Happy New Year

I have been threatening you for several weeks with an adorable cat video. 

And with Bandit stories. 

Here they are.

First of all, Bandit is the smartest cat I've ever known.  Her sister Sneaky was probably just as smart, but lazier.  It was Sneaky who figured out how to climb a door frame and sit on top of a door.  Then she taught Bandit to do it and her work was done.  Somewhere I have a picture of Bandit sitting on top of a door (and, of course, as soon as I find it you will see it here.)  I'll save the story of how I figured out Bandit was smart for another time (when I don't have an adorable video to get to.)

A little feline behavior:  This particular bit started, we think, shortly after Sneaky passed away.  (I'm not a cat psychologist, but I play one on the Internet.)  With four cats (now) I'm sure it won't surprise you that there are little cat toys all over the house.  (Some of which were actually intended to BE cat toys.  If you have a cat you'll understand that EVERYTHING is a cat toy.)  Some of them are little stuffed "mice."  The kittens (okay, they just turned 9 but they're still "the kittens") play with them sometimes.  Sneaky used to be the only one that really liked to play with them.  Bandit pretty much ignored them.

But now there's one.  It's covered in a sort of leopard print faux fur.  We call it "Bandit's Baby."  Usually late at night, but sometimes during the day, Bandit will carry it around the house "crying."  Unless you look at her.  Then she'll drop it and pretend it never happened.

As you can guess, that last bit has made it difficult to capture.  My wife has been trying for months to catch her on video.  (And for several weeks to share the results with me.)

So here you go, Bandit with her Baby:

Now, I can retire in 781 days, so you cats get off my lawn.

Merry Christmas

It's a quarter to three on Friday afternoon (I'm on my break) December 21, 2012, and the world hasn't ended yet. 

I promised an adorable cat video this week.  I'll post it today, if  my wife figures out how to drop it into my drop box in the next hour, but I'm not holding my breath.  Otherwise I'll post it next week (if the world doesn't end first.)

I'll give you a picture instead:

I introduced Bandit a while back (sitting in a cabinet.  It was the first picture I posted to a blog.)  I also threatened Bandit stories when I have nothing to blog about.  (I have since demonstrated that having nothing to say doesn't keep me from saying it.  At length.)

Anyway, that's Bandit on the back of the chair, but I'm sure you recognized her.  That's Solomon's chair.  That's Solomon, in the seat.  Looks comfy, don't he.  He got up after a while, so I got this picture:

I can retire in 786 days.  If the world doesn't end first.  So you carolers get ... aw, shucks.  Have some eggnog.

In a Handbasket

Honestly, all I wanted to do this week was post an adorable cat video.  I guess that will have to wait.

I may have mentioned that I'm a Freemason. You may have seen a sign or bumper sticker saying that Masonry makes good men better.  That's a pretty bold claim.  I don't really consider my self a "good man," and making me better is asking a lot, but I will say this: it slows the rate at which I'm getting worse.  It's a good thing I had a lot of Masonic commitments this week.

I started the week by cursing at ... someone on the phone.  At work.  On Monday.  We'll see if I'm still employed when I post this.  It's Thursday night, and I haven't heard any repercussions yet.  I plan to post at 4:45 PM tomorrow.  The trick will be next week, because mentioning it at all online is probably a violation.  Since retiring this week, versus 793 days from now, will cost me almost a thousand a month and a $125K IBO, I should probably drop the subject.  But I can't.  It's not in my nature.

My nature is actually introspective.  I dwell on crap.  If I can find a way to make it my fault I will.  I've dwelt on this for four days now.  I'm still pissed off.  I can clearly see my contribution to the problem.  But when I think through the details..., nah, I was right.

I called this guy an idiot.  I prefixed that with an adjective that I won't use in my PG rated blog.  This was very unprofessional, and I don't care.  (What really amused me was that he took offense at the adjective but not the noun.)  I stick by my evaluation.  After all, it takes one to know one.   (For my qualifications see potential risk to my retirement mentioned above.)  However, I am too keenly aware of my own mortality to appreciate wasting an hour of my time because some idiot can't answer simple questions or follow directions.

Anyway, since blogs with pictures appear to get more hits, here you go.

(Best I could do.  On an image search I realized there are a lot of stupid people in the world, and a lot of web sites that suck.  I should be able to find something to rant about in the new year.)

Now, if I can go  another 793 days without gettin' fired I'll be able to retire.  So you kids get off my lawn!

Gettin' Old

I'm doin' it, I don't like it, and I'm gonna keep doin' it just as long as I can.

I shaved my head again on Sunday (I had been letting it grow for a while.  I have pictures to prove it but I won't inflict them on you ... yet) and I started writing this (in my head) at that time.  Now it's about a quarter past eleven on Thursday night, and I know you're wondering how that blogging daily thing is workin' out for me.

Many, many years ago, when she was still funny and had two names, Roseanne Barr told a joke about an agreement she had with her husband, Fang.  (No wait, that was Phyllis Diller.  She was always funny.)  Anyway, Roseanne said they had an agreement.  "He doesn't mention that I'm a tad overweight, and I don't mention that he has more hair in his ears than he does on his head."

It was funny.

Then.

'Tain't no mo'.

Before I shaved my head I felt compelled to shave my ears.  I figure that probably sounds gross, and is TMI even for a blog.  Unless I get a demand for more tales of ear-shaving old men I believe I'll let that subject die.

Okay, I just checked my blog stats, and my post from July 20 has my second highest number of page views.  (That's only 41 btw.)  After that it tapers off, with a little spike on Thanksgiving.  I attribute that to the pictures.  My highest number (45) is for the one titled "The Dog."  I attribute that to the fact that everybody loves adorable pets on the Internet.  (I attribute the decline in page views that followed to the fact that there was, in fact, no dog in the post.)  Anyway, all of this leads me to conclude that I need to include pictures (preferably of adorable animals) as often as possible.  So here's another that turned up in last week's search:

As I said above, I started typing this on Thursday night.  I actually drifted off right after I typed "That's only 41" in the paragraph above.  Now it's 8:29 PM on Friday, and I'm late posting again.  But I'll have it out there by midnight.

Meanwhile I have 800 days until I can retire, and you kids get off my lawn.

Just checkin' in

Maybe I oughtta say "just phonin' it in."  I keep tellin' myself I'm gonna write somethin' worth readin'.  Maybe I'll get there some day.

Right before I started writing this (perhaps in the subconscious hope it would inspire something to write about) I decided to google "get off my lawn," to see if anything on this blog came up.  The top part of the search results was about the same as when I was getting started with this.  But when I scrolled down to the image results I was surprised.  The first four images were beautiful, golden fried turkeys.  But Google knew it was my blog, too.  (They were all labelled "YOU.") I'm doin' this in Chrome and I'm logged in to Google Plus, and Blogspot is a Google product.  So I don't know if that means anything or not.  Why don't you google it and let me know.

But it did come back with this picture, too:

At least that gives me an image to include with this Post.

I've blathered on long enough about nothing.  If all goes according to plan I can retire in 807 days.

Seriously.

Get off my lawn.

Happy Thanksgiving

I hope everybody had one.  I don't know about you, but I'm stuffed.  Right now I'm waiting until I feel like going to the kitchen and stuffing myself some  more.

I'm not absolutely certain, but I think this is the first time I've actually had fried turkey.  I've been back in South Louisiana for 27 years, so how pitiful is that?  It won't be the last time if I can help it.

St. Albans Lodge # 28, Free and Accepted Masons fried turkeys on Wednesday to raise funds for the building fund.  I'll post a couple of pictures.

Here's a dozen birds cooling before getting wrapped.

I'm going to avoid showing people, since I didn't get anyone's permission.

Fortunately we have people who know what they're doing.  I kept my promise to stay away from the cooking.

Okay, that does it.  I'm hungry now.  I think I'll go get some leftovers.

Meanwhile, I should be able to retire in 814 days, and you kids get off my lawn.

Rushing again

8:08 PM 11/16/2012

Rushing again to get something written by midnight.  I actually wrote a little blog post at work (... on my lunch hour..., yeah ..., that's the ticket....) but I didn't post it.  Forgot to sent it home, too.  Wasn't very good anyway, but probably better than this one.

Last week I said I started to blog something about work, but by the time I got around to it I couldn't remember.  I had spoken to a former candidate for Mayor earlier in the day (I will not mention the city to protect the innocent) who actually inquired about my blog.  Since he was going to be reading (or at least lead me to believe he would..., he was a politician after all) I felt obligated to actually post something.

I also mentioned that I would be at a York Rite Festival the next day.  Someone there actually mentioned reading this.  Go figure.

People READ this?  Maybe I oughtta pay more attention to what I write.

Nah!

It's 8:16 PM, so I have a little while left to post this.  I'll see if I think of anything more interesting to say.

9:18 PM: Nothin' yet.

I think I did mention in the one I wrote earlier that I hadn't felt well for most of the week.  Excuses, excuses.  Sounds like whining to me, so I'm sorry I repeated it here.

I also mentioned that my dog (Alexia..., I call her Lexi) was home after spending the weekend at the vet.  I couldn't find a good picture but I'll post one soon.  She's a German Shepherd, close to 120 pounds, and starting her second decade.  I'm afraid age is catching up with her, but she'll always be my puppy.  I didn't start feeling better until she got home.  Go figure.

Well, it's 9:24 PM and I think I'll post this now.  I don't think it's gonna get any better.

I should be able to retire in 821 days, and you kids get off my lawn.