WHAT'S YOUR FANTASY?

Recently a very dear friend (don't ask) and I were talking and the subject of fantasies (again, don't ask) came up. Like most people, I guess, I have one occasionally. Like winning the big lottery and living financially happily everafter. Now, my friend may have this one, too. But the lottery was not the subject of the friend's fantasy. I liked it better than mine. What's your fantasy?

WHO IS THE AGGREIVED, HERE?

Just what on Earth is going on in this country?

In just one generation many of us have experienced a virtual turnover of values, mores, and fingerpointing. Fingerpointing?

Perpetrators have become victims and victims have become perpetrators. My God in Heaven Above, just what on Earth is going on? Social scientists (yeah, those people) can explain it much better than I can; or claim they can. But UP is now DOWN and DOWN is, well, you know.

The poor, misguided murderer kills because he (or she) is a victim of, well who cares what. The actual victim no longer matters much. All the attention, aid, and resources are now lavished on what was once the perp. Alice in Wonderland all over again.

To wit: This past week I was headed home from work on a two-lane county road, my daily route. I am driving the road's speed limit, 55 MPH, when a young female twit (I really want to use a different spelling) runs a stop sign, turns in the same direction I'm traveling, and gently urges her four-cylinder car up the steep hill just beginning ahead of us. Remember, I'm at road speed - 55 - and just beginning the double-yellow-line uphill climb. My car has good brakes and I could have locked them up, but who knows whether the driver behind me observed the instant change of events, and whether I could have avoided the young, ah, twit's car's rearend that was just a headlight away.

I consider myself a good, defensive driver (as everyone thinks of themselves) and had already observed that there was no oncoming, downhill traffic. Rather than braking, I whipped into the left lane to pass her quickly. Speed was my ally since her little four-cylinder, high-yellow wanna-be 'sportscar' was struggling to gain uphill speed. "Good manuever", I thought as I whizzed past her, about to give her the evil eye, when I INSTANTLY BECAME THE PERPETRATOR RATHER THAN A NEAR-MISS VICTIM. The young twit (it's taking all I can muster to not change one letter here) has dispensed with her evil eye and is flipping me off. Ahhhhhhh, I see now! SHE HAS INTERPRETED IN HER LITTLE BLONDE HEAD THAT SHE IS THE VICTIM of my overzealous and bully-like passing! Well bull-ull-ull shit! She's wasn't even old enough to change her own crap-filled panties that day, much less old enough to interpret anything of driving value (no offense meant to you, Granddaughters. Just don't be like this twit).

I guess I was expecting her to just shrug an "I'm Sorry", but I didn't realize I'd become a perp by avoiding a potential mess - and passing on that double-yellow (not a really good idea, anyway). All I could do was shake my head as I drove on home, with her behind me, variously from 3 car lengths to half-mile back.

While I was doing a bit of figurative Fingerpointing toward her, Ms Twit was doing it literally toward me. Just what on Earth is going on in this country?

What's On Your Menu?

When I was a young boy growing up in the 1950s, the times were tough economically. The weekday evening meal almost always included pinto beans as the protein. They were cheap and easy to prepare, and most always were seasoned with salt pork. Frankly, however, I don't actually remember the other dishes that were on the table. Probably homegrown vegetables and, of course, cornbread. Sunday dinners were either breaded and fried flounder (it was cheap, too), fried chicken, or a beef roast in a dish Dad called "family pan". The family pan was simply a roast with any other ingredients that the "family" wanted to include. The most exotic addition that I remember was apple slices. The family pan was rather straight forward, but we all felt we had a hand in it.

The entire family ate the popular cuts of meat: pork, beef, chicken, and fish. But almost none of the meals consisted of organ cuts. Sure, we had fried chicken livers and I enjoyed them into adulthood, but seldom had pork or beef liver, somewhat less enjoyable. All the meals were delicious and nutritious for the time. However, we never had more exotic meats like sweetbreads, pigs feet (Dad did like pickeled pigs feet), or brains. Kids don't like the idea of eating this stuff unless they have always been served it. Dad ate souse and tried to get us kids to. We wouldn't. I do actually remember a dish of brains and gravy once. We wouldn't eat that either.

But now, since the world is a much smaller place, all kinds of exotic (weird) things are available for human consumption. People with various ethnic backgrounds and cultures have brought their eating habits, and favorites, with them to our shores. Sushi, chicken feet, and many more weird things are here, and being served in homes and upscale restaurants. Just take a look at what's being eaten these days by visiting http://www.divinecaroline.com/22145/76526-forgotten-meats-making-comeback--it-s/

I am now older and wiser. I'm not about to embark on a culinary journey now. Especially if it includes anything from the divinecaroline website's story on so-called forgotten meats. They have never come to my dinner table, so they certainly willl not be making a comeback. I don't eat chicken livers any more, either.

Nature at its Best

I am a casual observer of nature. I especially enjoy seeing and learning about birds. I do not belong to a bird watching group. Neither will I travel to the ends of the Earth to see them. But I like them. EXCEPT for blackbirds and Starlings. These two seem to enjoy making a mess of things, congregating around humans and crapping all over everything. Of course, birds will "drop" wherever they are, but blackbirds and Starlings are especially egregious about it.

I do admire the Starlings' opportunistic behavior of developing nesting sites, such as pulling home siding apart at a seam, entering attics by tearing out vent screens, or setting up housekeeping in high-pressure sodium street lamps. But I don't like anything else about them.

Enter the Red Bellied Woodpecker. Here's a Bird I Like.

As long as it doesn't begin attacking the house.

In about mid-April, 2009, a Red Bellied Woodpecker constructed a nest in a dead limb of a Willow Oak tree in my backyard. This gave me the opportunity to observe its behavior on a daily basis, as well as learn its call. I now realize that I had heard a red-bellied woodpecker's call before, but did not know what it was. Initially I thought the bird was a Red-headed Woodpecker because "mine" does have red on its head - its red is actually called the cap, not the head. But it is not a Red-head. Even though it is called Red-bellied, one has to look hard to see the color on its breast. I call mine Rosie. Yeah, Rosie.

I have enjoyed seeing Rosie up close. Her nest is about 20 feet from our deck, and about 30 feet from the ground. Since April she has been faithfully incubating the eggs. They are apparently now hatched as yesterday I saw her make trip after trip to forage for food for her clutch. Red-bellied woodpeckers don't typically "peck" for food. They forage on the ground for insects, even catching mice, as well as catching insects on-the-fly. I have read that Rosie could even catch a live grasshopper, and then tightly tuck it - live - into a crevice in a tree for later dining. Cool!

I hope I get to see the juveniles, perhaps preening and stretching their wings before they abandon the nest - as all offspring should do!

Woodpecker UPDATE - June 27, 2009, Bird Today, Gone Tomorrow

Well, I had the simple pleasure of seeing only one juvenile Red Belly for a week or so. At least, I think it was just one. It would appear at the nest hole, looking about for its next meal to be delivered. This was during some of the hottest weather we have had and the fledgling had to be hot. I never saw it outside the nest, though. Since it has been about a week since I've seen it or its parents, I suppose it's vacated the premises - ahem, as all offspring should do.

However, almost as interesting as seeing the fledgling appear in the 'doorway' was seeing both parents foraging, and feeding the chick. I had thought I was seeing a very efficient mother quickly catching, and then feeding insects to her baby. Then, while observing through a pair of still-excellent 40 year old Yashica, 10x50 binoculars, I discovered that both mom and dad were sharing the burden. As soon as one brought in a meal and few back out to nature's deli, the other flew in with more bounty. As one of my daughters-in-law said, "Aw, that's sweet". She was right.

DIABETES KICKS MY BUTT. AGAIN.

Once again, my Type-2 diabetes sneaked up on me and kicked my butt. I can usually keep my condition under control with meds, eating somewhat responsibly, and exercising often-to-daily, if my feet and ankles will allow.

Several times since being diagnosed and beginning Glyburide-Micro I have had episodes of hypoglycemia - low blood sugar; even with the same breakfast and mid-morning snack routine. I say mid-morning because that's when they always happen. The episodes are as if someone flipped a switch. I have very little recognizable bodily warning; the hypoglycemia is on me in a few heartbeats. My blood-sugar level then is at about 90, which, for me, is too low. I can quickly get it back up, but the damage is already done. The results are confusion, headache, bodyache, extreme tiredness, hunger, et al. The rest of the day is shot, as well as the next day. I'm not good for anything except sleeping and eating a bit more. The episodes are lots of emotions all rolled into one hell of a bad day. Scary sums it up.

The most recent episode began INSTANTLY! just as I was about to eat a tasty, charcoal-grilled burger. Just moments before I was chatting with the friend doing the grilling. I did get the burger eaten, though.

DIABETES. IT'S NOT A GOOD THING.

Do You Like to Chat?

I was recently introduced to the new chat web site, Omegle. The site started up in March '09 and has already made some waves. Omegle is a totally anonymous chat venue. Everybody is "Stranger". I don't usually chat. Well, I don't ever chat, but I thought I'd give it a spin.

I clicked "chat" texted "Hello" and within a few seconds another disembodied person said hello and claimed to be in Finland, then I chatted with someone in India who immediately wanted my ASL - age, sex & location. I hit "disconnect". The third chat was with someone who claimed to be a female in university in Guangdong Province, China. She was brushing up on her English.

If you decide to go to http://www.omegle.com/ be prepared. There are lots of assholes, idiots, and lunatics who just want to yank your chain. And then, of course, the trolls.

THE TURD THAT IS WARD CHURCHILL

So, former fire and explosive bomb maker Ward Churchill sticks around to see just how much more damage his ugly ass can do. Of course, U.S. colleges and universities are filled with radicalized socialists like Churchill, William Ayers, a 1969 co-founder of the radical bombing group the Weather Underground, and Ayers girlfriend (not the girlfriend who blew herself up making his bombs) and current spouse, Bernardine Dohrn. And like those other radical "teachers", they have deluded themselves into thinking that they are important and have something relative and enriching to impart to their students. They don't.

Churchill has spent a lifetime stealing the work of others, and then claiming it to be his own, from literary pieces to at least one painting. It's his gig. His persona. It's all he can do because he cannot do anything else; unemployable otherwise. He has also lied about being from American Indian bloodlines. Native American Indian groups have said, 'bullshit'. Ward Churchill masquerades as an Indigenous American in a hate campaign to destroy the U.S.A. He has drawn criticism from real American Indians for exploiting his fraudulent claims of Indian ancestry. This letter (below) posted on the American Indian Movement website sums it up.

“Ward Churchill has been masquerading as an Indian for years behind his dark glasses and beaded headband. He waves around an honorary membership card that at one time was issued to anyone by the Keetoowah Tribe of Oklahoma. Former President Bill Clinton and many others received these cards, but these cards do not qualify the holder a member of any tribe. He has deceitfully and treacherously fooled innocent and naïve Indian community members in Denver, Colorado, as well as many other people worldwide.” Nee Gon Nway Wee Dung, aka, Clyde H. Bellecourt, Ojibwa NationNational Executive DirectorAmerican Indian Movement Dennis J. Banks, Ojibwa NationChairman of the BoardAmerican Indian Movement

But, as he said, he's not claiming to be "Goddamned Sitting Bull", at least not yet. Maybe. Lying piece. Churchill couldn't hold down a productive real job if his life depended on it, which it does not because he has a so-called teaching job. Do you want this murf teaching your grandkids. If he got anywhere near mine I'd wrench that AK-47 from his filthy hands and show him how it's used.

Learn more about the turd that is Ward Churchill here:

http://www.lookingattheleft.com/2009/03/ward-churchill-trial-in-denver/

I usually include a photo or graphic representation of the subject of my posts, but I don't want to sully my blog with scatological photos. However, I will say this: A jury of his like minded peers has now confirmed it.

You can dig up a coprolite, put sunglasses, an ugly gray wig, and clothes on it, give it a job, even paint it. But it’s still a rigid, unyielding, unsightly, and worthless piece of coprolite, aka Ward Churchill.

Hey, Churchill! You know where you can stick your dollar bill.