What to blog?

Okay, you guys, get a room, would you?

Twila and I have been brainstorming ("YOU think of something!" "No, YOU think of something!") what kind of blog to create. I noticed, though, that Twila's maxim that a blog needs a post every day was falling through the ginormous cracks, here on oui-sez. So I was thinking about blogging about being a guy wearing earrings - probably not interesting, but at least somewhat unusual.

Then last night I was watching the NFL draft, which is *extremely* interesting if you have no life. The top 5 or so picks in the draft were manly studs with muscles bulging even in their eyeballs, and I don't want to imagine the rest. And they all had a bunch of friends or something with them, their posses. Those guys were 98% or 102% as studly as the draft picks, and possibly a lot meaner.

Well, what I noticed is that at least 75% of those guys had diamond stud earrings. My idea for an unusual post slowly slithered down the drain, and this is what you get.

Thanks, Baby

Ok, I want to use my first post on this blog to say "Thanks, Baby" to my wonderful wife Merlene. How many other women out there would send their husband alone to the Big Island of Hawaii for nine days to go play with telescopes on Mauna Kea? I'm helping with the public star gazing tonight and tomorrow night. They have ten telescopes of various size for the public to use. Sunday I'll be going to the summit for a tour of one of the big telescopes... Hopefully Keck. Also hoping to talk myself into a job here, they do have a couple of openings for what I do.

The other reason she sent me here was to look at retirement homes to buy. I looked at one today... Six years old, 3br/2ba, 1150 sq ft, quarter acre lot, 119K. Less than a mile to the ocean. Lots of good deals in Puna right now. Maybe I'll post some pics when I figure out how.

The pork lau-lau and spam misubi was good today too. It only takes one day to go local.

More to come....

Earl

Blog begone?

This blog has hit a lull, it seems. My own brain doesn't have a lot of ideas, and Twila hasn't gotten back into the idea of blogging. There is one thread I want to wrap up, though - driving.

I probably implied that I think of myself as a good driver, so I'll comment briefly on that. While in Tarrytown I made a list of qualifications that I think a good driver has, which boil down to knowledge, experience, and attention. As for myself, I think I was a good driver most of my life, but that Geezer Gobbler has taken that away. Nowadays I become distracted too easily, for one thing. The other is that my eyesight, especially depth perception, has fallen below adequate. Even though I used to be able to parallel park with my eyes closed, so to speak, I now find it difficult with my eyes open. So, no, I don't think I'm a good driver.

As for this blog, we'll see what happens.

Twila - photographer and ham.

After Tax

He Sez:
We left for Estes Park at 13:00 on Tuesday. We were supposed to leave at noon, but I had to mark some bills for Where's George. It takes about 50 minutes to get to Estes Park from our house, which is nice. We checked into the Stanley Hotel.

Because of the late start, we didn't have time to drive around a bit in Rocky Mountain National Park, so we went to the bar for a drink. From 16:00 to 18:00 we went on the "Ghost & History" tour, which was really interesting. I don't know how much of the ghost stuff I believe, though there was a guy in our tour who swore that odd things were happening in his room the night before.

We had a good dinner at the hotel.

She Sez:
As fun as Durf is, traveling with him can be a challenge. Let me just spit it out…we are polar opposites. When I'm due to leave on a trip, I am up and out the door, stopping only to brush my teeth. Durf on the other hand, uses the first two hours to wake up, another hour or so to read the paper, drink coffee and stave off hypoglycemia etc etc. Hence the 1:00 departure time.

Once we arrive at our destination, Durf's highest priority is a quick nap. I daresay he dreads the words, "Let's go exploring," which he usually hears from me within a nanosecond of our dropping our bags on the hotel room floor.

Inevitably, I grab a quick shot of Happy Durf. We have thousands of these photos:
















But you see, this next photo shows Happy Durf, too. After-nap Happy Durf. See him? Right next to Sam-I-Am.
















He Sez:
Surprisingly, I disagree with a couple of Twila's contentions. She says she is "up and out the door," but that is misleading. It is true that when she has something to do, she attacks it without delay, so her packing, etc., are usually done before I begin. But when the actual moment of leaving arrives, there is inevitably a period of "Oops" in which she runs back and forth doing suddenly-remembered things.

I also challenge the statement that my first priority on arrival is a quick nap. Since I almost always do the driving, it is true that I'm often tired after a long trip. But my first priority generally is to head for a bar to quench the great thirst that driving evokes.

Micturition as lifestyle.

Getting old is something everyone wants to do but no-one wants to happen. In a couple of months I'll be 65, which I consider to be the beginning of late middle age. I don't think about it much, though, especially after we had all the mirrors removed from our house. That first glance in the morning was getting to be too much of a shock.

I'm sure that almost everyone has the same reaction. You get up one day and look in a mirror and think, "How the heck did *that* happen?" You're looking at a wrinkled, sagging face with various spots and bumps, and you just know that it really isn't yours... but it is. You might think you're still a kid, but the forensic evidence suggests otherwise.

I'm not afraid of dying. It's living that scares me more, especially as my life-o-dometer creeps higher and higher. The worst part is that family and friends become ill more often and more seriously, and their number begins to decline more rapidly. It would also be frightening, if I let myself think about it, to become disabled because of a stroke or Alzheimer's disease and not be able to escape.

But what bothers me most is what's happening now - my body is beginning to let me down in the most annoying ways. I am, of course, weaker and slower, which I expected, with the plus side that I don't care very much. The achy and creaky and cracky parts are still minor. But every year brings more indignities, not the least of which is that certain valves are not as reliable as they were not very long ago.

There are ways to deal with such things, including products that you can pretend you're buying for someone else. It's just annoying to have to resort to those solutions, which soon become more important than knowing that a sub-3-hour marathon is now forever beyond your grasp.

ATW.

April 18, 2011 (accidentally posted to NYC blog)

Today is the official End Of Tax Season. Twila took her final return to the post office; when she came home, she opened the door and yelled, "YAHOO!" Or "GOOGLE", or something. Anyway, we're celebrating with shrimp and Scrabble.

Tomorrow, for our annual After Tax Weekend, we're going to the Stanley Hotel (where Stephen King wrote "The Shining") in Estes Park for a 2-night stay. They play "The Shining" 24 hours a day there, but I don't know if we'll watch it again (as if the place won't be creepy enough). I don't remember the movie, I just remember how scary it was.

While we're in Estes Park I hope to convince Twila to start blogging again, if I survive the hike she has planned for our first day. Tax season is over and we'll be in an interesting place. Our first blog, "He Sez, She Sez" started when we were on vacation in Venice and decided it would be easier to blog than to write letters to everyone. It was really a hoot, at least in our opinion.

Durf's excellent adventure.

April 16, 2011 (accidentally posted to NYC blog)

I was going to blog about heros today, until I decided that I'd better say more about my micro-movie adventure yesterday.

It all started a couple of years ago when I realized that most major studmuffins wear bling. I began to wonder if I were the only one who wasn't. But it seemed like it would be a significant change, since I didn't even start wearing my wedding ring all the time until three years ago, when the springs in the couch started to poke through.

Twila and I were shopping in NYC a while ago when we saw a guy wearing earrings. Twila smiled and said to me, "Too bad you're the wrong color for that." The guy looked good, though, so I thought about it more.

Yesterday was the appointed day. I told Twila I'd do it, even if I weren't in the mood at the moment. We drove to Longmont and I let Kaiser drain off some of my blood, then we went across the street to Piercing Pagoda. It wasn't open yet, so we spent some time looking at the bling. After a while I told Twila that I'd rather wait and do it some other time, but she asked why and I couldn't come up with a good answer.

Finally they opened and I began gasping for air. Fortunately there was another customer, a girl about 13 years old, who went first. She got in the chair and I watched closely. She didn't even flinch. Then the Pagoda girl came over and asked Twila what she wanted. I butted in and pointed to earrings and said, "I'd like them, and I want them installed." There was no turning back at that point, without looking like a studwuss.

That's when my education began. Here was I, a 64-year-old guy, about to learn what most 7th grade girls already know. It turned out to be more than I'd expected.

Speaking of age, the Piercing Pagoda does enforce a minimum age policy. To get a piercing there you have to be at least 2 months old. True. But a child of that age does get special treatment. PP recognizes that after stabbing one of a baby's earlobes, doing the other would be a really big hassle. So they use two piercer persons and stab both lobes at once. I understand the philosophy. That's why I had all my wisdom teeth extracted at the same time.

It was time to hop in the chair. I wasn't nervous at all, even though I seemed to be trembling just a bit. It was a new environment for me.

The Pagoda girl slapped some alcohol on my earlobes and then put a dot on each, kind of a target. She and Twila spent about 5 minutes deciding whether the dots were in the same place on each lobe. I refused to look in the mirror. How would I know? They were the experts. Finally they agreed that the dots were okay.

Pagoda girl asked if I wanted her to count to 3 or just do it. I told her to just do it, because I really didn't want to have to anticipate it too much. I hadn't asked anyone if the piercing hurt, but I had watched the non-flinching girl earlier, and I wasn't too worried. I felt Pagoda girl put something against my lobe, and then she pulled the trigger. It felt like a nail cutting slowly through my skin. I was determined not to flinch, but I probably blanched, at least. Pagoda girl asked if I were okay, and I said, "Why sure! Why wouldn't I be?", as I pushed myself back upright in the chair. The other ear was a lot less painful. The good news was that she didn't have to push earring nails through the freshly torn holes... they were already there. Apparently the piercing gun just shoots the earrings through your ear and then slaps the clutch (new word for me) on the other side.

My education wasn't over, however. I have to wear these studly studs for 4-6 weeks, according to PP, and probably 8 weeks, according to Twila. The older you are, the longer it takes to heal. So for the next couple of months I have to wear the earrings always, even when sleeping. Twice a day I have to put some antiseptic solution on the earring nails and rotate them one full turn. It seems like a lot of work, but I'll do it. Probably mothers do it for their 2nd grade daughters, but I'm on my own.

Actually, I think the earrings look good. I definitely look more studmuffinly. And there are some other advantages, it seems. Yesterday I went to a drugstore and a young woman held the door open for me. She might have been in shock, I confess.

The deficit.

Just a quickie...

Republicans, stinging from their defeat in 2010, quickly latched onto the federal deficit as their cause célèbre. Today the GOP is a one-trick pony, harping constantly about the deficit, the deficit, the deficit.

I wonder why no-one mentions that when Bill Clinton left office not only was the budget balanced, but there was no deficit. There was a surplus. Then George W. Bush slithered into office and promptly enacted, with the Republican Congress, huge tax cuts, followed by an unnecessary war and injudicious spending.

Today's large federal debt was created mostly by Bush and a Congress that was completely Republican-controlled until 2008.

It is true that the Obama administration contributed with some badly needed stimulus monies, but the debt that the GOP is railing against is primarily of their own making. Since they said nothing when they were in control of the government, it is hard to imagine that their bluster today is anything but political posturing.

Heroes.

I decided to write a post about the word 'hero', because it seems to me that it is often used incorrectly. Then I realized that I really don't know what 'hero' means, so I looked it up: "a person, typically a man, who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities." (The definition of 'heroine' is the same, except for the 'man' part.)

According to that definition, someone is a hero because people think he is. That's too fuzzy, especially considering the bozos voting. (Not to be cynical, but the state of politics in this country the last 10 years has... well, made me cynical.)

Consider 9/11. The people who were killed in the World Trade Center were called heroes, but they weren't - they were victims.

How about firemen who rushed into the doomed structures? You could make a better case that they were heroes, but I think they were just firemen doing their jobs. Someone who chooses a hazardous occupation and then is killed in the line of duty is not, necessarily, a hero.

Death alone does not confer heroism.

Then there is Flight 93. Some passengers rose and attacked the terrorists, preventing the plane from crashing into the Capitol. You could make a good argument that they didn't take action until they'd learned that they were doomed if they did nothing, so they acted in self-defense. However, I choose to call those people heroes because it would feel wrong to deny them that honor.

And then there's war. Many people say that anyone killed fighting is a hero. I disagree. They aren't heroes, they're soldiers. Soldiers sometimes die, it's a known and accepted job hazard. We don't know why people decide to enlist and go to war - maybe it's the only job they can get, or maybe they want to be able to shoot at people.

World War II might be a different story. Soldiers were fighting for something important then, and to an extent I think that even the act of volunteering was heroic.

I can't say the same about the Vietnam War, though no doubt many who enlisted voluntarily thought they were doing something important. I'm inclined to think that many who refused induction because they thought that war, or that particular war, was wrong were somewhat heroic.

The students killed at Kent State? No, because there was no reason to think that anyone would be shot, even if they were protesting for the right reasons. They were victims.

Certainly there are many soldiers who were true heroes. Flopping on a live grenade to save others is certainly heroic. There are many other examples.

I guess I still don't know exactly what 'hero' means, except that someone is a hero if you think he is. I just wish people would be more careful with the term.