Today I had my annual physical. Guys hate to go to the doctor; they may point out things we guys deny daily.
I usually sing “Three Little Birds” to myself because every little thing is going to be alright… even if I croak.
My blood pressure was higher again. They may need to crank up the BP meds again.
I had a hearing test too. I told the doctor that either me or Gigi is going deaf. The results were stellar. I can hear like a dog.
When I got to the lobby to leave I felt like one of my dogs leaving the vet. I could imagine my toenails skidding across the floor while I smeared pee pee all over the place trying to get out the door.
Since May we have been stealing Wifi from our neighbor Mike. It seems that Mike has broadband on an unsecured router and it has been mighty handy just to borrow some of his bandwidth.
Mind you, I have never personally met Mike but I have given him a neighborly wave when he passes by in his truck. I have even thought about striking up a manly friendship since Mike has this huge, well rigged, ocean going boat parked by his lot.
Alas, Mike seems to be a loner and maybe gasoline prices are keeping him on land.
Well my old pal Mike is out of town right now and it appears and he turned off his modem. It is customary down here for folks to disconnect electrical stuff because of frequent lightening storms.
Yesterday I went on a quest to find some free wifi and lucked out at the local coffee shop. For some reason coffee and wifi go together even in the smallest of coastal towns.
I have ordered up the cheapest DSL just in case Mike is gone for good. If Mike does return and the signal goes back up I’ll confess and offer to pay.
So, Mike, I wait for your return. Meanwhile I’ll have to keep drinking coffee.
The RV was basically four or five rooms of living rooms where folks were scattered about, some of them were sleeping. The whole thing shook as it went down the road.
I had lost my phone earlier so I couldn’t call anyone. I knew Gigi would want to know my whereabouts.
I found a cell phone in my pocket but when I attempted to look at it my eyes closed. For the life of me I strained and struggled to keep my eyes open but I just couldn’t do it so I couldn’t call anyone. I could play games on the phone but no calls.
I looked out the window and the scenery looked somewhat familiar. I think I was in St Croix so I asked to get off.
I went into a restaurant to eat lunch thinking I could call Michael or Terry later to pick me and get a hotel room.
When I stepped out of the restaurant I realized I was in Jamaica. I saw a man threatening a woman with a pitchfork.
I sized up the situation and moved in to help her when she turned on me along with the fellow who was attacking her.
I then rolled over and got in a more comfortable position. End of dream.
I was sitting in the morning dark reading the Wall Street Journal sipping my coffee and swatting at a pesky fly. It was a sick old fly, the type that flies very slow and lands on your face.
The fly was about to die of old age and had already lost many of his fly skills.
Apparently one of my swats hit pay dirt and the fly fell to a watery death in my coffee. I took a nonchalant sip and noticed a chunk of something passing my lips.
It is amazing just how fast your brain can process information when called upon in an emergency.
First thing my brain said is, “Something is abnormal in the coffee quick shut down the throat. Hey, I’ll be it was that fly, quick spit it out. Don’t spit it in the sink or you will see the fly and start gagging. Spit in the garbage can. Remain calm, don’t gag.”
The emergency passed and I didn’t mention the incident to anyone.
And so it was I had a feeling that if I didn’t get some yard work done that Gigi would be all over me soon for lack of doing man work around the house.
I took the day off to get some high impact yard work done. You know guys, stuff the Mrs. has been bitching about for years and you’ve been putting off for years. When you finally do the dreaded chore it is richly loaded in brownie points to the effect that I could get away with murder.
I decide to get rid of a bunch of metal that had accumulated over a few years like a water tank when the well was redone and a heavy as hell pump that went along. In addition I had a grown over pile of rolled up fence wire that alone would fill my pickup.
I had this feeling though that where I was about to work I would encounter a copperhead or two so I took out the shotgun just in case. Two people were bitten by copperhead snakes in Charlotte last week.
Finally I asked Gigi if I could get rid of all that change in the garage and if there was enough I would go by a big screen TV.
Except for a few scratches on the wire the work went uneventfully and I got $648.11 from the change. Isn’t it funny that I got back change for the change I just cashed in?
I rushed to Sam’s Club and bought a 47” LCD HDTV with 1080P. Yes I added an additional $799 but the way I see it is the TV cost me $799 because the rest of the money was rotting away in the garage.
On the way home I got a call from Peach Pod saying the she and Peach Pit would be stopping over for the evening.
I set up the TV and I swear the picture is better than real life. Unbelievable clarity and color to the point I was watching mice run on a treadmill on Discovery TV and Gigi pointed out that I would watch anything as long as it was on this new TV.
Gigi and I picked up the house a bit, ordered some pizza and lit a few candles in preparation for our guests. Gigi turned to me and asked if I would put up the horses and I obliged since this chore is also loaded with brownie points.
I walked up to see a big adult copperhead slither under the feed can. I ran back for the shotgun and Gigi was following. The snake continued out the other side where he met his death with a big blast.
I knew it; I could feel the bastards nearby. The shotgun is out for the next few weeks.
Our guests arrived just in time for the pizza delivery.
Our cat Millie jumped up on the coffee table where she would have a better shot at pizza and managed to saunter pass a lit candle where her tail became a cat torch. It burned out soon and I think she is okay.
I watch a little more clear TV and called it a day.
Yesterday I was outside in my Southern businessman casual attire which is a crisply starched button down long sleeve shirt, nicely pressed kaki pants along with some well shined loafers. This is what white men in the South wear on casual days.
You could take it down a notch by wearing a golf shirt instead of the starched shirt or up a notch by adding a blue sport coat. Some people wear a golf shirt and a sport coat.
Anyway I was outside enjoying a little hardware shopping at a 1950’s vintage shopping center when I discovered when trying to start my Jeep that my Jeep’s throttle was stuck nearly wide open.
I suspected the culprit was the idle controller because I have had problems with them before. In fact I have replaced it twice before at $80 each.
I popped the hood and sure enough the mechanical piston was stuck out like a squirrel porn star.
I called my mechanic and he suggested I apply penetrating oil after sliding back the boot and unplugging the electrical connection. Maybe I should tap the part too.
I carefully did all of these instructions trying not to get all my starchy stuff dirty but nothing retracted the piston.
I was sweating like I was writing a bad check.
I called the mechanic again but in the bright sunlight and through sweaty eyes I accidently called Michael in
We had a nice little chat about our upcoming visit and I asked him some mechanical advice.
I called my brother in law Tom and he told me to do the same thing as Mflowe but suggested I keep a small ball peen hammer in the Jeep going forward so I could beat the shit out of any malfunctioning part in the future. He said it would make me feel better.
I called the wrecker (notice the unnecessary “w”) and they hauled off the Jeep.
Today I am having some various mechanical stuff done, idle controller, valve gasket replacement, maybe a new radiator or the leak repaired (Hammer was right about the glue), and quite possibly a new brake cylinder.
But you know what? After all that tinkering I did not have one spot of grease on my shirt or pants. Amazing!
I don’t like when the media refers to grown men in news stories with nick names like A-Rod and Pac-Man. How stupid. To the sports media: use real grown-up names when you are talking to adults.
In two days I have seen two guys eating and they chewed very fast like a rodent. They didn’t eat fast or sloppy but when it came to chewing it looked too rat like for me.
I played golf yesterday and sweated like a horse. My shirt had white salt stains on it, no kidding. I had a good time and didn’t play nearly as bad as I thought I might play.
A massage is going to be very necessary soon for me. I feel like a squirrel has taken up residence in my right shoulder blade.
Back in the 1970’s we used to call folks that lived “off the grid” meaning the electrical grid were fondly referred to as “shits in the woods”. They were hippie types, girls with hairy armpits and guys with long hair and beards tying to live off the land. There were a lot of “shits in the woods” around any college town. I had friends that were “shits in the woods” and enjoyed visiting them back in my college days.
It irks me when I try to buy something on an online catalog and the item pictured is a cartoon drawing and not an actual picture. What’s up with that? Take a real picture of the real item and I will pay you with real money and not cartoon money.
I woke up in my bed this morning and I was glad. I have been traveling so much lately that I was happy to be home.
I don’t mind being places it the packing/unpacking/getting there that I don’t particularly like. I hate to wake up thinking, “Today I must gather all my stuff, compact it and move it hundreds or thousands of miles. Then I must decompress it and store it with my other stuff.”
I leave a little stuff in
I am sure you have noticed I haven’t been pining about playing golf this year. For some reason I haven’t had the urge to play. Today I am getting out with two friends to play and I am prepared to play horribly. That’s okay….I am at least outside and the day is supposed to be perfect here weather wise.
Itunes Itouch applications have been released and I can say that a few are very nice. I wish they would make one for satellite radio though. I am using two freebies now. One is a weather application and the other is a financial one from Bloomberg.
Gigi is headed for
The summer is flying by. We passed the apogee of June 21 and now we are headed toward winter. Yes it is hot as forty hells now but I can feel the summer slowly dying. Today however is supposed to be in the 80’s with low humidity. Off with the Jeep top!
I locked down our reservation for our February St Croix trip. We are staying in a beautiful house on top of a hill. I even have my airline booked and paid for. This year we watch the Super Bowl at home and we are in
I wonder if Terri will make good on her wish to travel to
A very wise man of dog shit once commented on this blog, “Shit had bigger plans for you.”
Well shit trumped me once again on Thursday in a spectacular fashion that only shit can do. I couldn’t have made up a story this good.
On Thursday afternoon my work companion Ty and I headed to Southport with the RV in tow. I decided to take our number three dog Haley. It was to be an abbreviated guy weekend ending on Saturday afternoon.
Our mission was to set the RV back up in Southport, get the Jeep and head back home again. Meanwhile we will have a few beers and laughs and stay over two nights.
The ride down was uneventful until about 150 miles into the drive. Haley started acting squirrely and I guessed correctly that she needed to do her business. Good thing too because the last 40 miles of the trip was approaching and the road it very narrow. It would be impossible to pull off if she had waited much longer.
So I stopped and sure enough Haley had to go big time.
Soon we turned down the narrow highway 211 towards Southport. Within moments Haley started acting strange. She attempted to go down on my side of the truck floor board. She even tried climbing up on the windshield area.
Finally she took the all too familiar crimping formation on the front seat between Ty and me like a lineman set for a critical 4th down and 1 draw play.
Time started moving in slow-motion. I heard the general quarters alarm go off as screams were heard from Ty’s side of the truck. “Oh noooooooo!”
I looked down and Haley was pooping on a towel on the seat between us. She had the runs. I saw her lose her balance and she stepped in the massively growing pile.
I heavy vapor hit me and I went into convulsive gagging. Ty broke into hysterical laughter.
Meanwhile I had to figure out where to stop this 18,000 pound rig to bail out.
Time was wasting now that Haley had crap on her paws. She was a hazmat nightmare.
I found a small grassy shoulder where I pulled off. Haley made a run for the door leaving dollops of crap everywhere she touched.
This was perhaps shits finest hour.
Shit had figured out how to infiltrate the close quarters of the cab of my truck, spread itself, and leave me defenseless. Worse yet, I was the adult that had to handle this. Gigi was hundreds of miles away. I myself must confront shit and contain it.
I spent the next 30 minutes cleaning crap from seats, doors, hands, hairy dog butts and paws, all the while tossing towels and gagging as a severe thunderstorm approached with powerful lightening. Thankfully I had an RV full of crap cleaning stuff and shit neutralizers.
When we arrived Haley got a good bath and no supper along with 2 Pepto-Bismol.
Life returned to normal but shit won once again in fine fashion.
“Oh good” I said. “I can use it in the RV before I tow it back to Southport.”
My logic was clear. New bagless vacuums always work the best out of the box. It would do a fine job on the deep down dog hair that the RV vacuum missed. Then the RV carpet would be as clean as it could be for our next visit.
“Oh no, you’re not going to use it. That is the guest house vacuum. Use the one in the RV. I told you we needed a new vacuum for the RV.”
By now nature had taken over and the natural defense mechanisms began to unfold. I retreated to that man place that all men know but will not admit like a turtle going into his shell. Her voice was replaced with the famous “Peanuts” muted trumpet sounds like you hear on their TV special when adults speak, and my mind began to wonder.
Did she just tell me that I couldn’t use my own vacuum? What the hell brought that on? I’d sure like to know what synapse or secretion or hormone just went off to cause this in dept discussion about why I can’t use the vacuum that I own at least half of.
I could argue with her but this battle isn’t worth fighting. It is about a friggin vacuum cleaner I think.
Arguing the point is like teaching a cat to whistle. The cat is not going learn to whistle no matter how much I try and eventually it will just piss off the cat.
I snapped back to reality and she is talking about the deficiencies of the RV vacuum and I realize that precious minutes of my life are ticking away talking about a damn vacuum cleaner that I was forbidden to use.
“Okay darling, I’ll use the vacuum in the RV.”
She ceases her discussion. Cease fire. Battle lost I guess.
Large limbs, leaves and tall grass greeted me. One tree was down and the deck looked like a general mess.
I knocked off early to get home and cut the grass, hopefully grinding leaves and small twigs as I cut.
I went down to the horses “day shed” where I store the riding mower and drove it up to the house. I noticed the mowing deck was out of level by quite a bit.
I got under deck and was amazed at how out of alignment the deck was and ascertained how I would correct this.
I went in the garage (still cluttered) and took out my tools, sized up the job and started working. Every bolt and nut was frozen.
By now another storm was working up and the humidity and frustration were making me a bit grouchy.
Maybe if I turn the mower on its side then I could get at it better. I gabbed and heaved the lawn tractor over on its side and grabbed the back tire to hold it steady when I discovered the tire was flat.
Hmm. “What a dumb ass” I concluded. I filled the tire with air and like magic the mowing deck was properly adjusted.
I gathered my tools, wiped the sweat from my face and the bloody knuckle and cut grass about 15 minutes before the sky opened up.
Sometimes it is the simple things that go wrong and I look for a complex solution.
Their recent radio campaign features a normal pitch man and an incompetent employee.
It really makes me want to run out and deal with their idiot and buy furniture.
HH Greg does the same thing on it regional TV ad campaign. They feature an idiot employee “Jimmy or Timmy” that is always screwing up.
I guess he is supposed to be so lovable that I’ll drop $1500 for a plasma TV.
Just what I need, more idiots in my life….back to work.
One fairly common complaint I hear about
Just a minute…let me check my calendar…yes it the 5th of July in the Northern Hemisphere.
It is hot everywhere. It is hot in
I just heard a lady say that next year she wanted to go to
The reality is that most of us sit our spoiled butts in the air conditioned comfort of our house and car and then we are suddenly exposed to the harsh climate of earth for a week while we camp.
Yes it is hot, salty, sandy, sweaty, and my muscles are sore from all the activity. I’ll enjoy it while I can.
1.unreasonably obstinate; obstinately unmoving: a stubborn child.
2.fixed or set in purpose or opinion; resolute: a stubborn opponent of foreign aid.
3.obstinately maintained, as a course of action: a stubborn resistance.
4.difficult to manage or suppress: a stubborn horse; a stubborn pain.
5.hard, tough, or stiff, as stone or wood; difficult to shape or work.
Cedie is stubborn as a two headed mule.
Shanty town at its peak.
Old guy going to talk to the hot chick's boyfriend about bikes......right.
Welcome to the 4th of July at
RVs of every type are in every slot available. Old people are sitting under their awnings drinking coffee and bacon and sausage smells are heavy in the air. Children are playing in the dirt streets completely safe from harm.
I have noticed this year a complete absence of mosquitoes. Jekyll is known for their world class mosquitoes but as of yet I have not even seen one of the varmints.
A few doors down a hot biker chick in her 30s is with some guy in his 50’s. Every guy my age has walked by and started a conversation hoping for a few stolen glances at his girlfriend and think, “How the hell did this old fart get this woman?” I know, I talked to the guy myself just this morning.
Yesterday I spent 6 and ½ hours on the water. I ended up shuttling Liv and her adorable jitterbugs around the St Simons Sound and took my nephew monkey boy over to Jekyll and back to St Simons Island.
Each trip I learn more and more about boating. Around these waters you cannot assume that water is deep enough to travel. There are many places here that water is only 12 inches deep but is so murky that it looks like deep water. I stick to the channels especially during low tide.
The island is 7 miles long and is 18 miles around via the coastline.
I left at the marked spot on the map around 11:15 this morning and headed south toward the ocean. The sea was very calm with waves about 1 foot. I decided to cruise about 600 yards offshore as I rounded the point and headed north.
The weather was perfect for getting the long ocean leg done and it seemed like the smart thing to do.
As I approached the north end I got a series of business calls that kept me idling for 20 minutes while I took advantage of the cell tower.
Then I entered the narrow cut south back to my starting point.
In the ocean I saw a huge adult turtle surface for air. In the marsh cut I saw three pink flamingos. Last year I saw one pink flamingo and everyone thought I was crazy. Now I have seen four.
After about 2 ½ hours I was back at my starting point and I called Gigi to pick me up.
I still have some trim issues at full throttle. Once I plane out I have to throttle back to maintain stability.
I guess I averaged about ½ throttle for most of the trip and burned 3 quarts of gasoline. This motor gets incredible mileage.
The trip was worth the effort.
Tomorrow or maybe the 4th I would like to travel to St Simons Island from Jekyll and dock.
As good RVers we pick up after each dog does his or her business. In fact we have a code that signifies results and success of each outing with a dog.
For example I took Haley and Cedie out this morning and reported back to Gigi that Haley did a “P” and Cedie did the coveted “B”.
A “P” is the equivalent of a successful urination only while a “B” means that they both peed and do-doed making the possibility of them crapping in the RV very unlikely for the next 24 hours.
Someone (a redneck no doubt) nearby has been crapping their dog in our crapping grounds and they do not clean up afterwards.
I know my dog’s turd signature and these are turds of a strange dog. I clean it up because I don’t want to be accused of not cleaning up after my dog.
I hope to catch this turd violator.
I walked down to Clam Creek this morning to practice my net casting all by myself. A few years ago Peaches would have been at my heels. Instead she stayed back in the comfort of the RV oblivious to my leaving.
Duke cares nothing for a casual walk. He will lay down in protest after 100 yards. Cedie doesn’t have the endurance with only one back leg.
I’ll have to make Haley my new Clam Creek dog. She is willing so I’ll take her tomorrow.
While I was at Clam Creek I checked on a tiny memorial I put there for Galaxy and it was still there. There is a small dog tag screwed to a cedar tree that says, “Galaxy, My best friend, 1999-2006.” Below this tree we scattered her ashes and in that same spot the Jekyll Island Authority has erected a nice wooden bench. It is the only bench on the beach and it is in front of Galaxy’s tree. I thought that was nice.