What Did Lingonberries Have To Do With Anything?

Heads with nothing in them
Had lots to say
Why were days so long?
Why did all my friends
Have white beards?
No answers
Only groans–and
Excuses for puns
Stand up straight
For perfect pasta
Iraq, paper, scissors
Down bubble, half-bubble
Lingonberries were a
Big thing in Sweden
Or so, I’ve heard


Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

Stan, a couple of hours can make a big difference.

Yes, they certainly can, Ollie.

They certainly can.


Florida’s reputation as “The Sunshine State” was in jeopardy–according to their state legislature.  Two new laws drafted to do something about it.

The first would make Daylight Saving Time a year-round thing.  The second, would put all of Florida in the Eastern Time Zone.

As things are now, Central time changes to Eastern time near Tallahassee, the state capitol.  That would be fine, if there were not another issue at hand.  I reside in a state that borders Florida–all of which is Central time.

This would make Pensacola, which is near where I live, an hour ahead. Not much of an adjustment when going shopping, or out to dine.  However, during winter months, when my state remained on standard time–there would be a two-hour difference.

Imagine catching a Pensacola International flight, allowing two hours for boarding, check-in, then adding the two-hour time difference.  A flight that departed at 10 AM, would mean, a four-hour allowance (not including drive time).

I wondered what Floridians thought about it?  The payoff–more hours of daylight in winter.  The takeaway–commuting, to school and work in the dark.

I didn’t object to the whole state being Eastern time.  It was tinkering with DST that gave me pause.  I’d prefer things to stay as they are.


The Age Of Aquarius, Part II?

Are you ready? Ready for what, you say? The new Age Of Aquarius, happening this coming weekend.  According to astronomers, planets will be aligned starting this Thursday, through the weekend.

Imagine, from East to West, Jupiter, the moon, Mars, Saturn, and Pluto, lined-up across the sky.  Early risers, Thursday morning, will witness this rare phenomenon.

Proper planetary alignment (or lack thereof) could be a good excuse as to why you were late for work–or not?  I assume no liability if you should choose to do so.

Such celestial alignments, have in the past, given rise to some bizarre speculations.  One of which, was it would cause weightlessness.  I could use some weightlessness, since I need to lose a few pounds.  Not complete weightlessness–I don’t wish to float through outer space for all eternity.


When the moon is in the seventh house, and Jupiter aligns with Mars, then peace will rule the planet, and love will steer the stars…

Harmony and understanding, sympathy and trust abounding…The mind’s true liberation…

Lofty goals from The Fifth Dimension in 1969.  Will there ever be true peace in the world?  I don’t know.  But we can always hope.

I was there for the first go-around.  Nothing special happened for me.  Nobody said anything about the moon being in the seventh house–whatever that meant?  But you can bet I will be ready for the New Age of Aquarius–should it ever come into fruition.



Kissed By An Anvil

The little doohickey at the bottom of my toilet tank, sadly reached the end of its planned obsolescent life.

Water trickled in perpetuity from under the rim between flushes. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

An inspection, revealed the flush valve, was also on the critical list. It appeared to be drooling from the top, when flushed.

High ho, high ho, off to the big-box home improvement store. What would I encounter there?

More needlessly complex parts, when all I wanted was the same as what came off–only newer and operational?

“For a mere 79.95. the next-generation, Flap-O-Matic, smart flapper, with digital readouts, water usage monitoring, and notification to your smart phone, in the unlikely event that anything would go wrong.  Guaranteed for two years.”

No thanks, I’ll take this one for 15.99, that looks just like the old
one.”  Everything replaced at home–the KISS method worked once more.

Twenty-First Century Good Fellas (Updated)

“I really like you kid; in an appropriate, non-gender specific sort of way, of course,” Said Sal.

“Jimmy, you’re gonna’ go places if you follow a few ground rules.”

“What do you mean, Boss?” Jimmy asked.

“It means you have to change your ways of doing business. You can’t go around cracking coconuts–like you did with Herman the German. So what if he didn’t sell, locally grown, sustainably produced agricultural products?

“Where was your empathy? Why, in the old days, I woulda’ head-slapped you already. I’m going to be more sensitive and give you one more chance. Don’t screw it up.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Big Eddie for bailing you out.”

“Eddie, what the hell are you doing? I’m braggin’ on you and you’re falling asleep on me?”

“Sorry Boss, I was meditating,” Eddie answered. Sal’s face was beet red.

“Do your meditating somewhere else–on your own time.”

Big Eddie hadn’t been the same since bariatric surgery–in a quest to become “Not-so-big-Eddie.” Last night at Luigi’s he’d ordered vegetarian lasagna. Lucky for Eddie, Sal hadn’t noticed. Eddie’s Yoga classes would have been the last straw.

“Don’t neither of you lunkheads get too comfortable. I’m not done talking.” Sal was on a roll. Big Eddie craved a fresh-fruit smoothie in the worst way, but kept quiet.

“This business has changed. Think of what we do, as Sal’s Security Services. I want you two guys to become security consultants. Instead of intimidation, arm-twisting and gourd-cracking, you’ve got to play to people’s fears and anxieties.”

“It’s like being a bartender. Bartenders listen. You should say things like, ‘How ya’ doin’ Pal? What can I help you with? That’s a tough break. I’m here for you.’ Listen to people, be sensitive to their needs. Even if you don’t feel like doing it.”

“They sell salty snacks at bars; and how about salty, movie theatre popcorn?” Do you two, knuckleheads have any idea why they do that? Sorry, that was insensitive of me. Do either of you two gentlemen have any idea why they do that?”

“So, they can sell more drinks, Boss.” “That’s right, Jimmy. Keep thinking that way, and I’ll keep you around. Think of people’s fears as salty snacks. We will quench their security needs–just like those, 64 ounce, refreshing, cold drinks.”

“Big Eddie, you’re lookin’ good. You’ve dropped some weight, got those double chins tightened up.”

“Thanks Boss,” Eddie answered. “Still got a ways to go.”

“Jimmy, stop wearing that stupid baseball cap turned around backwards. We’re professionals–want people to like us.”

Both of you could stand to be more sensitive.  Jimmie and Eddie looked as if they’d been shot.  Sal fractured many bones over the years–none of them sensitive.

“Next week you’re both going to sensitivity classes.  Don’t look at me that way.  If you want to work for me–you’ve got to go.”

Sal, alleged, but never convicted, wise guy, became Sal–mentor, philosopher, proprietor of Sal’s 21st Century Security Services.  That was then, this was now.

Jimmy and Eddie looked spiffy in their new, dark green uniform shirts.  Eddie sighed, contemplated going home to play with Biff, his new boxer puppy.

Another Saturday Night

Saturday Night’s All Right For Fighting. Another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody. There are a lot more songs about Saturday.

Except it’s still Friday, at this writing. No use lamenting Saturday in advance.

I have to save my strength for tomorrow’s monthly trip to the warehouse discount store. If nothing else, it affords ample opportunities for people watching and group dynamics.

There may indeed be some sad Saturday night sentimentality, after a few dozen trips up and down the aisles, then waiting in long checkout lines.