MOLES

If both of my readers may recall, some time ago I wrote a blog about the moles who were terrorizing my yard.  In order to make sense about the rest of today’s article please take a few minutes and read my “mole blog” from February, 2018. Here is a link:

http://westofdenver.blogspot.com/2018/02/patent-application.html?m=1

OK, now that you have read or re-read this entry from yesteryear, welcome back. I’d like to now take you to a YouTube video that I recently found. It gives credence to my belief that I’m not the only crazy person in this world. Enjoy the video, here’s a link:

https://youtu.be/wPYxP-XQHeA

Readers, enjoy your day. 

STUMP

Some years ago I became a Sussex Spaniel enthusiast. My interest didn’t stem from any real knowledge about the breed nor did I have any desire to enter a dog in dog shows. Instead, I thought that the dogs of Sussex Spaniel lineage were just funny, goofy-looking dogs that must be fun to own. I could picture a Sussex lying comfortably in front of a roaring fireplace on a cold winter day enjoying a lengthy afternoon nap. Thus, it was with this pedestrian interest that I wanted to acquire a Sussex Spaniel for my 55th birthday in 2004. Luckily, there was a breeder close to where we lived in Albuquerque whom we contacted and ultimately bought our Sussex. True to form, our spaniel didn’t disappoint us. She was a funny, goofy-looking dog who provided us with many hours of affection, laughter and enjoyment for the 10 years of her life.

During the time that we owned our Sussex, I became close friends with her breeder and would drive north of Albuquerque to visit her and help her with various home projects. During these times she would educate me on the ins and outs of dog championships. It was during one of her dog shows that I had the pleasure of meeting “Stump”. His given pedigree name was “Clussexx Three D Grinchy Glee” which is a bit of a mouthful, thus his more common name of “Stump”. He was a legend not only in the breed of Sussex Spaniels but also among ALL breeds, having amassed an unheard of number of dog show wins. This includes a best in show win at the prestigious Westminster Kennel Club show.

While helping out my breeder friend at a dog show in Bernalillo, New Mexico, she pointed to a dog across the judge’s ring and told me “That’s Stump.” At that point I took the liberty of meandering over to that side of the ring and introducing myself to Stump’s handler. I asked if I may pet the dog and his handler gave me the ok. I then sat down next to Stump and gave him a quick ear scratch. He proceeded to wiggle his body around, thus ensuring that numerous parts of his body that needed scratching were, indeed, scratched. It was at this point that Stump laid his head down and promptly went into a shallow doggie nap. This nap was interrupted after a short time by Stump’s handler who told me that Stump had to see the groomer prior to his participation in the show.

That was the first, last and only time I was ever to spend time with this wonderful dog. Overall, I was left with the feeling that Stump, given the choice between being a show dog - flying around the country to various events and shows, etc. or just being a house dog, he’d probably choose the latter. As he put his head on my lap and went to sleep, I can only imagine that he was dreaming of just being a regular pet dog, lying comfortably in front of a roaring fireplace on a cold winter day enjoying a lengthy afternoon nap.

Readers, enjoy your day.

HANDSHAKES

It’s the widely seen act of greeting - the handshake. Furthermore, it has come to signify a bonding between individuals. Business people have had handshake business deals in which both parties were bonded to a stated verbal agreement.

More commonly, it kind of goes like this:

“Hey, you old so and so! Come on over here - I want to shake your hand.”
“A new baby? Let me shake your hand.”
“A promotion? Put ‘er there, pal!”

Of late, I’ve become rather put off by the act of shaking hands. This is not entirely because of cleanliness issues or health concerns, mind you. It has more to do with the nonsense of the whole thing. You see, I’ve done a bit of research into the origin of the handshake and am amazed at the history of this ritualistic behavior.

It all started as early as prehistoric times when one cave man would approach another cave man. Neither of these individuals wanted the other one to brandish a club, so upon seeing the other, each would raise his hand to show the other that he had no weapon in which to bludgeon the other one and subsequently steal his prize dead hyena that was destined for the dinner table.

Fast forward to the Middle Ages. The ritual of holding up one’s hand to show the absence of a weapon took on a new twist. Now, each individual has to shake hands with the other. The reason for this behavior is shocking. It’s because of distrust. By shaking the other individual’s hand, each could ascertain whether the other one was carrying a hidden weapon. Presumably, upon shaking hands, a knife, club or spear would fall from the other guy’s armpit thus giving away his evil intentions.

And this behavior continues after many generations of humans blindly following along.

Maybe I’m naive but I really don’t feel the need to shake loose a concealed weapon from an approaching individual.

I’m not the only one who feels this way. Fist bumps, elbow bumps and peace signs are gaining popularity as personal greetings. I’ve always been partial to the “Butt Bump” but I don’t see that becoming a mainstream greeting. Nonetheless, I’m excited to see how this whole thing “shakes out” over the next few years.


Readers, enjoy your day.

CHEAP WINE

Wine snobs tend to annoy me. But, then again, people in general tend to annoy me. But let’s get back to the subject at hand - wine snobs. As one who cannot tell the difference between a Chateau Rothschild and Mad Dog 20/20, I’m uniquely qualified to comment on this.

The wife and I took a trip to Napa, California some years ago. We had a great time visiting wineries, eating wonderful food and experiencing the Wine Train. I couldn’t help, however, that I felt out of place. No matter where one turns in Napa, one hears people singing the praises of various wines. Where I get the feeling that I’m an outsider is when hearing or reading about descriptions of a particular wine (“it has shades of apricot accented with light hints of grapefruit”). To me, it just tastes like, well, wine.

That stated, I’ve always gravitated toward wines that are placed in the section of the store deemed the “economy section” next to the Old Milwaukee and down the aisle from the generic cheese doodles. In these wines one cannot discern hints of apricot or grapefruit, just undertones of potato peelings. Despite misgiving that people have about economy wines, after years of experience I can attest to the fact that one can get used to their taste. Mind you that socially you become a bit of an outcast when showing up at a party with a 1.5 liter bottle of Lancer’s Rosé. On the bright side, usually you can go home with most of the contents of the bottle intact.

Thus, after 35 years with the wife who has quaffed numerous bottles of cheap wine with me, she told me something that shocked me to my very core. She told me that she discovered a love of more expensive wines. The reason for this is that “they don’t give me a headache and acid reflux.”

Now I’ve heard it all.

In simple economic terms, one can offset the offensive effects of a $3 bottle of wine with a few Advil and a handful of Tums which may set you back a total of 25¢.

And that’s still a heck of a lot cheaper than an expensive $3.75 bottle of wine.


Readers, enjoy your day.

HOBBIES FOR OLD FARTS

I've been searching for a good hobby to keep my hands and mind occupied. It used to be that old farts would play checkers, collect pennies or stamps, play a harmonica or other such activities. Of these hobbies I find one of them to be the most humorous.

Collecting pennies? How ridiculous.

As none of those mentioned holds any particular appeal to me, I've been actively seeking other ways to occupy (spelled W-A-S-T-E) my time. I was at a dead end until last week when I read that there's a local group of model airplane flyers close to where I live. They even have their own airstrip. Thinking about this, I remembered fondly how when I was a young boy I would beg my father to take me to where model airplane enthusiasts would fly their creations every Sunday. On occasion, he would drop his Sunday Boston Globe and take me to the model airfield where we would hobnob among the "pilots" (that's what they called themselves). To a young kid, these guys were the real deal, dressed in airplane-appropriate clothing, having huge aviator watches, and wearing those ultra-cool sunglasses with green lenses. Yep, to me, these guys were "the high and the mighty". I loved how they talked to each other with sweeping hand gestures, describing the last flight of their model crafts. Even as a young boy I ascertained that the pilots' conversations were highly exaggerated but were nonetheless exciting to my young ears. 

Thus, with a newfound youthful enthusiasm I dug into every bit of online information that I could find about radio-controlled (RC) airplanes. I was amazed at how much information was available. 

In analyzing and synthesizing this veritable warehouse of data, I learned one thing - these model planes crash...a lot. Each and every pilot related horror stories about how many planes they have crashed over the years. Interestingly, most of the pilots take it in stride, the thought being "I'll just buy a bigger faster plane". (NOTE: One which they likely will subsequently crash.)

So, armed with this information, I did some math. First: Each flight of a model plane lasts about 10 minutes. Let's exaggerate that time and say 20 minutes (or about 8.5 hours per 6 months). Next: Pilots who fly weekly will crash a plane every six months (my SWAG estimate). Thirdly: A fairly good plane and setup will run you about $500. So, if we ignore all other factors (gasoline, jewelry, dinner, wine and dancing for neglected wife, etc.) we come up with $500/8.5 hours or about $59/hour. 

For a guy as cheap as I am that's a pretty expensive hobby.

Accordingly, I've changed my mind and have decided to collect pennies.

Pinching the ones that I collect will be a bonus.

Readers, enjoy your day.

"CASE QUEEN"

While neither of my two readers may know what a Case Queen is, I'd venture a bet that nearly every guitar enthusiast knows the term. A Case Queen is a guitar that was purchased numerous years ago, left in its case, stuffed away in a closet and never or rarely played. These guitars are rare, indeed. And guitarists are scared stiff of them. 

To put it into terms that are more familiar to those who fall outside of the guitar aficionado genre, try this on for size: you read an ad in eBay that states "For Sale - 1955 Cadillac, 5 actual miles, garaged for the last 64 years, immaculate condition. Price: $200.00". Are you skeptical? You should be.

Thus, when Case Queens come on the market, they are met with a certain degree of trepidation.

That trepidation hit me between the eyes last week when I saw a listing in eBay describing a 28 year-old Fender Stratocaster. The words used to describe it were very familiar to me: 1991 Strat, mint condition, never played, still has plastic protection layer on pickguard, no fretwear.

 Yeah, right.

Despite my disbelief, over the next few days I was repeatedly drawn to the listing. Something made me think that this one was for real. Accordingly, I submitted an offer and, presumably due to the general disbelief among my fellow musicians toward Case Queens, my offer was the only one submitted and it was accepted.

GULP!

To make a long story short, the guitar arrived yesterday and it was 100% as advertised. I have scored a genuine Case Queen. But there's more to the story.

Among the various items provided to me was the original sales receipt. The owner was a guy (whose name was listed) who bought it from a Guitar Center in San Francisco, California. I Googled the name of the original owner. The name was not a very common name and I am fairly confident that he is a well-known lawyer who still lives and practices in San Francisco. 

It bugs the heck out of me that he never played it - but why?

Short of contacting the lawyer in S.F. and pulling him out of an important court case to answer my stupid questions, I've opted to consider several different scenarios for why the instrument sat untouched in a closet for the past 28 years. 

The first scenario is rather dull but certainly the most plausible. Specifically, the original owner (the lawyer) was thinking about learning guitar but due to his busy job in the legal profession he never took the time. One day his wife needed more room for her burgeoning collection of fashion shoes, saw the guitar in the closet and sold it on eBay.

The second scenario is highly unlikely. It goes something like this: the lawyer was heavily involved representing clients in the music industry. As a gift for his hard work, B.B. King, Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck, Robert Cray and Jimmy Page bought him the guitar. Twenty-eight years later, the lawyer's wife needed room for her fashion shoes and sold the guitar on eBay. 

Rather than spend the rest of my life pondering why my mint condition 1991 Strat was never played, I'm going with the second scenario.

Despite it's unlikely nature, it just feels right.

Readers, enjoy your day.

NIGHTMARES

The dreams that I normally experience are the kind and gentle variety - walking calmly through a wooded area, skiing on a bright sunny day, or other pleasant experiences. I think that, before the past few weeks, the worst dream I've ever had involved being chased by Ethel Merman wielding a hockey stick while singing "There's No Business Like Show Business".

My mother's philosophy about nightmares was that they're caused by eating Italian food. I've never believed that but always think about it while eating a large pizza.

Of late I've had the absolute worst nightmares - the type that you wake up in a cold sweat wanting to scream. The misery and suffering in these nightmares is indescribable. Blood, guts, gore, murder, sleazy lawyers, guns, police chases, addiction, death, insanity, poverty, revenge and suicide. An that's only about half of it.

I can barely stand the thought of closing my eyes at night.

But, enough of that.

In an unrelated matter, the wife and I have finally subscribed to Netflix. We've binge-watched all 62 episodes of Breaking Bad in the past two weeks.

Readers, enjoy your day.