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True story: I learned how to tell time on an analog clock. I remember they taught us that in kindergarten or preschool or something like that. I was quite proud of myself. I understood all the numbers; I knew terms like “half-past” and “quarter till.” I knew that you had to look at the hands and multiple by five. Math was always easy for me and even at five years old, I had no problem looking at a clock and knowing exactly what time it was. I remember being quite proud of my accomplishment. It was the 80s and pretty much everyone told time by looking at a clock with a face. But the day I was really thrown off was when my mother asked me to find out what time it was and the only source I had was a digital clock. There I was, staring at a set of numbers that meant nothing to me. No little hand. No big hand. Not ever that pesky second hand that raced around the clock with alarming speed. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t read it. The numbers made no sense. I return to my mother and told her . . . . .
I’ve been having a toenail problem lately. My whole life, I cut my toenails once a month–maybe even every six weeks. But lately it seems like my toenails are growing with a fury. I hafta cut ’em once every two weeks or they grow disgustingly long. Making this situation even messier, somehow the left foot and right foot got off cycle. I don’t know how, but at one point I must’ve trimmed one foot and forgot to do the other. So now one set of toenails is much longer than the other. I’ll trim the left toenails but can’t cut the right because they’re too short. A week later, the right nails hafta be cut and I can’t cut the left because I just trimmed ’em the week before. This is totally throwing my grooming habits off…and I’m sure you didn’t wanna hear this.
Speaking of unpleasant, I’ve been having some pharmaceutical problems lately (boy, I’m just full of problems). I’m not sure if I blame the idiots at the pharmacy or the numbskulls at the doctor’s office, but there’s been a major fussup regarding a prescription I have.
I used to be on a drug called Ahneedapill. But last . . . . .
I got hit with a batted ball again this week–I feel like I’m a marked man. It’s rare to see someone get hit by a ball–yet I’ve had more balls come at me than a gay porn star. Man, I’ve had a lot of close calls over the past six months. I’ve only discussed the ones that hit me: there’s been a lot of near-misses, too…and as far as I can tell, it’s just me. No one else on my team seems to have balls come their way–I’m the only one.
The opposing team was short a guy so they had to play without a second baseman. After every pitch, the pitcher stepped towards right field in case a ball got hit that way. Most of the time it’s a futile effort–one player simply can’t cover that much ground. But it helps slow the bleeding because at least teams can’t intentionally try and hit it there.
I was standing on second base with our three-hitter up. One the very first pitch, I saw where the pitcher was throwing the ball, the batter was in the box, and the nature of his swing I knew it immediately: He’s going to hit . . . . .
We’ve reached the point where even I’m complaining about the price of gas. The national average is supposedly a tad bit above $4 a gallon; the Orange County price is about $4.60. I needed half a tank and it still cost me a little under 30 bucks. This is ridiculous–and it’s not going to change anytime soon. Consumers would like gas come down at least 30 percent–but we’re not going to see it. We’re more likely to pay $5 a gallon gas by the end of the summer than we will be to see sub-$4 prices ever again.
I’m not economist; just a guy who makes a lot of assumptions with very little research. But I know this much: gas prices that high can’t be good for the economy. If it cost more to ship everything everywhere, it’ll drive up the price of products. So in addition to having less cash because it cost more to fill up our cars, Americans will also hafta spend more money on pretty much everything they buy. Groceries are gonna cost more. Online shoppers will have to pay higher shipping costs. Even pizzerias are going to hafta start charging for delivery. Everything is going . . . . .
When I was in high school, I used to bike pretty much everywhere. Soccer practice, friends’ houses, Music Warehouse–anywhere I had to be I got there by bicycle. My buddy and I had annual passes to Knott’s Berry Farm and we spent a lot of summer days there. A few times we went over to the beach…even though none of us liked to swim. I biked to Disneyland when I didn’t feel like driving just because I could (Disneyland, Knott’s, and the beach were all with in biking distance…yet somehow I was always bored). I think my radius was about ten miles.
A couple years after high school I abandoned my bicycling ways. Work ended up being too far to bike and it was awfully hard to pick up girls for dates on a Huffy. Like most things in life, it’s not like I stopped biking cold turkey: it sorta just phased its way out of my life.
But for years I’ve felt bad about it. I used to love biking. It was fun, easy, and fast (mainly ’cause I ignored every traffic law imaginable). When I went to college, it was easier to bike there because finding a parking . . . . .
I’m watching girls fast pitch softball on TV and finding myself getting really into it. Why not? The girls are kinda cute. They can play ball. And I’m seeing it all while watching baseball (or a game like baseball). What’s not to like?
. . . . .
My brother’s birthday was last week. He wanted me to come join him and some friends in LA at a bar around 9:30 at night. I had to decline. It has nothing to do with LA, booze, or even my brother. The real hold up is the 9:30 part.
I don’t know what happened to me or where the turning point came, but 9:30 at night feels so late. At 9:30 if I’m not sleepy, I’m thinking about being sleepy. Who goes out at 9:30? Nine-thirty should be coming home time. It should be the end of your evening–not the start.
I’ve gotten so old. It used to be 9:30 was a great time to go out. When I used to go to the movies with friends, I loved the post-11 p.m. showings. You could go out, have dinner, goof around, and then go see a movie. Now I dread shows after eight because I like to be home before ten. Having a fulltime job has a lot to do with it–but many folks party all night and still show up to work every morning. I’m just old.
A lesbian couple in Seattle made news this week because they were . . . . .
About two week ago I bought a GPS navigation device for my car. I had been thinking about it for a while now so it wasn’t entirely an impulse buy. That being said, I didn’t walk into Fry’s to buy a GPS. Fry’s was in the middle of a massive anniversary sale. Most electronic store “sales” don’t really provide much of a discount (nine times outta ten the price is predetermined by the manufacture). But when Fry’s has a sale, it’s usually legit.
I wandered over to the GPSs and was immediately helped by a salesman. I was there strictly for information because I was still in the preliminary shopping stages. I knew little about the differences between GPSs. Why are some $200 and some $400? It’s not like a computer where you pay more for bigger and fast–a GPS doesn’t need bigger and faster. The salesman pointed out the various features and showed me a device that was on-sale that day (and that day only) for $200.
Like I said, normally I scoff at sales. But I noticed that Fry’s was also offering a significantly lesser GPS made by the same manufacture for the same exact price. Was this . . . . .
I’ve been having problems with my T-days lately. It seems like whenever I speak, I say ‘Thursday’ when I mean Tuesday and ‘Tuesday’ when I mean Thursday. That’s not to say I get the days of the week confused. If I’m talking about an event or appointment, I always have the day correct in the aspect of before or after Wednesday–I just use the wrong moniker. I’m not sure what caused this breakdown of basic preschool skills, but it’s getting pretty bad. At this point, folks are better off assuming I’m incorrect instead of believing what I say. I consistently refer to Thursday softball team as the ‘Tuesday squad.’ Weekly Tuesday appointments are always described as a Thursday event. I gotta find away to fix this. I know I get hit in the head a lot, but this mix up has to stop before somebody gets really confused.
Like me.
As mentioned before, I’m a big believer in doing the little things to make someone else’s day (just as long as they don’t inconvenience me). Thursday was a good day for me. Not only did I do a good deed, I got reward for it. That whole ‘pay-it-forward’ concept.
I . . . . .
I never understood the joy of fishing. You sit there and nothing happens. As far as I can tell, it’s all luck. You give two guys the same bare, pole, and lake, there’s nothing either one of ’em can do to catch more fish. They throw their lines and hope something is dumb enough to bite.
Gas prices are skyrocketing and I have little sympathy for those who complain at the pump. America is a society where people really couldn’t care less about the price of gas. Sure, they’ll bitch and complain about how much it cost to fill-up. The evening news will cover numerous stories regarding the hardships people experience. You might even catch a person or two suggest they’ll drive less.
But the truth is actions speak louder than words. If Americans really wanted to do something about the price of gas, they’d take action against it. Look at the roads today–the streets are jam-packed with SVUs and other non-economical vehicles. American’s are obsessed with big cars and powerful engines. There’s a reason there’s more Suburbans on the road than Focuses–Americans love their big cars.
Rising fuel costs isn’t anything new. A decade ago, I remember when gas . . . . .
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