Gee, do you think there could be just a little more dissension and bickering with regard to a downtown ballpark? Excuse me, but did baseball suddenly become a blight in the community? I can't understand why there is so much negativity with regards to building a multi-faceted complex in the slums (and, really, that's what much of Shockoe Bottom looks like) that will bring thousands into the area.
Now, before I get a lot of complaints from Shockoeians(?), let me say, Shockoe Bottom has a few excellent restaurants, and a whole lot of potential. I'd love to have a reason to go down into that area on a regular basis, but for me (and a good many suburbanites) to drive 20 minutes or so into downtown Richmond, it's going to take more than restaurants.
Why not a ballpark? When Phillip Morris announced plans for a research facility downtown, you'd have thought that someone told Mayor Wilder that the Messiah was setting up his kingdom in Jackson Ward. So, let's get this straight, cigarette smoking is a better pastime than ball playing? That's the message I'm getting.
I'm fascinated listening to the callers on the Mac Watson program (1140 WRVA 3:00 - 7:00 PM). One listener told Mac that Shockoe was sacred ground. Too sacred for baseball, it would appear, but not too sacred for the drunks who vomit and urnitate behind the bars they crawl out of at two in the morning.
And where did all these history buffs come from. It seems that the mention of a ballpark has them crawling out of the woodwork, and phoning Watson's program in an effort to tout, and to preserve, and to honor the history in Shockoe. Funny, the schools never take kids on field trips down there. At least not when I was a kid. We'd go to Jamestown and Williamsburg and D.C., but no one ever thought of the historically-rich Shockoe Bottom.
And, now you've got all these reps from the city touring Louisville and their downtown ballpark. I guess the new riddle is how many Richmonders does it take to change the mind of a egomaniacal mayor?
Just build the ballpark and the surrounding complex. We'll all go down there, we'll enjoy a game, we'll eat and drink at the restaurants, and who knows, if you make me, I'll go look at something historical.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Thursday, April 28, 2005
It Just Ain't Right
I think there must be some secret memo at the local TV stations to the effect that whenever any sort of crime, tragedy, or disaster strikes, the field reporter is to go find the dumbest, angriest, most frightened person in the area and put him or her on camera. Regardless of the event, you can be assured that some toothless wonder of a neighbor is going to be in front of the camera telling you how frightened she is that Junior has to grow up in that neighborhood, now that "this" has happened.
If Mr. and Mrs. Smith down the street get into some sort of domestic dispute and discharge a few rounds into each other, there'll be somebody's mother, wearing a Budweiser t-shirt telling the reporter how angry she is that this sort of thing has happened. And it doesn't have to be anything as big as a shooting.
A housefire? That same mother is frightened to be living in that neighborhood. "It just ain't right," she's telling the guy with the microphone. "I got kids growing up in this neighborhood, and now they're going to be frightened that something else is going to catch fire."
Or, if the ice-cream truck breaks down, there she is, only now she's changed into a tasteful Brew-Through sweat shirt she picked up last time she was in North Carolina.
"I'm angry," she says, choking back the tears. "My young'uns look forward to getting their popcycle each afternoon. Now,what are they going to do."
The mother looks plaintively at the camera. You can tell she's thinking that maybe the viewers will start some sort of special fund to get her kids ice cream.
Where do they get these people. Does every neighborhood have mothers like that? Are you telling me that there's one right here in my neighborhood. Because, if there is, then I'm frightened. My kids have to play in this neighborhood. I tell you, it just ain't right.
If Mr. and Mrs. Smith down the street get into some sort of domestic dispute and discharge a few rounds into each other, there'll be somebody's mother, wearing a Budweiser t-shirt telling the reporter how angry she is that this sort of thing has happened. And it doesn't have to be anything as big as a shooting.
A housefire? That same mother is frightened to be living in that neighborhood. "It just ain't right," she's telling the guy with the microphone. "I got kids growing up in this neighborhood, and now they're going to be frightened that something else is going to catch fire."
Or, if the ice-cream truck breaks down, there she is, only now she's changed into a tasteful Brew-Through sweat shirt she picked up last time she was in North Carolina.
"I'm angry," she says, choking back the tears. "My young'uns look forward to getting their popcycle each afternoon. Now,what are they going to do."
The mother looks plaintively at the camera. You can tell she's thinking that maybe the viewers will start some sort of special fund to get her kids ice cream.
Where do they get these people. Does every neighborhood have mothers like that? Are you telling me that there's one right here in my neighborhood. Because, if there is, then I'm frightened. My kids have to play in this neighborhood. I tell you, it just ain't right.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
American Idle
Have you been keeping up with all the dirt from Hollywood regarding ABC Television's "scathing expose" of Fox TV's American Idol? Big whoop! ABC is apparently going to say the show is rigged. How do they know that, they spoke with losers. Now, that's a group that I'd really put my trust in.
Actually, when you think about it, are there any real winners on that show? I mean look at the winners. They get a few minutes of fame, and then for all intents and purposes they go back to being second-rate entertainers. Kelly Clarkson, as an example...now, gee, what is the name of that super-hit movie she made? Oh yeah, From Justin to Kelly, or From Kelly to Justin, something like that. Now that's a classic!
And, I challenge you to name three, no make that two hit songs Clarkson has done. I bet 95% of you can't even name two hit songs of all American Idol winners combined.
I hear Fox is threatening to sue ABC. Why? As one promoter once said, there's no such thing as bad publicity. So what if American Idol is rigged. Why not play that angle. Vince McMahon has made millions with WWE, and, they tell me that's fake. American Idol may be a top TV show, but who really gets that excited by it? I mean excited enough to get up and show their support for the American Idols.
Television is a sedentary experience. With remote controls, we don't even have to get up to change channels. It's obvious that all those viewers are not getting up and going to see From Justin to Kelly, or getting up to buy the records of Clay Aiken or Reuben Stoddard or any of these wannabes.
So, let the fur fly. I suggest that Paula Abdul and Simon Whats-his-name challenge Diane Sawyer and John Quinones to a Texas Death Match. They could broadcast it on both networks. Put a fence around them and let 'em have at it. Now, that would be a television program to get excited about. Gee, I wish I could write the script. I'd have Diane Sawyer saved from the fury of Paula Abdul by a masked wrestler. Then after several weeks of threats and challenges, the masked wrestler could be unmasked in a Pay-Per-View event. And, really, now, think about this...wouldn't it be cool if the masked wrestler was Barbara Walters?
Come on Rubert Murdoch (head of Fox) think about this. Why waste time with boring court litigation. Go on American Idol and challenge those news wimps at ABC. Let's get some real excitement going. You do that, and I'll even get up and go pay good money to see From Justin to Kelly.
Actually, when you think about it, are there any real winners on that show? I mean look at the winners. They get a few minutes of fame, and then for all intents and purposes they go back to being second-rate entertainers. Kelly Clarkson, as an example...now, gee, what is the name of that super-hit movie she made? Oh yeah, From Justin to Kelly, or From Kelly to Justin, something like that. Now that's a classic!
And, I challenge you to name three, no make that two hit songs Clarkson has done. I bet 95% of you can't even name two hit songs of all American Idol winners combined.
I hear Fox is threatening to sue ABC. Why? As one promoter once said, there's no such thing as bad publicity. So what if American Idol is rigged. Why not play that angle. Vince McMahon has made millions with WWE, and, they tell me that's fake. American Idol may be a top TV show, but who really gets that excited by it? I mean excited enough to get up and show their support for the American Idols.
Television is a sedentary experience. With remote controls, we don't even have to get up to change channels. It's obvious that all those viewers are not getting up and going to see From Justin to Kelly, or getting up to buy the records of Clay Aiken or Reuben Stoddard or any of these wannabes.
So, let the fur fly. I suggest that Paula Abdul and Simon Whats-his-name challenge Diane Sawyer and John Quinones to a Texas Death Match. They could broadcast it on both networks. Put a fence around them and let 'em have at it. Now, that would be a television program to get excited about. Gee, I wish I could write the script. I'd have Diane Sawyer saved from the fury of Paula Abdul by a masked wrestler. Then after several weeks of threats and challenges, the masked wrestler could be unmasked in a Pay-Per-View event. And, really, now, think about this...wouldn't it be cool if the masked wrestler was Barbara Walters?
Come on Rubert Murdoch (head of Fox) think about this. Why waste time with boring court litigation. Go on American Idol and challenge those news wimps at ABC. Let's get some real excitement going. You do that, and I'll even get up and go pay good money to see From Justin to Kelly.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Rubbing Salt in the Wound
I've heard a couple of news reports in just the last two or three days that attempt to explain why losers are losers. For instance, one report said short men don't get paid as much as tall men, and ugly people don't get the recognition of pretty people, and that fat women are discriminated against in the workplace. Then there was another study that found that people who treat other people nicely don't get as much respect as obnoxious people.
Whether these studies are accurate or not is not the thing that matters to me. What matters is why would people take the time to conduct studies just so they can rub it in to fat, ugly, short, and (apparently) nice people that they are losers. You know what, most of us losers already know it. We don't need reminders as to how our shortness, ugliness or fatness is really impacting us in virtually every aspect of life.
When the TV news programs air these reports, they simply serve as a reminder. They're like mirrors that force us to take another look at ourselves. And frankly, once I've combed my hair and made sure there's nothing stuck in my teeth, I don't want to look in the mirror any more that day.
It's like when you're a teenager, and every show you watch has an ad for acne medication. I always figured those commercials just reminded everyone else in the room that I had acne. Maybe if we just didn't talk about it, no one would pay much attention to it.
So here's a heads-up to you researchers: Fat people know they don't get the breaks that skinny and otherwise normal people do. And skinny people know they don't like to be around fat people. So forget your stupid research. You're not proving anything that everyone doesn't already know.
Go spend your time doing something constructive like studying the sex life of skunks, which, if you think about it, must be somewhat dicey. In fact, I think I'll go do a study on that. Of course, no one will have any respect for my study, because I'm fat.
Whether these studies are accurate or not is not the thing that matters to me. What matters is why would people take the time to conduct studies just so they can rub it in to fat, ugly, short, and (apparently) nice people that they are losers. You know what, most of us losers already know it. We don't need reminders as to how our shortness, ugliness or fatness is really impacting us in virtually every aspect of life.
When the TV news programs air these reports, they simply serve as a reminder. They're like mirrors that force us to take another look at ourselves. And frankly, once I've combed my hair and made sure there's nothing stuck in my teeth, I don't want to look in the mirror any more that day.
It's like when you're a teenager, and every show you watch has an ad for acne medication. I always figured those commercials just reminded everyone else in the room that I had acne. Maybe if we just didn't talk about it, no one would pay much attention to it.
So here's a heads-up to you researchers: Fat people know they don't get the breaks that skinny and otherwise normal people do. And skinny people know they don't like to be around fat people. So forget your stupid research. You're not proving anything that everyone doesn't already know.
Go spend your time doing something constructive like studying the sex life of skunks, which, if you think about it, must be somewhat dicey. In fact, I think I'll go do a study on that. Of course, no one will have any respect for my study, because I'm fat.
Monday, April 25, 2005
PICKING YOUR FRIENDS
I had a somewhat uneventful weekend, unless you consider a series of naps eventful. But, I did venture out Saturday afternoon for a bit, and decided I'd try a little hamburger place - really a pool hall - on Jeff Davis Highway. I don't know why I was in the mood for such an adventure, but anyway, I was. I pass the place several times a week, and have wondered what sort of a honky-tonk it might be.
It's fascinating to just sit and watch the people, and listen to their conversations. "Bubba, you still have that car you're selling for four hundred?" "I'm getting ready to go meet an old friend down the pike, but I had to have me a Bud first."
Why am I fascinated by such mundane things? I'm glad you asked. I really don't know, but I really am.
While I was sitting in the establishment something happened that really seemed to pique the interest and excitement of several of the diners (drinkers). The manager came in with a fresh supply of toothpicks.
It was like a feeding frenzy. "Hey, give me a few of those," one man called out. A woman sitting on the other side of the bar, joined in, "I could use a few of those myself." And before you know it a flock of teeth-pickers had gathered at the bar.
At first, I didn't know what all the excitement was about. I even got up to take a look at what everyone wanted. True, these were those high-class toothpicks that come individually wrapped in cellophane. But, I don't think they were even mint-flavored. Just wooden toothpicks.
You could tell it was a proud moment for the manager as he doled out the toothpicks to his patrons. One of the men must have been an especially good friend of his, or someone he wanted to impress, because he poured out about ten toothpicks in front of the man's spot at the bar. "Here," the manager said, "put a few in your pocket for later."
And, he couldn't have said it with more pride and joy had he been dispensing diamonds and rubies.
I started to ask for one, but I really didn't feel it was my place. I was a stranger in a strange land. Everybody there knew everyone else by their nickname. Of course when 70% are nicknamed "Bubba" it's relatively easy to remember, but no one knew my name.
I debated the matter. Decided I could forego picking my teeth (or, at least do as I usually do, and use a business card) and I just quietly left the establishment. But, I can't wait to go back next Saturday. Maybe I'll be a regular by then. Maybe they'll call me "Bubba." Maybe I'll share a good pick with good new friends.
It's fascinating to just sit and watch the people, and listen to their conversations. "Bubba, you still have that car you're selling for four hundred?" "I'm getting ready to go meet an old friend down the pike, but I had to have me a Bud first."
Why am I fascinated by such mundane things? I'm glad you asked. I really don't know, but I really am.
While I was sitting in the establishment something happened that really seemed to pique the interest and excitement of several of the diners (drinkers). The manager came in with a fresh supply of toothpicks.
It was like a feeding frenzy. "Hey, give me a few of those," one man called out. A woman sitting on the other side of the bar, joined in, "I could use a few of those myself." And before you know it a flock of teeth-pickers had gathered at the bar.
At first, I didn't know what all the excitement was about. I even got up to take a look at what everyone wanted. True, these were those high-class toothpicks that come individually wrapped in cellophane. But, I don't think they were even mint-flavored. Just wooden toothpicks.
You could tell it was a proud moment for the manager as he doled out the toothpicks to his patrons. One of the men must have been an especially good friend of his, or someone he wanted to impress, because he poured out about ten toothpicks in front of the man's spot at the bar. "Here," the manager said, "put a few in your pocket for later."
And, he couldn't have said it with more pride and joy had he been dispensing diamonds and rubies.
I started to ask for one, but I really didn't feel it was my place. I was a stranger in a strange land. Everybody there knew everyone else by their nickname. Of course when 70% are nicknamed "Bubba" it's relatively easy to remember, but no one knew my name.
I debated the matter. Decided I could forego picking my teeth (or, at least do as I usually do, and use a business card) and I just quietly left the establishment. But, I can't wait to go back next Saturday. Maybe I'll be a regular by then. Maybe they'll call me "Bubba." Maybe I'll share a good pick with good new friends.
Friday, April 22, 2005
The Sweet Smell of Failure
I had a somewhat traumatic experience yesterday, and I'm not quite sure how to deal with it. Our publishing company participated in a business trade show in Ashland for the Hanover/Ashland Chamber of Commerce. That wasn't the traumatic part, as the show was very nice. And, just as an aside, the crabcakes served by Tim McGhee with Catering by Jill, were absolutely the best I've ever had anywhere. No kidding! The only trauma there was to my stomach for stuffing so many crabcakes into it over a three hour period.
But, that's not the trauma of which I speak. Something happened at the show that has never happened to me before...ever. Our booth won "Best in Show." That's right. I was involved in an endeavor that actually succeeded, and rather well, I might add.
This is troubling. I've built my reputation on being a loser. It's not what I intended to do, it's just the way things have turned out. George Castanza (Seinfeld) made a statement in one of the episodes that perfectly epitomizes my life. He said, "I've never made a right decision in my life." Voila! There you have it.
If there's one wrong lane to get in while driving on I-95, I'm going to get in it. When I choose a particular checkout aisle at the grocery store, it's the kiss of death for anyone who happens to be unfortunate enough to be in the line I'm in. The register will break down, or the check-out person will break down, often both. The person in front of me will have about 200 coupons, and then want to pay with Lithuanian currency.
Virtually everything I do ends in frustration. And, now, here come these folks with the Ashland Showcase. I think the judges were students from Randolph Macon, but since I think that, I'm probably wrong. Anyway, here they come and give us this very attractive award.
When they come to take our picture accepting the award, I happen to be the one with the company standing next to the guy who's handing out the award. Another wrong decision on where to stand, because I realize as they're about to take our picture, that I don't know how to receive an award. Do I point to the award with glee? Do I shake the presenter's hand? What is a winner supposed to do? I really don't know. We'll have to post the picture on our website, so you can see the look of utter confusion on my face.
But anyway, that was yesterday and yesterday's gone. Yesterday was a fluke Today's a new day. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. So let me get busy and see just what I can mess up today.
But, that's not the trauma of which I speak. Something happened at the show that has never happened to me before...ever. Our booth won "Best in Show." That's right. I was involved in an endeavor that actually succeeded, and rather well, I might add.
This is troubling. I've built my reputation on being a loser. It's not what I intended to do, it's just the way things have turned out. George Castanza (Seinfeld) made a statement in one of the episodes that perfectly epitomizes my life. He said, "I've never made a right decision in my life." Voila! There you have it.
If there's one wrong lane to get in while driving on I-95, I'm going to get in it. When I choose a particular checkout aisle at the grocery store, it's the kiss of death for anyone who happens to be unfortunate enough to be in the line I'm in. The register will break down, or the check-out person will break down, often both. The person in front of me will have about 200 coupons, and then want to pay with Lithuanian currency.
Virtually everything I do ends in frustration. And, now, here come these folks with the Ashland Showcase. I think the judges were students from Randolph Macon, but since I think that, I'm probably wrong. Anyway, here they come and give us this very attractive award.
When they come to take our picture accepting the award, I happen to be the one with the company standing next to the guy who's handing out the award. Another wrong decision on where to stand, because I realize as they're about to take our picture, that I don't know how to receive an award. Do I point to the award with glee? Do I shake the presenter's hand? What is a winner supposed to do? I really don't know. We'll have to post the picture on our website, so you can see the look of utter confusion on my face.
But anyway, that was yesterday and yesterday's gone. Yesterday was a fluke Today's a new day. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. So let me get busy and see just what I can mess up today.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
The Rich Luxurious Feel of Driving a '90 Buick
I was thinking this morning, as I turned on my windshield wipers to dry-erase the pollen (yes, the windshield washer isn't working), that the thing I like best about this time of year, is that everyone's car looks as bad as mine. Of course, that's an exaggeration. Once you cut through the pollen, you quickly realize that I have quite the classic auto.
As I was lying back in the driver's seat on my way to work, I had an opportunity to reflect on the joys of driving a 15 year old car. I say lying back because the once luxurious electronic seat adjustment is busted. The seat was working when I put it in the shop, but it stayed there so long, that I'm guessing the mechanic and his family were living in it for a couple of months. The way I figure it is that the mechanic must have enjoyed reclining the seat fully, so that it's virtually lying straight back. And, it appears he wore out the motor playing with the thing because now my seat is permanently reclining.
It does make for a relaxing, if not entirely safe drive to work. But, if I position the rear view mirror just right, I can almost see the oncoming traffic, stop lights and several of those other things that it's good to be able to see as one is driving.
But, anyway, as I was lying back, listening to the rich tones of the AM radio, I got to thinking how great life is. Here I am in a richly appointed 1990 Buick Park Avenue, that is almost paid for. I'm relaxing, even dozing occasionally, as I make my way to work. True, the electronic, adjustable side-view mirrors don't move anymore, but if I grab hold of the steering wheel, and pull myself up, and then tuck one leg under me for support, I can see some of the traffic in the other lanes.
Appearance-wise, the car isn't bad at all...considering its age. Almost 100% of this beauty still has its original paint on it, and the rest has a very dignified primer coat. What more could a man wish for at this point in his life? Only in America, eh?
Speaking of only in America, what's this with Joseph Ratzinger being made the new Pope. Pardon me if I'm mistaken, but, if memory serves, didn't he play Cliff Claven on Cheers? Talk about your all-American success stories.
But again, I've digressed. It's time to wrap this up with what I guess is my message for today. And that message is (drumroll, please): "Be sure to wipe the pollen off your windshield before you head out, because if you're going to be sharing the highway with me, it would be good if one of us has an unobstructed view."
As I was lying back in the driver's seat on my way to work, I had an opportunity to reflect on the joys of driving a 15 year old car. I say lying back because the once luxurious electronic seat adjustment is busted. The seat was working when I put it in the shop, but it stayed there so long, that I'm guessing the mechanic and his family were living in it for a couple of months. The way I figure it is that the mechanic must have enjoyed reclining the seat fully, so that it's virtually lying straight back. And, it appears he wore out the motor playing with the thing because now my seat is permanently reclining.
It does make for a relaxing, if not entirely safe drive to work. But, if I position the rear view mirror just right, I can almost see the oncoming traffic, stop lights and several of those other things that it's good to be able to see as one is driving.
But, anyway, as I was lying back, listening to the rich tones of the AM radio, I got to thinking how great life is. Here I am in a richly appointed 1990 Buick Park Avenue, that is almost paid for. I'm relaxing, even dozing occasionally, as I make my way to work. True, the electronic, adjustable side-view mirrors don't move anymore, but if I grab hold of the steering wheel, and pull myself up, and then tuck one leg under me for support, I can see some of the traffic in the other lanes.
Appearance-wise, the car isn't bad at all...considering its age. Almost 100% of this beauty still has its original paint on it, and the rest has a very dignified primer coat. What more could a man wish for at this point in his life? Only in America, eh?
Speaking of only in America, what's this with Joseph Ratzinger being made the new Pope. Pardon me if I'm mistaken, but, if memory serves, didn't he play Cliff Claven on Cheers? Talk about your all-American success stories.
But again, I've digressed. It's time to wrap this up with what I guess is my message for today. And that message is (drumroll, please): "Be sure to wipe the pollen off your windshield before you head out, because if you're going to be sharing the highway with me, it would be good if one of us has an unobstructed view."
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Adventures in Dining (and more)
I have a lot on my mind today, but I'll try to be relatively brief. I had a rather traumatic experience last night. It involved dining out. Somehow, it's rather disconcerting to have the waitress continually give you an update on all the turmoil going on in the kitchen. "Sorry, for your wait," she kept saying, "but we have issues in the kitchen."
Now I've heard all those horror stories of what the kitchen staff might do to the meals being prepared when something ticks them off. And, I'm sure I've eaten stuff served by unhappy cooks and waiters that I don't want to know about. So, please just keep your issues to yourself and don't share that with me.
I would have said that last night's adventures in eating out had to be among the worst I've experienced. But the owner and the waitress were so nice, that it made it difficult to be but so mad. During our 2 hour wait, they continually apologized. They gave us free desserts while waiting for some of the meals, and they kept taking so many items off the bill, that when we got ready to leave, they owed us $1.98. So, all in all, I shouldn't complain. And, the food was pretty good. At least my crabcake was. I did try the fried shrimp off of someone else's plate (someone at our table, not a stranger's), and I must admit, they tasted much like a piece of cardboard might taste if it was battered up and fried golden brown. Not bad, but not excellent.
Before I go, I do have one more thing I want to get off my chest. About 20 pounds. No, just kidding, but it is a good lead-in to the news story I heard this morning that has me scratching my head. The reporter said that according to the latest statistics, if you weigh a few more pounds than you should weigh, you'll live longer than someone who weighs exactly what they should weigh. Huh?
So, that means that those medical type people who figure these things out, think it would be better if we were all just a little skinnier and died just a tad sooner? I guess it would make it somewhat easier for our pallbearers, but frankly, I don't care if mine all get hernias. I won't be around to worry about it.
Well, that's about all for now. But, please, let me hear from you. I have very few friends, and a couple of anonymous posts would really make my day.
Now I've heard all those horror stories of what the kitchen staff might do to the meals being prepared when something ticks them off. And, I'm sure I've eaten stuff served by unhappy cooks and waiters that I don't want to know about. So, please just keep your issues to yourself and don't share that with me.
I would have said that last night's adventures in eating out had to be among the worst I've experienced. But the owner and the waitress were so nice, that it made it difficult to be but so mad. During our 2 hour wait, they continually apologized. They gave us free desserts while waiting for some of the meals, and they kept taking so many items off the bill, that when we got ready to leave, they owed us $1.98. So, all in all, I shouldn't complain. And, the food was pretty good. At least my crabcake was. I did try the fried shrimp off of someone else's plate (someone at our table, not a stranger's), and I must admit, they tasted much like a piece of cardboard might taste if it was battered up and fried golden brown. Not bad, but not excellent.
Before I go, I do have one more thing I want to get off my chest. About 20 pounds. No, just kidding, but it is a good lead-in to the news story I heard this morning that has me scratching my head. The reporter said that according to the latest statistics, if you weigh a few more pounds than you should weigh, you'll live longer than someone who weighs exactly what they should weigh. Huh?
So, that means that those medical type people who figure these things out, think it would be better if we were all just a little skinnier and died just a tad sooner? I guess it would make it somewhat easier for our pallbearers, but frankly, I don't care if mine all get hernias. I won't be around to worry about it.
Well, that's about all for now. But, please, let me hear from you. I have very few friends, and a couple of anonymous posts would really make my day.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Welcome
Well, stick a fork in me, I'm done. I finally have my own blog. This is something I've wanted since I was a child, growing up in the mountains of Southwest Virginia, back in the 50s. It's practically all I ever thought of...dreamt of. When my father asked me what I wanted for my fifth birthday, I meekly replied, "Please sir, may I have a blog?"
And now half a century later, here it is. Okay, I lied. Actually what I asked for was a Thunderbird, Jr, which was only the coolest thing in the world back then. And, to be totally (or at least more partially honest), I never even heard of a blog until about a year ago. I definitely am not a child of the high-tech era. I'm just now beginning to understand how to work the rabbit ears on the television.
And now, here I am with my own blog, which, by the way, is just a small part of our new website look. Admittedly, there is still a little tweaking to do, and there are new features for which we have great buttons, but, as of this minute, no content. Please be patient. It's coming. And, we want your feedback. Test drive our website, tell us what you like, and what you'd like to see.
And, please, please add your comments to the blog. Why? Because that would be like the coolest thing that could happen. Okay, I can think of a couple cooler things, but I'd really like to see your feedback. So, bring it on.
And now half a century later, here it is. Okay, I lied. Actually what I asked for was a Thunderbird, Jr, which was only the coolest thing in the world back then. And, to be totally (or at least more partially honest), I never even heard of a blog until about a year ago. I definitely am not a child of the high-tech era. I'm just now beginning to understand how to work the rabbit ears on the television.
And now, here I am with my own blog, which, by the way, is just a small part of our new website look. Admittedly, there is still a little tweaking to do, and there are new features for which we have great buttons, but, as of this minute, no content. Please be patient. It's coming. And, we want your feedback. Test drive our website, tell us what you like, and what you'd like to see.
And, please, please add your comments to the blog. Why? Because that would be like the coolest thing that could happen. Okay, I can think of a couple cooler things, but I'd really like to see your feedback. So, bring it on.
Monday, April 18, 2005
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