BIRD WATCHING 101

Yesterday I had the pleasure of taking my oldest grandson on a little bird watching trip at one of the local National Wildlife Refuges. There is an organization of groups designed for youngsters who have an interest in nature in general and birds in particular. Delaware’s group is called Delaware Dunlins, which is sponsored by the Delmarva Ornithological Society, and they have several events a year that give the kids the opportunity to do bird watching with adult experts. Yesterday’s event was intended to focus on waterfowl, which it did, but it also allowed us to see many other birds.

In my experience bird watchers tend to be gentle, intelligent and highly considerate folks. They are dedicated to their interest and are extremely aware of the natural world. And they have a passion for sharing their interest with any kid that seems to display curiosity in birds and bird watching. This was all confirmed completely yesterday. The leaders of the little expedition were Derek Stoner, Bill Stewart, Dr. Barnhill, Judy and Kim. I’m sorry I didn’t get the last names of the two young ladies. There were about six or seven kids and an assortment of parents and grandparents. It was a beautiful day and thanks to the expert guidance of the leaders it was extremely successful. The kids were delighted, enthused and eager to learn. The adults were at least as delighted and caught the enthusiasm from the youngsters. And I know I learned a few things from my grandson who is becoming quite knowledgeable about birds.

We were able to identify fourteen different species of waterfowl. We also were treated to views of Bald Eagles, various Herons, Harrier Hawks, Red Tailed Hawks, a Red Shouldered Hawk, Killdeer, American Pipits and Horned Larks. At one point in the trip a Peregrine Falcon rose up from a marshy area and flew five circles directly over our heads at a relatively low altitude. That was quickly followed by a fly-by of a young Black Crowned Night Heron. The Dunlins group supplies viewing equipment if the young birders are in need so everyone gets a good look and a share of the real birding experience.

The Bombay Hook National Wildlife Refuge is a treasure for Delaware. It is a beautiful place of ponds, marshes and tidal creeks. Also on the lands are active farm fields. Observation towers dot the area and there are well marked easy trails to hike. The amount of wildlife is amazing and ever changing. Each season provides new experiences for bird watchers and those interested in other wildlife. We try to get there a few times each year. Delaware has another fine National Refuge in Sussex County, Prime Hook, which is also a valuable resource.

So if you have any interest in the natural world or bird watching check out the Delaware Dunlins or an ornithological group in your area. You and your youngsters will get some good fresh air, some excellent memories and a little of that thing that’s in all the child rearing books these days, quality time.

Have a fine day.

A NORTH COUNTRY TALE

A NORTH COUNTRY TALE November 3, 2009

We were up in the North Country last week and it was pretty nice as always. But one day was exceptional and will be the source of free beers in many a tavern for years to come. It may sound like a tall tale but since my reputation for truthful reporting is as solid as the New York Times and the Malone Evening Telegram then you will all know this is as close to the truth as I can get.

One sunny morning I got up really early and headed down to the nearby village to get a cup of coffee at the little store. My dear wife usually makes an excellent brew but I wanted to let her rest for a while since it was her vacation. I’m pretty much always on vacation so sleeping in is not such a luxury anymore. When I got to the store there were two old codgers standing around waiting for the girl at the deli counter to finish some sandwiches she was making for them. They were grizzled old guys, the kind that have made a hard living from that hard country. One of them was tall and wiry with a full beard and not many teeth. His friend was shorter and rounder but he still had an air of toughness along with a wicked long mustache. They were both dressed in heavy work clothes with the pants tucked inside old fashioned work boots that were laced up just below their knees. The tall one had on a Yankee ball cap and the other was wearing one of those dopy flannel hats with the ear flaps which were tied up on top of his head.

Since they were many years older than me I asked them what they were doing to pass the time on that day. Thinking they were both retired I figured they’d be doing some leisurely hunting, bird watching or other pleasant outdoor activity. But the tall guy, the one doing most of the talking, said that since the weather was still good they were going into the woods to cut a down a few trees. Then they were going to load the logs on their truck and drive them to the new Amish sawmill nearby. If they had time in the evening they were going to stop at a deer stand they had set up near the river and try to shoot a bear that was getting into the garbage at the cabins they lived in. He said that I was welcome to join them for the day. So I called my wife and told her my plans. She told me that if I came home with any injuries or in the back of a hearse she’d be very angry. I said that I could certainly take care of myself. Her reply was very positive. She said “Yeah right!”

The three of us went out to the big old flatbed truck, rigged up with some specialized logging equipment, and climbed up into the cab. The tall guy said that since we’d be together for the day that we should introduce ourselves. I told them my name and he said his name was Alvin and his friend was Jacques. I asked them how long they were retired and he said that they had never actually had jobs to retire from. They still worked when they needed money to buy supplies or when it was time to pay property taxes. We were soon barreling up a dirt road that wandered along the riverside gradually climbing up into a wilderness area. As we rode along the bumpy track I listened and learned as Alvin kept up a pretty constant monologue. I learned that Alvin was eighty three years old, had been married four times, had eleven children, made a trip to Hawaii a few years back, chewed tobacco, served with the Marines in Korea and never did care for raw fish. He didn’t tell me that he chewed tobacco. I discovered that little fact as he sprayed the inside of the windshield every time his toothless mouth said a word like ship or shoes or shiftless, or that four letter word he used as a punctuation mark in his narrative.

Alvin also told me that Jacques was seventy eight, had been married once for three weeks but his wife ran off with a traveling locksmith which caused a lifelong battle with depression, had once cut wood alongside Ronald Reagan and was a Methodist in spite of his French name. Jacques merely nodded in agreement.

Eventually we came to the wood lot that the men had been working for a couple of years. Alvin said that this lot, about a hundred acres, belonged to Jacques who had bought it back in 1965 from one of the Rockefellers. I asked which one of the Rockefellers and Alvin said it was the one that died in the saddle down in Albany. When I pressed him on that bit of information he refused to say more because he didn’t like to speak ill of the dead.

Jacques grabbed a huge chain saw from the tool box on the back of the truck and proceeded to get it started. Both he and Alvin eyed the trees carefully and finally agreed on a tall thin pine at the edge of the clearing. Alvin seemed to be more of a supervisor than a worker as he hollered directions to his partner. Within minutes that fifty foot pine tree was laying on the ground exactly where they predicted it would be. They went along like that for about an hour until there were six trees down. I had hoped to get involved as more than an observer but old Jacques seemed to have everything under control. After a brief break Alvin asked if I wanted to help trim the branches off the trees before they cut them into sections and loaded them on the truck. I said sure and he handed me a rusty old bow saw. He and Jacques grabbed two small chain saws and we all went to work trimming. I was feeling pretty good about my progress. I had used a bow saw many times in the past, usually when cutting down Christmas trees with about four inch diameter trunks. Cutting big branches from fifty or sixty foot trees is a different thing entirely. But I was moving right along when Alvin came up and said they were done with the other five trees and Jacques would finish up the one I had cut three branches from already. Ten minutes later the trimming was done.

Those two old men moved around the wood lot like little kids at play. They never tripped or stumbled even where the ground cover or trimmed branches easily tangled up my feet. When they cut the six trees into ten foot sections they moved like well oiled machines. My shoulder was already feeling the twinges from a half hour of using a little bow saw. To get the cut logs up on the flat bed truck Alvin directed Jacques to drag the cable from the winch device and wrap it and hook it around an appropriate spot. Then Alvin would turn on the winch and the log would be dragged up to the truck where, with a little muscular pushing and shoving, it would be loaded on the bed. By noon we were ready to head to the mill but first we got out our sandwiches for our nice picnic lunch.

I noticed that the two codgers had not bought any drinks at the store earlier so I was a little curious as to what they’d be washing down their foot long bologna subs with. My curiosity was soon satisfied when Alvin reached under the seat of the truck and pulled out a bottle filled with amber liquid labeled “Old Farmhand”. I didn’t think this was some new energy drink. The brand name was unfamiliar to me and I asked what kind of liquid refreshment they were enjoying. Alvin said it was a special blend found only in a few counties in that part of the state. He offered me a sip and I took it. As soon as I had finished coughing and choking I politely refused a second taste. There was no noticeable change in the speech, eye clarity or walking ability of either of my new friends after finishing their bottle and their sandwiches. There were several satisfied belches all around but I suspect that had little to do with the rot-gut whiskey.

It was with some hesitation that I got into the truck with Alvin and Jacques. They had consumed a bottle of whiskey and it was a long and winding road out of the mountains and down to the Amish mill. So I suggested that they let me drive. Alvin said sure. So I got behind the wheel. Now this was an old truck. It had a gear shift on the floor, three pedals, a steering wheel and not much else. I was looking around for the key so I could start up. Alvin noticed my confusion and said I needed to push the button all the way to the left of the dash. So I did and the truck rumbled to life. Alvin then proceeded to tell me that I should start out in second gear, double clutch to third while keeping the gas almost fully depressed, do the same thing into fourth except let the gas up a tad and then go into fifth for running on the paved road. He told me not to bother down-shifting because by the time I’d get through the procedure we’d be crashing into a tree or something. He told me to just use the brake and clutch, slow down to a near stop and shove the shifter into second and start over again. At that point I was ready to let Alvin take the wheel but I decided to give it a try. It only took about thirty miles and an hour of driving before I got the hang of it. By the time we were on the paved road Jacques gave me flicker of a smile and a nod. Alvin didn’t say anything because he was sleeping pretty soundly by then.

We got to the sawmill eventually. Alvin argued for about fifteen minutes with the mill owner about an agreeable price. When they finally made their deal a team of horses was brought up and the logs were dragged off the truck. The Amish guy laboriously counted out the cash into Alvin’s outstretched hand. Then we got back in the truck, with Alvin driving, and headed back into the woods. The nap Alvin took must have cleared whatever effect the whiskey caused because his driving and talking were as good ever.

Alvin talked about the history of the area, the unjust nature of hunting seasons, the negative effects of tourism on privacy, the nudist colony that had opened in 1976 and closed in 1978 due to cold weather, rain and mosquitoes. He talked about his most recent wife and her skills as a homemaker and volunteer firefighter. By the time we got to Jacques’ cabin I knew more about the people and places of northwest Franklin County than I ever thought possible. At the cabin, a modest but comfortable looking building, Jacques grabbed three rifles and a box of ammunition. I looked around outside his place and was surprised at the lack of derelict cars and old appliances that are a hallmark of landscaping in the area. We walked along a well beaten path, following the river for about a half mile, until we reached Alvin’s cabin. Alvin’s place was much more typical in the abundant use of old and rusty objects as lawn ornaments. There were washers, dryers, claw-foot bath tubs, toilets and large parts of a multitude of vehicles carefully placed around the grounds. Alvin proudly pointed out a few of the older pieces and tied them into his marital history.

From Alvin’s place we hiked again along a path that followed the river in an upstream direction. Everyone was quiet. The old guys were being quiet because that’s how they hike on a hunt. I was being quiet because I needed to conserve all the oxygen I could so that I could keep up with them and not fall over dead. Eventually we got to the deer stand. This structure was built high above the ground, attached in ingenious ways to four trees that formed an irregular rectangle. A wooden ladder served as a staircase and we clambered up to the platform about twenty feet in the air. The blind had three walls about waist high and some old plastic chairs scattered around. There was a camp stove and a lantern next to one wall. And in one corner there was an artistic display of about fifty empty “Old Farmhand” bottles.

I knew hunting season was open I but didn’t have a license. Alvin said that he still had a couple tags left on his, one for bear and one for deer. But he said that the ground they were on was legally a farm and they were entitled to shoot a nuisance animal without using up their tags. I wasn’t sure about the statutes he was citing but since he was much older and wiser in the ways of the woods I deferred to him. Besides I always wanted to see if I could kill a big game animal in a manly and woodsman-like way.

So we settled down to wait as the sun began its slow descent. Alvin and Jacques seemed to locate a full bottle of their favorite refreshment and politely offered to share but I respectfully declined. I wanted a clear head if I had an opportunity to shoot. We were very quiet. The woods were full of the soothing sounds of a late fall day. The river gurgled along about fifty yards in front of us. We watched.

When I first spotted the bear my jaw dropped with amazement. It was much bigger than I had imagined. Jacques made a gesture, grabbing his crotch, to indicate that the bear was a male. Then he pointed to me and mimed shooting to indicate that I should take the first shot. As I peered over the wall and pushed the safety release I realized that I had never fired this rifle before. Years ago I had done some competition shooting and was familiar with firearms but I knew that a cold shot with a borrowed weapon was pretty likely to be bad. But that bear was a big target and my pride was as aroused as my blood lust. I remembered all the things that I had been trained to do all those years ago; three deep cleansing breaths, sight in on both the front and rear sights, relax, exhale and squeeze the trigger slowly and firmly. The rifle shot blasted the stillness. The bear turned and looked up our way. I was jacking another shell into the chamber and looking to see what the other guys were doing. What I saw was two guys just smiling at me and pointing at me to shoot again. So I turned my attention to the bear that had decided to investigate the source of the noise and was now slowly lumbering our way. I readied myself for the next shot knowing I couldn’t possibly miss again, especially at the now much closer range. The rifle rang out again as I carefully pulled the trigger. The bear stopped. He then rose up on his hind legs and looked right at the stand. He must have weighed eight hundred pounds and was standing about seven feet tall. I looked over and noticed that both of the old codgers were laughing, Alvin loudly and Jacques quietly. Jacques held up the box of ammunition and pointed to the label that clearly, in large letters, said “BLANKS”.

I said something. It wasn’t nice and I won’t be repeating it here. I looked down to see the bear just below the tree stand looking up expectantly. We were about to be attacked and I was trying to decide which one of the old men I would push down for the bear to eat first. Then I saw Jacques reaching into his voluminous pockets and pulling out candy bars which he started unwrapping. He tossed a couple of them down to the bear who seemed to be in on the joke. Jacques handed Alvin and me several of the bars each. They seemed to be mostly Bit-O-Honey and Clark bars. We all tossed them down. The bear ate them methodically. Then Alvin said “That’s it George!” And the huge black bear headed off into the woods.

As dark worked its way into the woods we hiked back to the cabins. Alvin told me how he and Jacques had rescued a bear cub about twelve years ago. He told me that although they had released the cub into the wild it had never strayed far from the cabins. It may have been enticed to stay by the regular feeding that the old men had been doing all these years. But they had played their little “let’s shoot the bear” joke on many unsuspecting idiots over the years. Alvin didn’t say I was an idiot. In fact he said I was a pretty good sport and would be welcome to help them with logging or bear feeding at any time.

Alvin and Jacques gave me a ride back to the little store where I had left my car. I bought them dinner; foot long bologna sub sandwiches. They supplied their own beverage. When I got home my wife carefully checked me for injuries and ticks. I didn’t tell her about the bear hunt. She doesn’t think people should kill animals. Or feed them candy.

Have a fine day.

A POLITICAL STATE OF MIND

Yesterday I was in the local library and I decided to catch up on my political awareness. I admit I had stopped paying attention for a time, only listening to snippets of talk radio as I drove around on my various missions. So at the library I grabbed the latest Newsweek, Time, The New York Times, National Review, Weekly Standard, Washington Times and Popular Mechanics. My intention was to do a non-biased review of political issues and also to learn about the cool new prototype muscle cars powered by helium.

It would seem that the big issues of the day are health care reform (still), a new and improved stimulus package, the war in Afghanistan, global warming, President Obama’s Nobel Prize, swine flu and problems in the Middle East. Excluding Popular Mechanics the reporting on the issues was slanted pretty much in a predictable way. The big newspapers did some fairly objective stories. Unfortunately those stories had nothing to do with the issues I listed. The two supposedly objective news magazines were slanted decidedly in favor of the current administration’s positions. The two magazines that admit to being purveyors of conservative commentary actually seemed to have better fact checking and objective presentation of the issues than either the news magazines or newspapers. So studying articles on both sides of the political spectrum concerning all those big issues I’ve come to some conclusions.

My first conclusion is that the amount of hot air being generated in Washington, DC and other political enclaves is at a higher level than ever before. I’ve also concluded that news reporters are as conceited, opinionated and wrong as most of the politicians they support. Also, the war on terror and the war in Afghanistan have turned into political messes that bodes no good for the people fighting those wars or for the welfare of our country. When politicians look at a real and dangerous situation and start talking out of both sides of their mouths then we know the situation is only going to get worse. There is no commitment on the part of the politicians in power to win these wars. So we might as well bring the troops home and let the chips fall where they may.

Health care “reform” as envisioned by the current administration is going to happen and at a cost that will certainly hurt the country in the long run. Another huge bureaucracy will be created which will issue all kinds of edicts and fiats that will cost billions of dollars more than have already been forecast and which will get involved more and more in the personal decision making process of individual citizens. As a friend of mine from the mountains says, “It’ll be a stone ground mess.”

The “Swine Flu” panic of 2009 is in full swing. The government ordered the production and distribution of the vaccine which seems to have been somewhat delayed. Maybe the pharmaceutical companies making the stuff are worried about slow payment for their output. They do have the slow paying example of the “cash for clunkers” program as a model of government expertise. But the media drives the panic on. Some of my relatives have been hit by the bug. They’re all coming along okay. It wasn’t a nice experience for them but they treated it properly and overcame both the illness and the government driven anxiety. I’m sure it isn’t an intentionally induced panic. It’s just an issue that politicians can make a lot of noise about, furiously enact laws that make no sense whatsoever, get plenty of time in front of the cameras and then take credit for whipping the pandemic by their heroic actions. It’s a huge crock of b.s.

Global warming is a constant presence in the press. No matter how many legitimate scientists question the data being used to support the supposition that global warming is the biggest problem facing humanity the juggernaut keeps moving along. The arrogance of the people pushing the issue is huge. The amount of money involved is even bigger than that arrogance. From a common sense perspective it would seem that if there is such a problem then it would be best to allow legitimate market forces to devise solutions. When confronted with a big problem, and when left alone, markets have a way of creating ways of addressing problems so that there is an economic advantage to the problem solvers. So if the government identifies a problem with air pollution or green house gases as a possible cause of possible climate change (And government might have a legitimate role in identifying those kinds of things) then research and development will begin to find ways to get rid of those gases or pollutants because there will be an economic advantage to the entrepreneurs that come up with solutions. But the current method of addressing these still unproven problems is to turn to the politicians. They make a great deal of noise, create study panels and commissions, make foolish laws that will spend billions of dollars on more giant bureaucracies and, in the end, accomplish nothing that makes sense.

The Middle East problems are things that won’t go away no matter how many Nobel Prize winners get involved. I’m just a private citizen with no knowledge of the intricacies of diplomacy or international relations. What I can glean from several different news sources, the internet and readings from history is that these problems are cultural, long standing and compounded by the proliferation of atomic and other modern weapons. The factions are almost tribal in nature and fanatically religious in their backgrounds. The US needs some resources that the area possesses, since we refuse to utilize our own resources, so we are involved in the area. Of course a simple and logical solution would be for us to support the acquisition of resources in our own hemisphere, develop other types of resources and get the hell out of the Middle East. But that isn’t going to happen. So the other solution would be to really exercise our power, disarm or destroy the enemies we have in the region and set up proper controls for a peaceful government. But that isn’t going to happen either. We will just continue to have problems in the Middle East. Politicians will continue to talk, pose for the cameras, decry the ongoing violence and head to Oslo every once in a while to pick up a big check and a medal. Or it may all one day blow up when one of those dictators over there starts throwing atomic weapons around and the whole region collapses into a pile of radioactive dust.

One other issue that the big newspapers and newsmagazines seem to treat very lightly, if at all, is the proliferation of appointees to the current administration who are given great latitude in the exercise of executive power. These officials are not governed by the checks and balances of any congressional review or oversight, not that congress would be skilful in rooting out any bad people or incompetents. But a number of these “czars” have been found to be somewhat questionable in their backgrounds and their loyalty to the Constitution and our form of government. The only part of the media that seems to be going after these miscreants with any dedication is Fox News and the folks in talk radio. In fact the administration has been so irritated by the efforts to expose the corruption in its ranks that it has taken up a policy of attacking and trying to discredit the critics. Even some of the most left-leaning media outlets have mentioned the little spat, usually taking the side of the administration. But others have chided the administration on its attacks on the principles of the First Amendment. That might be a sign of hope but I doubt it.

Well I’m all caught up now on the political scene. Nothing much has changed in the weeks of my absence; same old problems, same old lack of solutions. So I’m going to leave the monkeys in Washington to their own devices for another week or two. I’ll still send the weekly emails to our guys in the Senate and House along with one to the Vice President and the leaders of both chambers. They’ve gotten pretty general lately. Mostly I just tell them “Don’t do any damn thing because it will cost us too much money!” I rarely get any reply. In fact I don’t even get form letters any more. But at election time they’ll all be hearing from me again when I try to help vote them out of office.

Have a fine day.

MID-NIGHT RAMBLINGS

The blurry red numbers on the alarm clock just silently announced that it is 3:12 AM on this Wednesday morning. Since I haven’t put my glasses on I need to squint mightily to bring the numbers into focus. I can’t sleep. My dear wife breathes the breath of quiet and righteous dreams here beside me. The road noise on the nearby highway is surprisingly loud and active for this usually peaceful hour.

When I can’t sleep I get up and head out to the living room, stopping for a brief visit to the bathroom. A quick scan of the street through the front windows reveals that all is quiet, as it should be. Then I go to the kitchen for a glass of water and a couple of Tylenol. I wander around the dark house for a while waiting for the Tylenol to ease the usual aches and pains.

Then I decide that it would be a good idea to go into the family room and sit down at the computer. Flipping on the light I log on and check the email. Nothing is there so I check in at Facebook. Not surprisingly nothing is happening on the site. Normal folks are sleeping. So I log off the internet and bring up the word processing program. I stare at the white screen for a while. Then I look at a couple of the things that I’m working on that are on hold for various reasons. No new ideas to move these pieces along come to mind so I go back to a blank screen.

These are the hours of the night when thoughts can easily stray to the big questions of life. What does it all mean? How much time do I have left? Is God listening? Why should he? I’m probably boring Him with this kind of crap. So tonight I’m resisting the deep and dark, moody and angst filled pondering. But when I try to think of some amusing little story to tell I come up blank. My poetic muse is equally silent. This sucks. Some nights I can knock out a story or a couple of pieces of poetry and in the process get tired enough to go back to bed and sleep for a couple more hours.

So I grab one of he books I’m reading this week. I need something interesting enough to keep my mind focused but dull enough to tire me out fairly quickly. “A Brief History of Canada” is my choice. I’m at the part where the English have taken over the Canadian colonies from France and the French folks are really pissed and scared at the same time. Nothing much has changed up there in two hundred and fifty years or so. About the time the English have backed off on trying to make all those Frenchies into tea drinking, umbrella carrying replicas of the folks back in London, I realize that my ancestors, who came ashore with Samuel Champlain and stayed on, were probably veterans of the wars between the French and English. Fancy that. Those old time Boureys, LaDukes, Messiers and Dumases might have been involved in the stuff being described in this history book. I checked the index to see if any of the names are in there but they aren’t. Of course this is a “Brief History” so a lot more pages would be required to handle the exploits of my forefathers and foremothers. And it was only fifty or so years after that time that the ancestors headed down into the USA. Also knowing my various genetic inheritances I can assume that those people were probably more of the foot soldiers, farmers and woodsmen types than the officers and aristocrats of the era, which is not a bad thing but no riches devolved from that lineage.

Well the eyelids are getting heavy again and I think I can head back to the bed. As long as my dear wife hasn’t slid into a deep and sonorous snoring mode I should be able to sleep for a while. If that’s happened I might as well start frying up the bacon and eggs.

One more stop in the bathroom (older guys are very conscious of this necessity) and back to the sack. It’s 4:03 AM. I drift off into dreamless darkness hoping that you all…

Have a fine day.

FINAL ARRANGEMENTS

Certain sad and inevitable events are happening in our family as I write this. My brother-in-law, my wife’s sister’s husband, is now under Hospice care at their home in Mississippi. As we get older, and as our older relatives get closer to that final stretch of the journey, we start thinking about our own demise. Most folks don’t sit around constantly entertaining morbid thoughts about their final day. And I don’t either. But occasionally those things cross my mind and today happened to be one of those days.

What I was thinking was that it might be time to jot down what I’d like in the way of a send off from this world. All the finest funeral directors tell you that it’s best to make those arrangements ahead of time. They don’t want you to be a last minute shopper. The lawyers all want a person to be prepared legally so that the surviving vultures, I mean relatives, don’t need to have a big ugly fight over your pile of wealth. I don’t have much to worry about in that area. And doctors want you to have that living will thing so that the kids can pull the plug when the government health care system doesn’t pay for your ventilating machine any more. Even the pastors and priests like to see a nice list of “things to do” for the requiem services. So I’m going to provide some preferences for my own final arrangements right now.

First of all, since I intend to live a good long time and cling like hell to that last thread of life, I’ll probably be under Hospice care for a considerable length of time. I’d like to have a pool set up by a caring family member so someone can win a prize by picking the day, hour and minute of my departure. Chances could go for ten bucks or so and if it’s handled right a considerable amount of money could be raised from all the friends and relatives that I have. So let’s say fifty folks get in the pool. The winner will get half and the other half will go to pay for the booze and food for my going away party. Knowing my relatives though, we probably need to sell a lot more than fifty chances to cover that booze bill.

I haven’t decided yet if I want a church funeral or just a non-denominational memorial thing. If I were to croak tomorrow I’d want the latter. Who knows what the next few years will bring religiously speaking. All I do know is that jokes must be told no matter what kind of service happens. The jokes can’t be the mildly amusing anecdotes about events in my life. No, they must be really funny jokes about two priests and a rabbi, an Irish guy a Polish guy and an Arab or a couple of nuns and a hooker. Fart jokes are okay too. If enough money gets raised in the TOD pool then a comedian could be hired to handle the jokes. The service should also have music. Bluegrass music would be the best choice, preferably the Gibson Brothers. If they could be convinced to play live (they’ll probably still be around by then) that would be good. But CD’s are okay. I just don’t want any damn karaoke machine being used.

Food choices are not important to me. I won’t be eating. But in memory of my simple tastes good Buffalo wings, Glazier Michigan hot dogs and Yeungling beer will be fine selections. Don’t serve any vegetables with dip or quiche. The wine doesn’t need to be high priced. My wife prefers red or white in quantity so a big jug or box is okay.

Now the only thing left to specify about funereal preferences, other than the method of my disposal, are the eulogies. Once again I don’t want any sad crap or boo-hoo inspiring reminiscing. Someone should read the weather report for the day, maybe the stock exchange report if it’s not too depressing and maybe a review of the good news items in the paper. Then one or two family members or friends can read one of the funnier compositions from my files. I’ll be writing more as the years pass by, but if things change quickly for the worst there’s a poem about a tattooed woman or the ever popular squirrel story that can be used.

So there you have my wishes for my final arrangements. If I’ve left anything out feel free to be creative. Just make sure every idea is light hearted and fun. We should die as we have lived and I’d like a happy send off. As for the disposal arrangements I think cremation followed by ash dispersal in an appropriate river valley would be just fine. You probably can guess the river.

Have a fine day.

MEN VS WOMEN: A Rebuttal

Recently a renowned philosopher wrote an article with several declarations regarding the superiority of women and, of course, conversely, the inferiority of the male of the human species. Most of his allegations were based on research conducted within his own home so they are to be considered suspect. With such a narrow statistical sampling, which he projects willy-nilly on the whole of male humanity, there are bound to be some errors in his conclusions.

This esteemed scholar, who shall remain nameless in the interests of protecting him from the wrath of his fellows, claims that “men are pigs”, “men are incapable of multi tasking”, “men are morons”, “men can not open a can of soup without the help of women” and again “men are pigs”. He also implies that a centuries old fact, men are better drivers, is a delusion. This formerly great thinker treads on dangerous ground.

In the interests of good science I conducted a highly complex investigation using large data sampling techniques to test my colleague’s hypotheses. Using these sophisticated surveying techniques I came to strikingly different conclusions, grounded in real research and not sullied by personal prejudice. So there.

First we’ll look at the issue of multi-tasking. In my surveys I found that 87% of the male respondents (some women responded because the men in their houses were busy watching football but I won’t report their comments) could do many tasks at one time. Some reported the ability to send text messages to their fantasy football friends while watching real football. Some reported that they could watch TV, eat dinner and think about the best way to fix the garage door all at the same time. Some said that they could listen to their wife’s description of new curtains, think about sex and drink a beer with out the least bit of difficulty. An amazing 98% of men reported that they could read and attend to certain bodily functions at the same time. Therefore, research shows that men multi-task on an almost daily basis.

Now we’ll tackle the claim that men are morons. This is much harder to dispute based on even the most scientific surveys. Some men are morons. Some women are morons. Pretty much all teenagers are morons. To test the hypothesis I asked respondents to name ten morons. Then I looked at the number of men on the respective lists as compared to the number of women. The mean average was four male morons, four female morons and two teenage morons. Not surprisingly several public figures were listed on all surveys. Politicians were cited, both male and female, most often. Certain sports figures, Michael Vick and Brett Favre being the most common, were also mentioned. Every single respondent listed Hillary Clinton and Regis Philbin. So the scientific evidence would seem to support the fact that both men and women are morons.

Next the question of soup can opening must be addressed. This research involved only three simple questions: “Can you open a can of soup?”, “How do you open a can of soup?” and finally “Have you ever, since reaching adulthood, needed a woman to help open a can of soup?” The results of the survey showed that 93.76% of the male respondents say they can open a can of soup. Only 2% ever need the help of a woman in opening a can of soup. And the descriptions of how a can of soup is opened were representative of several variations. Just over 60% said they used a can opener, 29% said they pulled the little tab thingy and lifted off the lid, 9% responded “other”, 1% said they used a Bowie knife and 1% said they used their teeth. Of the 6.24% who said they couldn’t open a can of soup 5% were handicapped in some way. Therefore the evidence is conclusive. Men can open soup cans.

Finally we must look at the claim that “men are pigs”. Now piggishness is a relative notion. Where some people might see a little dust and an out of place newspaper as an indication of slovenly living another group might think that three days worth of dirty dishes, an overflowing laundry basket and a little soap scum in the shower is not really that big a deal. My colleague cites the example of office desks as one proof of pig like behavior. My personal work space is only mildly cluttered now but when I was a store manager there was a great deal of disarray in my office. But I knew where every document and note was in that pile of confusion. So to test the hypothesis presented by the article in question I submitted four photographs for the respondents review. Each photo showed the same room in various states of cleanliness. The first photo, which is of the living room in my house after a whole day of entertaining my grandsons, represents the messiest situation. The other three photos were taken in the days following as we assaulted the levels of debris and disarray gradually returning the room to pristine condition. Each respondent was asked to label one of the photos as an example of extreme piggishness. Then I compared those results to the same survey done of an equal number of women. The results were surprising though not totally unexpected. Over 60% of both men and women selected the photograph of the room that had been cleaned up to a level of fifty percent clean as bieng piggish. Nearly 5% of the women thought piggishness was represented in the totally cleaned room. And nearly 5% of the men thought the totally messed up room was clean. So once again we find that men and women are just about the same. Piggish behavior is not the sole purview of either sex. Science has spoken.

My colleague states in his final paragraph that women could rule the planet but that the reverse would be catastrophic. He states that without women men would simply not exist. Well, duh? How scientific is that? Everyone, even narrow minded science guys like me, know that it takes both a man and a woman to create a new person. And as for ruling the world that’s probably handled better as a joint effort as well. Any time throughout history where either sex has been dominant the job gets kind of botched up. So maybe if a balance could be struck things would run a little better. But that’s not science, just common sense. My colleague’s article can be read at www.pboureysthoughts.blogspot.com Even though it reinforces stereotypes that we men should be fighting against it’s funny, in an unscientific way, and probably pretty close to the truth at his house.

Have a fine day.

SPORTS: A Rumination

Sports are not a major obsession for me. Some of my friends and family are avid fans but I have avoided that particular virus. Cheering wildly for a group of millionaire athletes who have no particular loyalty to the city they represent, other than the inflated paycheck they get seems a little silly. I’d rather cheer for the owners. At least they have an investment in the enterprise.

There was a time when I followed a baseball or hockey team to some degree. But now my interest is usually only sustained during the final round of playoffs. And I never developed any interest in basketball. Football is pretty much an excuse to drink beer and eat wings, and that also only occurs during the playoffs. Of course not having regular access to TV limits my involvement in the sporting world. That seems to be how people get hooked into fanaticism. I’m old enough to remember when baseball games were on TV on weekends only, as were most sports programs. Boxing did show up on Friday nights sometimes. Weekday ball games were something I tuned in the transistor radio for with the little earplug thing stuck in my head. Nowadays if you’ve got premium cable or satellite you can watch sports all day every day. Professional, college and amateur sports are always available.

Baseball, basketball, football, soccer, tennis, golf, car racing, bowling and hockey are regular fixtures on the tube. In addition you can find track and field, lumberjack competitions, beach volleyball, inside volleyball, table tennis, boxing, wrestling, fighting where guys try to maim each other and darts. I know I’ve missed something. Oh yeah, horse racing, skiing, rodeo and dog sled racing show up every now and then. Of course the Olympics, summer and winter, come along every few years. That’s a lot of sports going out over the airwaves. A serious fan needs to devote a great deal of time to the pursuit of his pleasure. It can involve complex scheduling and lots of highly complicated recording technology. Sleep deprivation ensues. Marriages are broken. It’s not easy for the true fan to get through his days and nights.

Attending professional sporting events is a high dollar proposition. My fixed income won’t allow for the purchase of tickets. I see folks who drop a couple hundred bucks on an afternoon at an Eagles game in Philadelphia. That money would only cover tickets for two and parking a mile from the stadium. Baseball isn’t quite as high but it isn’t cheap. And the NBA tickets are a joke. So although attendance is usually pretty strong in most markets the TV is the cheapest way to watch the pros. I have a cousin who likes his hometown hockey team so much that he got a job as a security guy at the arena. Either he really likes the team or he’s just too cheap to part with his cash. Or both.

When I look at the social networking internet sites I notice quite a bit of friendly banter about various sports teams and events. Some people are avid Yankee or Red Sox fans. Others favor the Dodgers or more obscure teams like the Nationals or the pitiful Orioles. But loyalty knows no bounds. A team can be solidly entrenched in the cellar, forty games out of the running and loyal fans will still be following their team. Of course the $40.00 tickets won’t be selling so hot towards the end of the season, unless the Yankees come to town for a game.

I always thought that enthusiasm for sports was a particularly American personality quirk. But when I went to England a few years back I learned otherwise. The British are just as whacked as we are. They follow football (soccer over here), rugby, golf, tennis and cricket. Some Brits even follow American football and baseball. Then when I met a young man from Ghana I found out that sports are a major deal in his country. Soccer is the big obsession but they also pay attention to boxing and several American sports. Then a Canadian guy told me that sports were huge up there in the great white north. They even follow a really weird ice game called Curling. As far as I can tell it involves sliding heavy rocks down the ice while other guys sweep with brooms in a vigorous manner ahead of the rocks. It’s strange I know but it is Canada.

So I guess my absence from the world of fandom and my minor objections to the costs, both financial and spiritual, aren’t going to diminish the importance of sport in the country. My only hope is that folks pay as much attention to what happens in politics as they do to the Little League World Series. Then we’d have the best of both worlds; an electorate that knows the stats of the president, senators and congressmen and an entertained bunch of fans.

Have a fine day.