every time I get up there to sing,

They all put in ear plugs so they can’t hear a thing…

Karaoke, Friday night,

A few drinks I feel alright.

Tin ear no musical sense,

I smoke lots of cigarettes.

Ah but two hours of sipping my drink,

That’s when I start to think.

I’m gonna get up there and sound like Elvis, but I,

Sing like a toad.

Santa Redneck Is Coming To Town

Christmas comes early each year to our normally quiet community here in Homestead, Florida. Santa's come by the droves, not in sleighs, but in RVs, and campers, and pick-up trucks. They come here each year to watch the last NASCAR race of the year; the one that decides the NASCAR champion, The Homestead-Miami Ford 400. These Santa's, don't come with a bag of presents, but with pockets full of cash. It is a welcome influx of cash for the hotels, shops, trailer parks, and bars of Homestead, and Florida City.

My wife, who tends a bar in Florida City, looks forward to this big three day party every year. After bar tending here the last five years, she knows that these folks love to drink, party, and lavish her with piles of dough; and there are few things she likes more than making lots of money.

The average NASCAR fan won't win many Nobel Prizes, or even spelling bees in their lifetime; but they remember her little bar, and they even remember her name, so it is like a big reunion for everyone.

These folks may be a little grubby, and their smiles remind you of a gap toothed jack-o-lantern; but they are usually well behaved, and very generous. Just be sure that you have countless cases of ice cold Coors Light, Budweiser, and Jack Daniels, on hand.

With all the drinking going on, it is a wonder to me how they can even find the race track, let alone keep track of how many left turns their favorite driver Billy Bob Kyle has successfully negotiated but, they do. In fact, they really get into the race.

Many of them rent out head sets so they can listen in on the communication going back and forth from the pit crew chief, and the driver. Crackle, static "hey, that was a real impressive left turn yew made back there, Jimmy Joe Don, now be careful, 'cus yew got another one coming up right quick" Crackle, pop "yeah Benny Earl Ray, the car's running real smooth right now, hold on, gotta another one of them left turns coming up."

Sheer excitement!

I'm not really big on NASCAR racing; just five minutes of watching these guys going around in circles puts me in a trance. But, as long as they keep coming down here every year with pockets full of cash, we'll be glad to welcome them here.

"Hey, Kenny Jeb Kirk, how the hell are yew? Its good to see yew agin! Did yew bring your sister?"

The Karaoke Kid

I don't go out much, I pretty much like to hang out on my back porch, drink beer, sip bourbon, smoke cigars, and watch my favorite sports shows on Tivo. You might think that I live a quiet, boring life, but I am plenty happy to just relax when I'm not at work.

However every two weeks I like to get out, kick back a few beers, and belt out a few songs. I like to sing karaoke. I'm not claiming to be a great singer, but unlike many karaoke singers, I can carry a tune.

I used to sing a lot when I was younger and in school. I even was told many times that I looked like Peter Tork of the Monkees. It gives you some idea of how OLD I am, and the songs I sing are pretty much oldies, because I am familiar with them.

There is nothing quite like the adrenaline rush you get, when you can go up in front of a bunch strangers, and just ace the song you are doing.

Bombing, however, is another story. Bombing a song is a very distinct possibility anytime you try out a new song for the first time. There is no rehearsal time, no advance on the key, just sing!

Since I abhor to do the same songs all the time, I put myself at risk quite a bit. Nothing ventured... I remember that I really wanted to try "Unchain My Heart" by Joe Cocker. I was so afraid of ruining that song, that it took 2 months and 3 shots of tequila, to get me to try it. It was a natural song for me, and now I still sing it from time to time, because it is really a fun song to do.

That's the thing that keeps me coming back, singing is fun. One night every two weeks, I go out and have a few drinks,(I have a designated driver) and sing as if I know how to. What fun!

Pop, What a Happy Sound

It's Friday...TGIF and all.

Throughout this great country of ours, one sound reverberates around it: POP! That's the sound of a beer bottle or can being opened. Let's face it -- we Americans like to drink. Come to think of it , so does everybody else! Let's see, I know the Irish do, the Germans, the Russians, the Brits, et al. Drinking is the one universal thing we can all agree on (unless you are a real devout person). We like to do it. I've already freely admitted to you that I do. Hell, I took up running 18 years ago (but now I shuffle) just so I could drink the beer I wanted without weighing 300 lbs.

Why is alcohol so popular? Well, for one thing, it tastes great. Nothing like a good cold one after work, after mowing the lawn, after sex, after the last one...There's nothing like a good cold one after your last beer. That is the problem. Beer-liking is accumulative. After a while, any excuse is a good excuse to have a beer.

So God, in his infinite wisdom, gave us a reason to not drink...work. Let's face it, if we were all rich and affluent, and didn't have to work, we would all be drunk all the time! Since God invented work, most of us have to be semi-moderate about our consumption during the work week. The people who haven't learned to be moderate are the ones we walk around on the sidewalks on the way to work. Liking something is one thing; being controlled by it is another.

The problem with all drugs is the temptation to do them exclusively -- and to hell with everything else. Not real good if you have a wife and kids counting on you. When I was a teenager, my Dad told me (over a hangover), "If you can't handle your booze, don't drink it!" Good words to live by.

Yes, it's Friday; you probably had a killer of a week. Have fun, but know when to say when.

(Wow, that was one difficult post... Now where did I leave that bottle opener?)

Wilbur and Us Chapter 16..."Return of the Party Animal"

We were all very happy to get Wilbur home with no problems from the police, or Animal Services; once again we had dodged a potential bullet because of Wilbur’s antics. Wilbur always took everything in stride, but he was turning Rhea, and I into nervous wrecks. If there was something Wilbur could get into, he would somehow find a way to get into it.

You might wonder how something as big as a 300 pound pig could keep escaping our notice to get into the trouble that he did. I can only tell you that Wilbur was very smart, and that he was persistent; he also knew when to pick his spot. Wilbur also had this nonchalant way of ambling around the house, to see him you would never guess that he was up to something. He would also wait until you were busy or occupied with something, and then make his move. All in all, Wilbur was one crafty pig.

The pet line up in our household had gone through some changes in the next year. My old dog Dylan had passed away from old age, and Bruno had contracted a mysterious urinary tact disease and had to be put to sleep. After Bruno’s passing Rhea went into a deep depression, and I knew the only way to bring her out of it was to get her a new Rottweiler. I went back to the Miami-Dade adoption center, but to my dismay found that there were no Rottweiler’s available. I went back again about a week later only to find there was still no Rottweiler’s; but there was a dog who had been there a week before. He looked like a skinny rot, but was probably half Doberman. He was scarred from a lifetime of living on the street, and he looked pretty beaten up. Unlike the other dogs there, he was very quiet, but friendly when I talked to him. I could see on his card that he had been in custody for almost three weeks; that meant if he wasn’t adopted real soon he would be put to sleep. I adopted him, and named him Bobby. I was correct in my assumption that they were anxious to get rid of him, because they rushed the paper work and had him leave with me that day.

I brought Bobby home and tried to pass him off as a Rottweiler to Rhea, but she would have nothing to do with poor Bobby. Bobby became my dog. Within two months Bobby had healed up, and fattened up to the point that you would not have recognized him as the dog I brought home. Bobby became my “body guard” because he would always sit next to me on the patio, and make that sure nobody threatened me. This would lead to many spats between him and Wilbur. These spats kept up until Bobby learned that Wilbur wasn’t out to harm me, just to get petted, and loved.

A couple of months later I made one more trip to the adoption center, and got lucky. When I didn’t find any Rottweiler’s in the main section, I “wandered” into the off limits section. There I saw the handlers bringing in a new dog that was a Rottweiler! After I had apologized to the handler for being where I shouldn’t be I asked him about the new dog. “He is a male, very young, and very friendly, and he needs a new home.” My prayers had been answered! I adopted him, and a week later I brought him home. Rhea was ecstatic! She decided to name him Simon, which had been her father’s middle name.

Simon was basically a puppy, but a large puppy. Like Bruno, and Bobby, he was very skinny when I brought him home; but he soon got fatter, and grew even larger. Simon was the big dog, and he knew it! He constantly used his size to push around the other dogs when suppertime came. He was also big enough that he was not afraid of Wilbur. Wilbur is a lover, not a fighter, but he knew enough not to back down to this young upstart bully. We had many fights out on the back patio with Wilbur, and Simon, going at it like two huge sumo wrestlers; pushing patio table and chairs around, and me screaming at the top of my lungs “Stop it! Both of you go lie down!” They eventually did get used to each other, though like brothers they still will brawl from time to time.

September of that year was the occasion of my fiftieth birthday. Rhea decided to throw me a big party on our large back patio. We had friends and family come, and we had Wilbur, and the dogs. We had music, fire works, party hats, beer, and food. Wilbur, Bobby, Simon, and Princess, all wore party hats, and helped daddy celebrate turning fifty. Wilbur the party animal was in his glory, drinking beer, and wandering around getting food from the other partiers. Wilbur, I, and the others, partied late into the evening until Wilbur had had enough, then he just walked through the house to his bedroom, where he passed out until late the next morning.

When he got up the next day I think he was a little hung over, because he was even more grumpy than usual. I said to him, “Don’t be crabby with me! If you can’t handle your beer, don’t drink it!” Good words to live by, even if you are a pig.

All in all, it was a birthday party I never will forget.