I am sitting alone in a room working. Work is an ambiguous thing. Most of my work is writing, so I spend most of my time alone in a room writing. Sometimes, I turn on a television or radio. I claim to do this to hear the news, but mostly I do it because I get bored. I noticed something. Most technological innovations cost $19.95. I wonder about the significance of this magic number. Apparently, it has the power to fix anything, whiten walls, whiten teeth, open cans and grow vast quantities of flowers. I have never had any faith in the occult. But, according to television, numerology may be onto something. Magic surrounds “1995.”

Uncle Joe

I am not a supporter of  Obama. I wish no ill to him but the outcome of November's election. Then I hope he gets a nice Library and a good career on the speaking circuit. But as to Uncle Joe, he scares me. If anything bad happened to Obama, Uncle Joe would be in charge. This compels thought. Uncle Joe is a reason to vote against Obama. If Obama dumps Uncle Joe and brings on Hillary we know we would have a competent Vice President and a bit of adult supervision in the White House. I so prefer Hillary to Uncle Joe, but I want the Romney/Ryant ticket to win.


I have but a bit of time so I speak. Dinosaurs consume my thought. I must start at the beginning, as that is the easiest place to start. It was Thursday. The dog and I were with friends at a farm. It was exotic for us as both of us as we were both city born and bred. The dog had no idea where to relieve herself absent a fire hydrant. We continued.  I was informed we may go anywhere, the other farmers were friends and would not mind our wanderings. We walked. The dog, always acute to threat, reacted to squirels. I suspected the squirels meant no harm, but I watched their ways with care, Then we came to a barrier, It was barb wire. The dog looked at me and I looked at her. "What dangerous creature must be restrained by barbed wire?" we thought. Courageously, again we continued. She, exhibiting her Olympic gymnastic skills, snook under the lowest strand. I, proving ineptitude, slowly separated enough so I could get in. We walked.

We came upon it. The sound was deep yet indecipherable. The scent was clear and ominous. They approached, They were huge;. perhaps Triveratops. The dog didn't care for nomenclature, but suggested exit. I delayed. They approached. The sound became discernible.  "Moo!" How terrifying ! Do dinosaurs say "moo?" I looked at the dog, she looked at me but offered no answer. Her skills do not include paleontology.

They approached. I sensed sharks in a feeding frenzy. By now, I identified them. They were cows. Maybe killer cows. I recalled cows have four stomachs (I don't know for sure). I have no doubt that one was reserved for meat. Unfortunately, I am made of meat and so is the dog. I turned to advise her that we should make a tactical retreat. All I saw was her tail as she ran away. No doubt she anticipated my thought and was seeking to secure a safe escape route for me.

I walked, actualy ran. But cows have four legs and I only have two. And, cows are huge and look hungry. I arrived at the barb wire fence seconds before the feeding frenzied pack of cows arrived. My courageous dog was there. I asked her to come under the fence and protect me, She offered that doglike look of love and suggested she should protect my escape route if I got past the barbed wire fence.

I did. No one tell me a cow is peaceful. As I tried escape one nudged me and tore my pants. They are vicious and dangerous. Then he arrived.

A farmer on an ATV with a gun. My courageous dog ran to find possible escape routes for me, again. Lacking her four legs I tried the defense of words.

"Hi" I exclaimed. I am so good at extemporizing. Sullenly he said, "Good morning, and how are you?" " "Fine," I answered, I am a silver tongued devil. "You saw my cows," he asked. "Yes," my eloquence amazed me. Yet, I continued, "They look like they would eat somebody." He laughed and responded. "they only eat people on Thursdays." He drove away. Someday, I will say what happened next.


"Thump, thump, thump!" That is what I heard last night. It was late, near midnight, as I worked in this 19th century building. I was alone, or so I thought. Again, "thump. thump, thump." I love scify and horror stories (especially KT Pinto's), but I am genetically incapable of belief in anything supernatural. This allowed only one possibility, a human "thumper."

I looked around my office in search of s weapon. All I had was a putter I use to practice putting when I have little to do. I considered how lethal this device could be. Upon consideration, I concluded its best use woul be to threaten "thumper" with a game of miniature golf. Reason overcame me. "Thumper" would not be intimidated by a threat of miniature golf, but perhaps I could claim the windmill was haunted. Who would not fear a haunted windmill?  I did, so I chose to abandon the putter and find a new strategy.

Now, you don't know me. I am a man. I am a manly man, a man's sort of mabn, a real man. So, in my manly way I decided to investigate "thumper." If, unfortunately, I came upon "thumper" I would fall to my knees and beg for mercy but in a manly way.

It turned out that "thumper" was the baker on in the first floor doing whatever bakers do to assure I could have my jelly donut this morning. I eat my jelly donuts in a manly way.

I returned home. Of course my dog met me barking to let me know I was returning. She always barks to remind me that I arrived. She is silent when strangers come as they might be dangerous. But, she is a dog, a dogly dog, a dog's sort of dog, a real dog. Faced with a stranger she grabs her ball and threatens him with a game of fetch. If that doesn't work she tries to convince him that the ball is haunted; it is round. Then she courageously hides in her cage and begs for mercy, but in a doggish way.

Hockey Weekend

I just spent my first (hopefully last) Hockey weekend. On might wonder why one plays Hockey in the U.S. in July? It is like playing Baseball in December. But, I was with Canadians. Throughout the weekend I observed game after game. People dressed like Jason on Friday the 13th came out armed with sticks. The brought an ugly looking ball they named "Puck." Shakespeare must have turned in his grave. Then the excitement began. A fellow dressed like a zebra accidently dropped poor Puck and the Jason wannabes attacked it with sticks. Rememeber, they are Canadians.

The game continued. Mostly they were polite hitting poor Puck from one team to the other. It was boring, but they are Canadians so I think they liked it. Finally, they all got bored. They all congregated by one of two net like things they had on the ice. They got very close together and fell down. People cheered. Remeber, they are Canadians.

I ;looked  confused, Someone next to me decided to explain the game. Canadian are polite. He answered every question about Hockey I didn't ak and  was afraid to ask. I realize now that I was afraid to ask because someone might insist on answering. All I recall is "Icing." That is apparently bad. It has nothing to do with coverings of cakes, but what they do to poor Puck in the arena. Consider, the whole arena is covered with ice. But, you are penalized for icing. Would they prefer skating though slush? But they are Canadian.

I love learning of obscure cultures, even the ice ceremonies of the Canadiens.

**** Overwhelmed by new new Hockey spirit I assume no rsponsibilty for anything written in this post.


I am working through an issue. I hear sounds. They exclaim possible conclusions. But, I know you can't jump to conclusions. You have to creep up on them slowly finding footing and hand holes on facts. I need to know more facts and ignore the sounds of assumption. I also want to eat more ice cream, but that is another issue.


I am a Libertarian, and very unapologetic. I oppose unnecesaty governmental regulation. I support our courageous military but oppose unnecessary foriegn wars. Unless clearly attacked, Congress should decide upon going to war. That is not my original idea, it appears in the Constitution.. I hate it when people say Libertarians want everyonr to have heroine. We don't. I oppose the use of drugs. I oppose the use of alcohol in excess. But, unless someone is driving. (those laws should be strictly enforced) there is no reason to stop people from their own destruction. Prohibition never works. People should all be treated equally, regardless of race, sex, national origin or sexual preference. That seems so obvious that I offer no explanataion.. Although I believe that life begins at conception, I know this is a religious and philosphical idea and shoud not be imposed on others through the power of Government. Women must control their own bodies. I rarely babble like this, but I was annoyed by an attack on Libertarians and wanted to respond, even if it is unlikely anyone will read.


My local police departmrnt just informed us to be on the lookout for bears. Our Police department is really very good and the officers are real professionals. I doubt nothing they say. Yet, I lived in the White Mountains. I always saw bears. They like eating your garbage, but they raarely eat you, Of course, had they eaten me I wouldn't be typing this.

alarm clocks

I am amused by these things. I have heard of people. Allegedly serious people speak of time travel and then disapear. Yet who are they? How do I know they disapeared? Perhaps they simply forgot to set their alarm clocks or allowed their cell phone batteries to run down. Simply, extraordinary claim requires extradorinary proof. Exxtraorordinary claims are frequent. Proof is rare.