The Secret

This morning it occurred to me that I did not have a post titled The Secret.  So, without further ado, I introduce to you a post titled "The Secret".  Now the hard part - writing The Secret.  We all have them.  Some are simple and not really hurting anyone.  And some are spectacular.  Larger than life.  If people found out there would be chaos in the street and rabbits would be hopping all over the place.  I, like most men, have a few secrets.  Some are simple and others are so spectacular ... blah, blah, blah.  One in particular I am asked about at least once a day.  The question goes like this, "Rueuhy, what's your secret -  How do you write so much?"  After someone asks me a question like that I contact the NSA and get as much information as I can about them.  Just the other day I found out Suzanne B. Anthony was actually placing a lot of calls to Tom Newark in New Jersey.  The NSA didn't know why but she was being monitored.  And let me be clear on this - Susan does use AT&T after switching from T-Mobile.  Why did Susan switch?  Was it the coverage area?  Did she get a good deal on a phone?   After clearing it with the NSA I called Susan back and told her my secret.  After I told her I made inquiries about her phone usage that day. Would you believe she did not call one person about what I had told her?  This totally goes against normal human behavior.  Isn't it normal behavior to contact your friends and family when you've got some real juicy news to report?  Well, to simplify things, and to get people to quit nagging me with this question I figured I would just write it for all to see.  The reason I am able to write so much and make it as interesting as possible is this -  many years ago a man came to my door and handed me a briefcase filled with sheets of paper with code on them.  For the next twenty years I would spend hours looking at those pieces of paper and trying to break the code on them.  "If only I could figure out the code on them.", I would tell myself.  My kids would come to the bathroom and door, and knock, and ask, "Daddy, are you almost done in there?  We have to brush our teeth before we go to bed."  I would yell back "Yeah, just as soon as you tell me what the code means."  They would mumble "Night Daddy" and go off to bed.  After twenty years of spending hours every night after work to try to figure out the code it finally hit me what it all meant.  I was never meant to figure out the code.  And I would find out five years after this that the man who showed up at my door was really just a guy named Steve from two blocks over who was just playing a practical joke.  So how does this answer the question of "How do I write so much?"  Well, it doesn't really but it was kind of interesting.  And that's the secret.  After 40+ years of living outside of the cave my parents raised me in, I have discovered that writing just simply comes out of the imagination and creativity center of the brain.  It actually just comes naturally to me like a kitty drawn to a gnawed lamp cord that's plugged in just waiting for their curiosity to kick in.  For some reason my brain's just wired for it.  And if I don't let the words out then my deepest fear is another briefcase will show up at the door. And this time it won't be Steve delivering it.  (Que the dramatic music and blackout)

My Next $40,000 Television

I was browsing through my Roku channels yesterday and I decided to take a look at the CNET channel for the newest trends on phones and computers. I go there once a week out of boredom and to quench my thirst for new technology crazes.  While visiting I stumbled across the latest innovation from Sony.  Using the newest Ultra High Definition (UHD) technology, you, the viewer, who is broke from financing such an item, and can't afford the cable anymore, will be able to watch nothing (no one puts out 4K level films yet).  But, you'll be the envy of everyone next year.  Because the speed at which new technology hits us is faster than the rate of decay on that pizza you left in the refrigerator last week.  What is 4K you ask?  I refuse to answer that and how dare you ask me such frivolous questions.  I'm just a guy typing.  Well, maybe I should tell you because this post would make more sense.  In a nutshell, a really clear and crisp nutshell, 4K is the horizontal pixel rating on ultra high definition tv's.  Basically 3820 x 2160 pixel resolution.  The new, old high definition was 1080 pixel and they've quadrupled it.  That's like multiplying it four times.  Now, for your information, I do own one tv that sits in our front room.  It is a Samsung that I got a good deal on at a national electronics store and it is high definition.  It's not the "top of the line" but I'm really happy with it.  It's a 52" I believe (I can't really remember) and it is clear and crisp for what we watch on netflix.  Or sometimes, at least twice a year, we change the source from the Roku streaming device to the Blue Ray player and watch a dvd.  I've actually never sat watching my present tv and thought "If only I could see the blackheads on that young actors face."  Or "How much longer must I suffer with just high definition tv.  I want ULTRA high definition." There does come a point when consumers must be satisfied don't you think?  I guess the marketing will draw the new customers to the flame brilliantly displayed in ultra high definition with fluent lines and dazzling colors.  Myself, I can't see paying $5000 for a tv.  Or $40,000 for the new 84" model Sony is selling.  But that's me.  I do like technology but I do have to remain realistic.  Sometimes I am a bit perplexed by the choices people make in their lives.  For example, when I go into other people's houses for the work I do it's hard not to notice these choices.  I will see evidence of a certain low income level with the exception of the 60" big screen high definition tv proudly displayed in the living room.  It's hard not to wonder why such an expensive purchase was made.  But perhaps it was a gift or they won it.  I don't know for sure so I really can't pronounce judgement on someone just because a $1000 tv is surrounded by cardboard boxes being used as end tables.  I don't know the story.  But I do know this - the effect on us, the poor schmuck's who buy into what the advertisers are paid so well to do and sell to us has progressed beyond the reasonable and sometimes a person just needs to look around and say to themselves "I have plenty and I should be satisfied."  In reality, especially here in the United States, our poorest of poorest are far richer than the moderate and higher income in other countries.  We literally rent storage to just contain the overflow.  How many of us have garages that contain just enough extra space to park their vehicle?  Or don't have space in the garage to even park due to the overflow?  I guess what I'm saying is we're being lied to just to buy stuff.  At what point will our imaginary thirst be quenched.   Soda is a good example of this.  If a person merely drank water to re-hydrate themselves than a small glass would probably be sufficient.  But convincing ourselves that a 32 ounce soda is "just enough for now" should be considered a lie we tell ourselves just to quiet that sweet tooth down.  But that's your choice and I would never want to take that choice away.  Buy two if you feel it's necessary. (I know I've done that before.)  Yes, I'm rambling but I'm trying to make a point.  Sometimes we just have to pause and look around and feel some gratitude for the abundance we have.  We just have to quit buying into the lie that we're being told.  But that's just my take on it.  If you really do want a 4K tv than you should buy one.  But it will be awhile before you can watch much on it.  Very few production companies actually film in such a format but what is being produced is going to be clear and crisp.  Four times clearer and crisper.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Finding The Twerk Off Button

I used to be young and infamous. Or perhaps I was just infamous.  And one thing we all definitely have in common is the progression of time and its power over our bodies.  Try to imagine the time when Grandma was actually "hot".  Actually, don't.  It's just weird and it makes Grandpa look perverted.  Instead, try to imagine your kids when they're in their 60's.  Of course you'll be the one sitting in the wheelchair as they're visiting you in the nursing home.  But just imagine.  The toll of years and worry lines on their faces.  The loss of sleep because the bills had to be paid.  The wisdom in their eyes as they caress your hand and check the time on their watches/phones.  You've become a statistic and they've become you.  Now imagine you're Billy Ray Cyrus.  Who?  Billy Ray Cyrus - "Don't break my heart, my achy-breaky heart" Cyrus.  He's the father of one Miley Cyrus.  Now, if you don't know who Miley Cyrus is then you may not know what twerking is. Actually, according to John Tyldon, the author of such books as "Twerk First, Dance Later" and "My Butt Can't Stop", twerking can be credited to people of dark skinned persuasion.  If you remember a previous post of mine - If Babies Came With Labels - I mentioned I would use the term "dark" to describe people of dark skin persuasion rather than the old labels. There has been some outrage lately because there are a few who feel that Miss Cyrus is using an old dance move that rightly belongs to the "dark" column and is being misconstrued for her own self-promotion.  But I digress .... The use of rhythmically moving your butt in time with the music while in a provocative stance is the newest claim to fame by one previously known as Hannah Montana.  I came across a few minutes of her at the latest MTV music awards show (I'm not a fan of her or MTV but the internet is what it is) and I gotta say "Stop it Miley!!!"  It actually looks like a cross between an ugly prostitute and a really bad cult demonic movie from the 70's.  I can honestly say that I'm not really acquainted with her work as Hannah Montana.  Nor am I a fan of her music.  I've never really seen a video of hers or know much about her criminal record.  But I do know this - she is going down a path that is filled with regret.  Oh, she's famous now and the money's probably pouring in but I guess when I think about the "twerking" and the need she seems to demonstrate with it, I start to feel a little bad for Mr. Cyrus, the father.  Now, if we were to throw blame and names around, he would be at the forefront of the refuse thrown.  He promoted his daughter and now she's hooked on the fame and stardom.  Much like cigarettes and beer, they seem to go hand in hand for most.  (I'm doing a terrible job of grouping groups of people together - smokers and drinkers - and I apologize) but it does seem a little cliche if you've ever been to a bar on a Saturday night before the "no smoking" ordinances that have become common place among our cities.  But Mr. Cyrus will probably regret the promoting he did with his innocent daughter for the fame he thought she needed.  And someday, when the wrinkles have set in and luster of the glitter that continues to be sprinkled has diminished in it's twinkling effect, Miley Cyrus is probably going to regret the recorded history made of her exploits.  And I can only imagine the phone calls made between her and Madonna at the Hollywood Nursing Home.  But for now can someone please find the twerking off button?  It's disturbing and I think a lot of people feel the same way.  I guess, as a father, when I see stuff like this "everywhere" I really get mad and upset at the promotion of this crap.  Some of you may say "Lighten up Rueuhy.  It's just our culture now and the kids will adapt."  But how can a person lighten up when the evidence of the decay of moral values and decency seem to be glamorized by the media and the "pop star" mentality?  I said before that I feel sorry for Billy Ray Cyrus and his "achy, breaky heart".  Because down deep inside, past the desire for fame and fortune for himself, there's a heart that probably wears a heavy gown of distrust in its reasoning.  His little girl has grown up and she's on a road that may never have a spot to turn around.  But she's famous and a household name.  I guess that's what's important.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

The Song - 50 Ways To Cook Your Kitty

50 Ways to cook your kitty in the style of  "50 Ways To Leave Your Lover" stolen by Paul Simon


There's my kitty sittin' next to my tv
She never moves around unless she needs to pee
I'm sick and tired of going hung-r-y
There must be 50 ways to cook your kitty

I've got pots and pans and a George Forman Grill
I'm just a simple man with culinary skills
I'll have to skin her first and maybe I'll have stew
There must be 50 ways to cook your kitty
(There must be 50 ways to cook your kitty)

- Chorus -
Use a little salt, Jack
Garlic and chives, Ty
You don't have to broil, Roy
But the meat is free
You might wanna filet, Jay
Try some marinate, Kate
Pre-heat to bake, Jake
And the meat is free


She put up a fight and ran up into a tree
I stayed awake all night until she got hungry
I'm gonna feed her until she's big enough for two
There must be 50 ways to cook your kitty
(There must be 50 ways to cook your kitty)


- Chorus-
Use a little salt, Jack
Garlic and chives, Ty
You don't have to broil, Roy
But the meat is free
You might wanna filet, Jay
Try some marinate, Kate
Pre-heat to bake, Jake
And the meat is free

(Repeat Chorus until you're sick of singing)

There Must Be 50 Ways To Cook Your Kitty

Some of you are probably excited about "Tangent Day".  I know I am.  "What's Tangent Day?" some of you ask.  Well, Tangent Day is a day just like any other day that I go off on another fun-filled tangent.  Tangents, in their simplicity, are a unique form of entertainment I devised years ago in my 4th grade year of elementary school.  Mrs. Hobrock hated my tangents.  She called them "Tangent Tantrums".  She would look me straight in the eye (most people couldn't do that because of the eye injury the year before and the eye patch always threw them off) and say something clever like "Now see here Rueuhy.  This is my class and I will not have you off on one of your tangent tantrums."  She was a mean old hag but we all loved her just the same.  But she couldn't stand tangents.  I would say something witty like "But Mrs. Hobrock, without tangents where would George Washington be today?  Buried in Philly?"  She couldn't stand my wit or my tangents.  But unfortunately she died a short 4 decades later.  Now, my favorite teacher in all those 6 years of education (I studied hard and finished school in half the time with night classes) was Mr. Farmer.  I always thought it odd that Mr. Farmer didn't actually farm in a farming community such as ours.  Honestly, having the name farmer but being a teacher?  It just didn't add up.  Later I would find out that he secretly did farm behind our backs but felt that knowledge was something we should never know.  He would come to school with corn stalks in his boots and we would ask him, "Hey, Mr. Farmer, why is there corn stalks in your boots?"  He would just look at us and ask us why we always carried books in our bags.  We would be so confused by his question that it would pre-occupy our minds for the next hour.  But the reason he was my favorite teacher was the special fruit juice he always had in his desk.  Sometimes he would ask me after class if I wanted some juice before my next class and I would say "Yes!" and he would pour me a glass. Then, after making sure I finished the cup he would get his camcorder out and film me walking down the hallway as I bounced off the lockers.  He was a lot of fun.  But he was a farmer so that probably explains why he always kept the juice in his desk.  Well, as I said before, today is Tangent Day and .... Oh, before I forget, I titled this post after a song I use to sing many years ago.  I was the original singer of the song but it was stolen by Paul Simon.

He got cocky and changed the words and told me there wasn't really anything I could do about it.  Apparently, unless you hire a lawyer or have an affidavit proving you originally wrote a song,  anyone can come along and change a few words around and call it their own.  Paul is now a millionaire and I'm barely squeaking along with the proceeds from the ads on this blogsite.  Life is full of tangents and thieves.   But the nice thing about a tangent is the ability to just let it wander.  Tangents have been known to cure diseases and allow for innovation.  Also, some of the coolest gadgets were created when the inventors were involved in car wrecks because their minds drifted off on some tangent while traveling on the interstate and they forgot where they were.  The proceeding weeks in the hospital bed get boring so inventors invent.  But, as I said before, cat lo mein is a dish best served fresh from the stove pot.  And there are 49 other recipes I will share with you in the future posts if you care to continue.  It's totally up to you.  I know what you're thinking.  "I'm really wore out now and I just don't want to go on another tangent".  That's why Tangent Day only comes once a year.  In my life, Tangent Day is everyday.  Just imagine how exhausted I must feel.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Religion Religiously

I've been feeling pretty good lately.  My left thumbnail is pretty much completely gone and the hernia hasn't healed itself but I digress ... This morning, waking up a little early, two hours in fact, I read my new emails from the night on my phone and saw that I have a new comment from WordPress so I excitedly opened it up.  And the comment was positive!  And they wanted my advice!!  From me!!!  Unfortunately they didn't have a paypal account set up and I had no way to receive their fee so I had to let it go unanswered.  I guess poverty affects everyone.  In all honesty I did answer their question to the best of my ability and I just mailed the bill.  But back to my original thoughts - I have been feeling pretty good lately.  Now, a little history on me just to set up the rest of this post - I normally don't take any medication with the exception of ibuprofen when the aches just won't go away.  I take a vitamin c (1000 mg) and a multi-vitamin everyday.  I also rinse my mouth out every morning with apple cider vinegar before I brush my teeth.  "Yuck" you say?  Well, let me be clear on this, vinegar is a natural enemy to bacteria.  It also helps clean.  So in my humble perfect opinion apple cider vinegar is a really good thing.  Even ingesting a little everyday is a good thing.  Now, I'm no medical expert but I'm over 120 years old and if it works it works.  So let's not argue about it.  I hate it when we fight.  Anyway, that's my health plan.  A few vitamins and establishing a killer immune system.  I really don't get sick.  I've been legally taking vitamin c for a decade now, every morning, and I'll get the sniffles in the winter time but that's about the extent of my sicknesseseses.  Let the white blood cells do their thing and give 'em a little self-confidence.  I do get injured quite a bit from my job with cuts and smashed fingers and the occasional hernia but that's to be expected.  But this week I have felt really good and I think a lot of that has to do with my spiritual aspect.  I have a theory, of sorts, but it's not really a theory.  It's more of an idea.  If you didn't know I'm a fan of God.  I know my writing doesn't reflect this all the time but I am.  If this offends you ( I don't see why it would but it's possible) then pretend I'm just giving a speech or something.  Anyway, for the past couple of weeks I've played contemporary christian music non-stop on my radio in the van.  Also, in my shop, I have had the radio play 24/7 tuned to a contemporary christian music station.  And it's made a difference.  I've noticed that things that have been bothering me have calmed down in my head.  I've felt less stress.  I have been able to read the news stories and not become ballistic with some stories.  Overall, even sore from work and exhausted from high humidity levels and the hot sun cooking me while working outside, I feel calm.  Peaceful.  There is a direct correlation between a healthy spirit and the physical side.  At least from what I can see.  I have really been trying to draw closer to Him and my life may not be totally different but my approach to it is.  For many years I have held to the belief that religion and spirituality are sometimes distant cousins who meet up at family reunions to re-quaint themselves.  You can do the same routine (religion) but never really feed your spirit (spirituality).  And I'm really not an expert on this but it's just my observation.  I do believe (for those of us who are "religious") that the fundamental belief in a God is just that - a belief.  There is the obstacle of fortitude in that belief that trips up most of us.  To believe is to be on the same level as the demons themselves.  Who would belief come to easier than those who despise their creator?  Actual communication and building up the relationship is vital to having a closeness with Him.  At least that's my take on it.  I know some of you don't believe.  I know some of you believe and that's the extent.  The only thing I mean to relay with these words is just my perspective of the past few weeks.  I'm a christian.  Maybe not a great one but I personally lay claim to what that entails.  If you're not I know that my words may effect your opinion of me or it may not matter one iota to you. But I really have felt peaceful these past few days and I do feel closer to God.  And I don't consider it a religion thing.  I consider it a spiritual thing.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog,

What If Buckaroo Bunzai Could Travel Through Matter?

I like older movies.  I also like new ones as well.  But one in particular came to mind this past week.  While talking to the manager at our local cinema cinaplex (I'm not even sure if cinaplex is an actual noun or more of a pronoun but basically I'm talking about the movie theater located at the south end of our town.  We have one on the north end too but sometimes you just have to pick a side because war can be hell.) and an old movie came to mind.  The Adventures of Buckaroo Bunzai Across the Eighth Dimension.  Now many of you will not even know this movie. The way I described it to the manager (I think his initials are RMC because that's what's on his name tag but that may just be a coincidence because the theater goes by the same initials.) was this is a movie you either love or have never seen.  Some still gather in small, dimly lit rooms to discuss the overall themes and meaning of the movie.  It had a great cast.

John Lithgow, Peter Weller, Jeff Goldblum, Ellen Barkin, Christopher Lloyd (with two L's), Clancy Brown, Vincent Shiavella, and Yakov Smirnoff (I always think Vodka when I see his name) and the guy who plays Mike on Breaking Bad - Jonathan Banks.  There were many more like Jamie Lee Curtis who played Buckaroo's mother but those scenes were deleted and she was left on the cutting room floor (Poor Jamie).  The movie came out in 1984 and I actually didn't see it on the big screen but a friend rented it (Good old VHS days) and I remember he purposely did not rewind because he wasn't a kind man but he was a fan of Peter Weller.  Which was strange because Peter Weller's fan base remained small until Robo Cop came out in 1987.  In fact, after watching The Adventures of Buckaroo Bunzai, which I just kinda remembered a little bit for a couple decades, Robocop came out and I remember thinking I recognized Peter Weller from somewhere but I couldn't remember Buckaroo Bunzai. It would not be for another twenty years when I would run across the movie in the $1 section at our local video rental store (I believe it was still on VHS but this time I made sure to rewind it because deep down inside I am kind so I did rewind) and I brought it home and relived some memories while I watched it with my children.  I don't think they really got the appeal of the movie but I kind of fell in love with the old movie.  The first time I watched it was in Vegas at a friend of a friend's house.  I just thought it was kind of a weird movie.  But after twenty years and watching it for a second time, I actually saw how neat it was.

And to see actors like Jeff Goldlum from The Fly and Jurassic Park, and other actors I had seen in so many other movies, the synapses were making millions of connections in my brain firing off messages intertwined with long lost memories of movies and a long lost weekend in Vegas. I guess youth is so fleeting and valuable that we find importance in visual memories such as a movie or the recorded audio signals from music and we fall in love with things that can be so ordinary.  Or were ordinary.  But that's the thing about The Adventures Of Buckaroo Bunzai Across The Eighth Dimension - it was no ordinary movie.  It has a cult following of people even after 29 years.  Myself, I have never been to a Buckaroo Bunzai conference but I can imagine they would be a lot of fun.  There are still panels that discuss the different characters and actually interview actors such as Weller and Lithgow at this present time.  The impact of Buckaroo Bunzai is similar to the testing which took place on Bikini Island back in the late 50's by the United states.  If you're curious about that just google it.  But the impact of the testing was so concentrated and powerful that the residents still have not moved back to Bikini Island.  Which is actually so beautiful that the French inventor of the swimwear used the island's name to name his own new line of clothing.  The bikini was named after an island in the Pacific.  Now the original question I asked in the title can only be answered by watching the movie.  So give it a try.  Rent it on Amazon.  Buy a copy of it off of Ebay.  Do whatever it takes but your life will never be the same.  Mine never was...  Just to hear John Lithgow ask that classic line playing the insane Dr. Lazario - "What are you laughing at monkey boy?"  That alone is worth the price of rental.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

When Air Conditioners Get Turned On

I got the call yesterday.  I was expecting it but at the same time I wasn't sure exactly when but I was pleased to finally see the number pop up.  I have a few customers.  Not a million, or even a thousand but probably around a couple hundred.  Some call quite often.  Some are just once a year.  Some are fantastic.  Some are not.  But this call, in particular, had to do with a house I installed a new system in, with the exception of the old registers and duct work that runs through the first floor up to the second floor.  But I replaced pretty much everything in the basement and also added air conditioning. I have installed a few systems for this customer and we have a pretty good working relationship.  He'll show me a recently purchased house he wants to fix up and I'll figure up a new replacement for the equipment or the system.  And when I say "system" I'm referring to the heating and air conditioning system usually involving forced air.  I do replace boilers and electric air handlers and heat pumps but primarily he likes forced heating and air conditioning.  On the most recent house the electrical wiring and power panel are being replaced and I was waiting for the new electrical service to be installed and brought into the house due to the 240 volt needed to run the a/c.  So I got the call yesterday and I would be able to start up the new system.  It's an exciting time for me.  I had not heard or seen the furnace run.  Or the new unit outside.  In fact, for protection, I had left the cardboard on the unit outside to protect it from the new paint job the house received externally.  (He really fixes 'em up.)  So, I installed a temporary thermostat and the electrician flipped the only two new breakers installed in the new box.  Nothing happened.  I opened up the bottom compartment of the furnace and there was no indication of power in the furnace.  We soon figured out the main breaker was still off and chuckled about it.  He flipped everything on and I heard the furnace blower start.  At this present time, in the central part of the United States, in August, it can get hot.  And muggy.  Humidity.  Air conditioning is not "mandatory" but it's a pretty nice thing to have.  And I'm definitely happy to add or install central a/c.  So, I normally concentrate on the a/c part first in the summer months when starting up a new system.  So the blower was running.  Next, I went outside and turned the disconnect on for power to the outside unit.  I use a 60 amp non-fused disconnect for the outside connection so basically you pull the power bar out and invert it for the "on" position and re-insert the power bar.  I already had my refrigeration guages connected and the cardboard box pulled off so we were ready for the unit to come on.  Now, I've installed hundred(s) of outside units in the course of a couple of decades. But I still like that initial start of a new unit.  Watching the pressure readings change on the guages and hum of the compressor is something you always want to see and hear when they start up and it's still amazes me how the whole thing cools your house.  I understand the principles of air conditioning and what the pressure and temperature changes mean to refrigeration and how this "conditions" your air but the whole thing still amazes me.  I guess/hope that doctors feel the same way when they deliver new borns.  It's the creation of something from nothing and hearing the first "hum" from the newborn baby.  As I let the unit run and went inside to check air flow I was happy.  When everything goes right and you feel that cool air coming out and feel good forceful air coming out of the vents it is something to be proud of.  After 15 minutes or so I went and checked the "superheat" and it was within .3 degrees of where it should have been.  There was a nice 20 degree temperature drop between the supply and return.  It was going to work well.  And still, after all these years, that "coolness" that you help the customers feel is still a pleasing concept to me.  I haven't turned the gas meter on outside yet or checked the furnace/heat operation yet but that's as pleasing as well.  There is something exciting about watching your air conditioner get turned on.  And it's also exciting watching the customer's relief that all that new mud is going to dry on the walls.  Just a brief glimpse into my work for you, the reader.  Hope you stay "cool" today.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

If Babies Came With Labels

Manufacturers love labels.  Sometimes they're required by law.  But we are inundated with immense amounts of labels.  Which is a curious thing.  We are told, through the progressive attack hounds, that people are people and we should stop labeling them.  They find the softer, kinder approach to grouping people into groups much more effective.  For instance, it is offensive to call black people black.  Which is kind of an insult because, unless you're color blind, the correlation of skin pigment to the absence of light (the definition of black), as a label is pretty dumb.  If we merely labeled people of darker skin color "dark" this seems to me the correct label.  Whenever I hear someone call someone else black it just doesn't make sense to me.  Also, the use of the term "white" to label someone who is closer to almond color or light tan just seems to be even less intelligent.  If we ever did see a person with white skin we would probably be pretty freaked out.  Now, as far as genetics are concerned, and nationalities as well, skin color and the labels that come with them are based upon an ethnic makeup - usually.  Myself, I'm a cross between a white male and a mother with a mixture of Mexican and Indian ancestry.  As far as colors go I'm dark in the summer months and paler in the winter months.  I guess I'm chameleon in nature.  If I work outside for a good portion of the day, in July or August, in a typical Illinois heatwave, I get really dark.  So how do I label myself?  Am I black?  No.  That's just silly.  Am I Mexican?  I've been there a few times but I'm not really "Mexican".  Am I Indian?  I've never been to India but I have done some work for people from India.  Which is no where near Indiana.  I guess people from India that move to Indiana would be called Indiana Indians?  I'm not really Irish except for the drops of blood that circulate through me from my grandfather's side.  That would include German as well.  I'm sure if I dug deep enough I would find even more origins within me.  But I'm really a Mongrel.  Now a mongrel, in dog terms, is pretty much a mutt. A dog which can't really be specifically labeled a "breed" due to the mixture of different breeds within them.  Now, as far as labels go, I prefer the label Mongrel.  Mutt gives one a label of insufficient breeding or just really common.  "Look at that dog. Oh, you mean that mutt digging through the trash?  Yeah, that mutt."  But if you use the label Mongrel, in the dog world, it gives one the taste of almost breeding.  "Geeves, is that a husky or a rottweiler digging through our trash?  No sir, I do believe that mongrel is a mixture of the two.  Thank you, Geeves.  You may leave for your afternoon tea.  Thank you sir.  You are so kind."  For really, mongrels are dogs that occur due to cross-breeding through a natural selective process.

 In an imperfect world, a mongrel comes from dogs that were a particular breed but fell in love without a human intervention to prevent it.  Mongrels are made strictly by the love that can't be stopped.  Mutts are created because of dogs acting like dogs.  ("Yo")  So, my grandparents were probably mongrels themselves and my parents were definitely mongrels.  I am merely the product of several generations of mongrels doing what mongrels do best.  Am I German-American?  No.  Am I Indian-American?  Technically, probably.  But it's a stupid label.  If my ancestors were already here then "technically" I've always been an "american" without any pretense to it.  So, when I hear the label African-American I kinda think "stupid".  Let's just face facts.  I'm a chameleon-mongrel.  And if that's what I am then it's what I am.  If you're dark then you're dark.  If you have parents directly from Africa but now live in the United States then you are an immigrant.  Or son or daughter of an immigrant.  If your grandparents lived here in the United States than you're pretty much a dark-american.  What if you're parents parents weren't from the same African country?  Then you're pretty much dark.  We are what we are and I say let's just be honest about it. I guess the term "pinko" that was pretty popular several decades ago could be resurrected to label the newest babies that come from pure-breed Americans.  But a pure breed American is really a contradiction in terms.  My name is Rueuhy (the mongrel) and I approve this blog.

A Moment Can Last Forever

In my hometown, where my home is, there is a busy street called Morton Avenue.  I have probably driven down this street a thousand times or more.  Going east, going west, it's one of the most frequented streets in our city. Today was no different as I was making my way back to my shop after an enjoyable lunching with my sister.  With the aroma of salsa still on my shirt front, I was doing the same thing I do probably 50 times a week - driving down Morton.  Now Morton Avenue is a four lane street that runs pretty much all the way from the east end of our city to the west end.  During the course of a year there are probably 10 or more accidents that occur on Morton.  Tragically, very recently, a blind woman was hit while trying to cross Morton.  In all seriousness, a tragedy indeed.  So, as I'm making my way eastbound on Morton, with my tummy full of rice, beans,  and a chicken burrito, I approached the intersection of Main St. and Morton Ave with a green light.  Traffic was moving at an even pace and no one was racing or anything like that.  It was in the moment I was approaching the intersection that I detected motion next to the stop light pole.  A very young girl with her dad next to her were on bicycles and waiting to cross Morton.  I was less than 20 feet away doing approximately 35 miles an hour with very little chance of stopping in time.  What I had seen was the girl nervously moving back and forth on her bike and the front tire appeared to be moving toward the street. My mind had several thoughts occur at the same time.  "Oh my God!!!" was one.  Another was "I can't stop in time."  Still, another, which was probably the worse one, was "I'm gonna kill her."  I couldn't even really see the girl due to the pole blocking her from my vision.  It was just the front tire I had noticed first.  As I passed, without even time to really react, I saw her and her dad just waiting patiently for the "walk" sign to give them the go-ahead to cross.  What had happened in my mind was a nightmare.  I've been driving since I was 16 so given the 30 years of experience and the job I perform, driving is not new to me.  I have had near misses and I've been involved in a couple of accidents but I do consider myself a good driver and I actually haven't had a ticket in the last 15 years.  I guess, no matter what experience I may feel I have, there are certain accidents I cannot avoid and the loss of life is a very real potential.  No one could ever really foresee a tragedy that awaits them - especially involving a child as young as I saw today.  As I proceeded through the intersection, at a speed just under the speed limit due to slowing (a little) my life reverted back to normal.  But for one moment, a moment that could have lasted forever, my life was changed forever.  In my mind I hit and killed someone who couldn't have been older than 10 years old.  And her father would have been a witness to everything.   No matter how much experience and clear visibility I may think I  have there may always be some child ready to roll in front of me.  It's just possible.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Fluent In Lizard And Other Languages

I'm not really fluent in Lizard or any other languages.  Sometimes, on a given occasion, I have a lot of trouble with my own language.  Today, if I may be so bold, I would like to offer a hypothesis on the matter of the barrier that exists in speaking between species.  We like to joke (not me but others and you've probably met them or you may be one yourself) that we can talk to our animals.  We've all seen the examples - "Watch Cujo, he understands me when I talk to him.  Cujo, go to the car and drag that man who's screaming and bring him back here.  Good dog.  See.  He understands me."  Probably, and I'm just guessing, Cujo understood the word car in association with repetitive use.  He may have understood the word "man" through more repetitive use.  The dog simply put car and man together and also intelligently put "bring" into the mix as well.  "Car", "man", and "bring".  We learn language the same way but we are strenuously taught in a formal class setting.  I imagine all language is taught this way and humans are just better at reinforcing it.  Animals probably don't have any classrooms set up anywhere that help in the development of teaching their young.  Heck, they probably don't have lunch time or physical education time set aside either.  Animals learn what they need to know or it's been the same for so many years that genetically there is just sound association that is passed down and they may just be born with a certain knowledge such as some mammals start to stand by themselves and eat their placentas through some ancestral trait.  I'm just guessing at all of this and don't hold me to any of it.  I'm basically just talking in written form.  But what of the biblical sense.  The record shows that Eve, the first woman, spoke in language to the serpent.  Now, was the snake a snake or was it all symbolic?  Did the first humans have the ability to speak to animals in a perfect creation before the fall of man?  Now some of you don't believe the bible.  Some of you believe but find this a merely symbolic story of evil and the way humans are attracted to it.  And some of you take the bible at it's word and follow the story of the Garden of Eden in total record of what happened in rigid translation.  Did Eve speak directly to the serpent?  Or was the use of the serpent a symbolic representation of Satan/Lucifer - the fallen angel of light?  Was there a capability, in the perfect world, that allowed humans to speak fluently with all animals and all animals with each other?  We weren't there so there's actually no audio recordings of the language.  What if it was a telepathic communication?  Was it verbally spoken words of a lost language that we've never heard but may hear in the future upon our deaths?  What does your imagination allow?  Will their be a future where the human species moves past the barrier that different languages have imposed upon us?  Would this barrier, if broken down, allow for the human species to thrive or condemn ourselves to annihilation through the destruction enhanced by evil intent?  Would our goodness break through or our greed and need to conquer?  The story of the "Tower of Babel" is one that has always intrigued me.  When men, in the first millennium, came together in one voice, the need to build a tower that put them on the same level as their God was only through communication and cooperation in one goal.  It was only through the dissolution of communication that man's ability to accomplish such goals was diminished.  At what point did the language barrier come between man and the animals?  If you're an atheist then this is all just hypothetical and the species all came from some bacteria on a rock with a kick start from a lightning bolt.  If you are a believer in God but just don't swallow the bible in its entirety then "whatever" could be "whatever".  If you're a devout believer then a part of you must really be wondering a lot right now.  So my question to you is this - if man spoke with animals in such a conversational form, and if that ability had never been taken away, what would the world be today?  Just food for thought.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.   

Where Are Ye June Bug?

I grew up in a small shoe box in Illinois.  Sometimes you're born poor and sometimes your parents are just saving up for a Corvette.  My dilemma was the former of the two.  During the summer months, when we didn't have to suffer through the daily grind of school, our summer nights were filled with fun and excitement at the local t-shirt factory as my brother and sisters and I worked overtime to fill our quotas.  Life was hard for us but we didn't mind.  Our parents would always ask us how work went as they sipped their beers and continued with their poker game with their dear friends Fred and Ethyl Mertz.  The Mertz's were also mom and dad's landlords and they enjoyed taking their money on poker nights as well as our paychecks.  They always got a kick out of dad yelling "Lucy, I'm home".  Then they would yell "Hey Desi, Castro's at the door."  Dad would freak and yell "Luuuuucccccyyyyy!!"  Then we would run to our rooms and mom would run to the closet.   After we grew up and figured out there were child labor laws and such we later sued our parents and were able to split the money from the sale of the Corvette awarded us in our lawsuit.  Momma cried for days and Poppa drank more to soothe the pain.  My sister Frannie

kept the mint tree air freshener from the Corvette and put it on her mirror in her car and would taunt Momma every time she gave her a ride to the drugstore for lottery tickets.  But I digress ....  Back in the day, on our walks home from the factory, my brother and sisters and I would play a game.  As we held our lanterns to guide our way through those dark summer nights, the June bugs would attack those lights and would give us moments of sheer terror and my sisters would crap their drawers.

Every time a June bug would approach us, my brother and I would yell "June" and then "bug" and watch our sister's faces for their reactions. A hundred times a night we would hear their shrieks of terror but it would never get old. "June!" I would yell and my brother would respond, "Bug!!".  Yeah, it was stupid game but we were just laborers trying to forget the burdens of paying our parent's rent.  But the air was thick with them and they would always swarm those lanterns.  It is now, as I watch my own kids return from the t-shirt factory I used to work in (they make minimum wage now and have a 401K plan) that the memories flood back of those days being attacked by the June bugs.  But the strange thing is the lack of them.  As the porch light glows steadily in the darkness, the air is bare and still without those golden creatures attacking.  They seem to have just - gone.  I noticed a couple years ago their population has decreased each year.  And this year I have not seen a single June bug.  Most of them have married and moved away.  It seems strange that a childhood fixture that would endlessly attack our front porches and patio doors have seemingly disappeared.  And I've also noticed the night time seems much more quiet. I have also noticed a lot less squirrels.  And less raccoons as well.  Where have they gone?  The blood sucking creatures such as mosquito's are still out in force but no June bugs.  What is going on?  There are several explanations via the internet that are plausible.  One is climate change.  In a species driven declaration of hatred for man made global warming, they are presently in exile somewhere in Cuba.  "If it's good enough for Castro ...."  is their slogan.  The other plausible explanation is the use of pesticides in our schools' drinking water.  This one I don't really agree with due to the fact that children don't drink water anymore.  If it was being mixed in with soda, maybe.  The third explanation which may be possible but I still disagree with is the protest of the bugs over silly strange wattage levels labeled on light bulbs.  56 watts and 79 watts are some examples that differ from the old 40 watt and 75 watt bulbs that were plentiful back in the day.  Some feel that the fluorescent light bulbs do not transmit at the same spectrum of light the bugs were drawn to with the old school incandescent lights.  I feel light is light and they just really want to see where they are flying to.  And maybe it's just a rebellion against that old slogan "Don't go to the light" you hear near death beds.  I don't know.  But all I know is one of summer's most beloved pests are just not around anymore.  And has anyone noticed windshields don't get as messy as they used to? My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

The True Story Of Walter Fox

In the late 20's of the twentieth century, in a small suburb of Grey, Mississippi, next to the old warehouse with the vegetable stand that now stands empty, there is a mailbox.  Walter Fox loved that mailbox.  Everyday, at 2:25 in the afternoon, Gloria Taylor would appear and unlock the door and retrieve the mail.  She was the most punctual person he had ever known.  And she was also the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.  Now, in a small town like Grey people come to know one another.  And this was no different between Walter and Gloria.  Gloria would wave politely and ask Walter how he was.  And Walter would tell Gloria the same thing every day.  "The sun will shine everyday Miss Taylor.  It's only the clouds that get in the way."  Gloria would smile and gently nod her head.  She was actually quite fond of Walter but etiquette demanded certain things of a young lady.  He would have to ask her out first.  Now Walter was not opposed to such a proposition but shyness and a gentlemanly quality demanded the right moment.  Everyday, as Walter would see Gloria approaching, he would ask himself if today was the day.  And Walter would give in to the brevity of the moment and would always politely say the same thing.  It wasn't actually an original thought.  His father would say the same thing to his mother every day after dinner as he was preparing to go back out in the field.  His father would gently grab his mother's hands and repeat the same line to her and she would grab his hat and tell him the clouds would never get in the way.  And Walter's father would continue his work in the life they loved.  Walter had fond memories of the gentleness he witnessed between his parents and held it dear to his heart.  He dreamed of such a life with Gloria.  So it was on this day that Walter Fox made a decision.  He would change the format for their usual afternoon exchange.  He would wait for Gloria by the mailbox.  He would not pretend to be accidentally strolling by.  He would purposely stand by the box and find the courage to ask Gloria out.  As the afternoon sun gave way to the storm brewing from the east, Walter Fox checked his tie and hat one last time as he exited his house.  The time had come and he would be as punctual as Gloria had always shown in her duties. The sidewalk was empty except for a few of the ladies returning from their shopping for the week.  He glanced down at his watch and noticed the time.  He quickened his pace as the time approached.  The box was in sight as Walter noted the time - 2:20 p.m.  In moments she would appear coming around the corner of the Quigley Drug Store.  She always made the same approach.  He could feel the perspiration forming on his back as his pulse quickened.  What was he going to say?  Would the words even come?  The worst possible reactions from Gloria darted through his mind as he struggled with his thoughts.  There would be no turning back once the conversation began.  Would she smile or look away in disgust?  The pressure was building inside of him as he looked at his watch one last time.  2:24 p.m. and no sign of her yet.  Normally she would have rounded the corner by now.  What was going on?  From across the street he could sense a commotion building.  Store clerks and merchants were running from their shops towards the drugstore.  It was in that moment Walter knew.  His feet were moving before he even commanded them.  His pace quickened as he felt the dread of certainty fill his heart.  As he approached the corner his eyes saw the accident.  Gloria was injured on the sidewalk. A man stood in front of car with his hands over his mouth in the realization of what he had done.  Walter stopped and filtered out the images of the strangers surrounding Gloria.  He focused upon her face which had held such a fondness for the world around her.  He would never see her smile again and somehow he just couldn't fathom such a thought.  He wanted to run to her and pick her up in his arms but the doctor was already checking her.  Walter stood quietly and waited for some sign from the doctor as he conducted his examination.  In that moment, when the doctor's head slowly shook side to side, Walter knew he would never again see Miss Taylor smile again.  As the crowd slowly dissipated Walter remained and thought of the words he had spoken so many times at the daily meetings between him and Gloria.  He looked up at the sky and watched the storm approach and knew the sun was shining somewhere but not here.  And the clouds were in the way.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Will You Need A DNA Sample Also?

Sixteen years in the making.  In the United States, in the state of Illinois, young humanoids can acquire a license for the purposes of driving.  Yes, first comes the permit.  But on the sixteenth birthday a contract goes into effect between the state and the individual who can't vote, join the military, or indulge themselves in some tanning at various salons littered throughout this state - a card verifying that the individual (still a minor) can legally drive a motor vehicle by themselves.  We're not talking bicycles either.  The average weight of a vehicle on the roads today is somewhere close to 4000 lbs.  So basically, someone who cannot legally take medicine by themselves at school is allowed to control a 4000 lb. vehicle at speeds of up to 65 miles per hour on the interstate.  This would sound terrifying to most outsiders but there really is a low amount of accidents considering the number of drivers on the roads today.  Throw in cell phones and texting ...  Anyway, there is a lengthy training process they go through and then they are tested in their abilities so it's not as scary as some would imagine.  In fact, recently (yesterday) I was witness to a young man receiving his license and I have every confidence that he will do fine.  It was a little painful going to my insurance agent afterwards and putting his name on my auto policies but that's just what a parent does.  He will drive a safe vehicle and there are limits to when and where and how much his new freedom can be exercised.  Oh, and he will pay a portion of the insurance and will be allotted a set amount for fuel to get back and forth to school but then he'll have to come up with money for extra fuel for those after school expeditions to the tavern or the club or wherever else he thinks he needs to go.  And I've already given him the lecture on drinking and combining barbiturates and following all posted speed limits.  Fortunately for us he's actually a pretty good driver.  It was fun at the driver's license facility yesterday.  I carried in many forms and had my wallet ready to bribe the facility personnel but I was missing one very important item.  His Social Security Card.  Now, most of you in the United States know what this card is but if any of you outside our borders are wondering, a SSN card is a card with a nine digit number assigned to each US citizen when they are born.  And the last time I checked, this card, if lost or stolen, is not easily replaced.  In fact, for the past 40+ years I have had the same card (made out of paper) that was issued when I was born.  Some people receive family heirlooms when they reach a certain age.  I received my SSN card.  But I digress ... So, after waiting in line to see one of the friendly state workers (they actually are friendly for being employed by the state - not like those wonderful people who work in the social security offices who issue the cards) at the license facility I found out that the birth certificate, the driver's permit he had been using the past year, and the mail/bill addressed to him at our address was just not enough to verify he was who he was.  He needed his SSN card.  Now, the SSN card does not have a picture or address or any other verification for who he is - it basically has your name and the nine digit number - XXX-XX-XXXX.  This very important card, made out of paper, cannot be laminated or protected permanently.  But it must be kept for the remainder of your life.  And hopefully you never go swimming with it or accidentally put it through the clothes washer by accident.  As we drove back to our house to retrieve the card I thought of the future.  A future where we'll get a pin prick in our fingers and give a little blood to verify who we are at these state agencies.  The hoops we jump through for our "state" is beyond belief.  For some reason he was issued a learner's permit and used it for many months.  But now that he wants to get the actual driver's license we need to show multiple forms of identification but none of them, I repeat, none of them has a picture of him.  The birth certificate doesn't.  The bill with his address doesn't.  The SSN card definitely doesn't have a picture.  But he is who he is based upon a little blue card.  Wow!!  Really!!  Some day they'll just prick your finger, run it through a scanner, and verify you are who you are since your first blood sample was taken.  No cards.  No certificate.  Just good old blood.

 As long as the computers don't crash.  We are headed down a deep dark hole and even Alice would crap her pants.  But we do it because we are becoming very programmed in this "free" country.  But it was a pretty good birthday for a young man on the brink of maturity.  And hopefully by his 18th birthday the computers haven't gone down yet.  Because he may want to go down to the county clerk's office and just tell them he is "so and so" and get registered to vote.  Because we wouldn't want too much inconvenience for that.  Voting isn't as big a deal a driving.  Everyone should be able to vote.  And you are who you say you are.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Diary Of A Fish

Entry for August 15, 2013:

Dear diary,
  I spent the whole day swimming again.  It seems like every day is the same thing.  I am so bored.  It's basically this - I feel trapped.  I can see this whole other world beyond the sunken sea chest that feels so familiar to me.  The choral and the rest of the bottom of this ocean are always the same.  Life used to be different.  I used to have friends.  They left so long ago.  We would race from one old abandoned wreck to another and our days would end watching the shimmers of the sun settle to the bottom of our world.  And we were happy.  But that was a lifetime ago.  Where are they now?  Diary, I'm so lonely.  And if I try to go beyond certain boundaries it's as if I am in some kind of containment device.  It is the natural environment I'm used to but something's changed.  As I mentioned yesterday, speed doesn't attribute to escape.  In fact, it hurts when I hit that invisible barrier.  And I swear, there doesn't seem to be any kind of current or undertow anymore.  Oh how I miss those moments when my friends and I would feel the pressure surrounding us and the water would just push us in directions unknown.  It just doesn't seem to exist anymore.  Those days are gone and I'm the only survivor.  What did happen to all my friends?  Where have they gone?  What did I do to them?  I seem to recall bits and pieces of some traumatic event but I'm doomed to my short term memory of that day.  The worst part of all of this is the feeling that I'm being watched.  Everyday, around the same time, some man gets so close to me and I try to get away but then I hit that invisible barrier and my head aches for the next hour.  He just stands there where the world drops away and he'll smile with that diabolical smile and there's no escaping from him.  Is this my life now?  Am I destined to die this way?  And it's not always just him.  Sometimes there are two or more of them just staring at me.  It really freaks me out.  They just stare and every once in a while I can see their hands coming towards me and there is literally no where I can hide.  How can all of this be?  What is the meaning of all of this?  Is there supposed to be more?  Am I to die in this bitter loneliness?  My hope, the only thing I have really, is the dream of seeing my friends once again and to feel the current surround me as I voyage to distant unfamiliar parts of my watery home.  That is simply my dream.  And I will hold onto it until tomorrow.  But tonight I'll go to sleep listening to the gentle bubble trails that come from the corner of my entrapment.  Tonight I will sleep and dream. For tomorrow is another day.   My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Cleaning My Kitty

There are challenges in life that are so epic many men tremble at the thought of completing such tasks.  Some men have a list comprised in their subconscious.  Some men dare not tread in such arenas.  I, on the other hand, look into the eyes of the beast and laugh at its contentiousness and ask, "why not?".  So, it's another Saturday night and I have no money for booze or narcotics but I needed a little adventure.  And my cat's just laying there .....  Needless to say I ran a nice warm bath.  Now the trick to a successful bathing of any animal is the proper water height.  If the water is too high they'll drown after several minutes.  If it's only a couple of inches (this is still too high for a pet iguana or mini-mouse but too low for a feline) then the water will fly with their flailing.

 So, every animal will require different amounts of water.  The level at the neck seems to be the adequate amount.  If the animal exerts all its energy at keeping its head above water than there will be less available for clawing and biting.  Yes, there will be blood.  I wouldn't recommend latex gloves or other materials that will tear easily.  Leather will just get wet and will be hard to take off.  Plus, it is hard to hold onto the scratch pad you will use to properly clean the animal.  Animal are resistant to change so a daily bathing will help them overcome their fear of the water and will help toughen up your skin to their claws.  The first thing after filling the tub you will need to exercise is the element of surprise and nonchalance.  The announcement being made "Bath time!!!" is not recommended.  Try substituting "cat nip" or "Who wants some liver?"  Kitty will be anxious to get into the bath tub if he or she thinks some tasty treat is awaiting them. The other recommended recommendations are setting up the cleaning items before hand rather then when the kitty is already in the water.  "Oops, I forgot the soap or where's the towel?" will ruin the adventure for you and will further irritate the animal if they have to wait a few minutes longer.

Bath times under 30 minutes are recommended rather than an hour or longer.  You will have to be prepared for the awfullest moans and screeches which will accompany the bath.  "It's okay kitty, it will soon be over." will not pacify the cat in anyway.  And fight the urge to hold their heads under water longer than five minutes.  This will definitely defeat the purpose of giving the cat a bath.  And the veterinarian will have a lot of questions for you which may lead to a questioning by police officers.  It is recommended to have a sane adult assist you to prevent such things from occurring.   Now, showering is not recommended either.  The animal will be offended having to share the shower with you and I don't even want to go into the specifics of why naked men should never combine running water with a animal with claws.  But the nickname "Shredder" could be applied here and the doctor will definitely have some hard questions for you.  But I digress ...

After bath time a period of drying time will be needed for you and the cat and a nice puffy towel will do nicely.  This will help soak up the water from the animal and help soak up excess blood that will run from your fresh wounds.  I would recommend buying red towels for this bath time episodes.  Your animal will either react kindly towards you in an effort to thank you for removing them from such a traumatic occurrence or they will hide for a few days just waiting until your walking in your sleep for their final act of revenge.  If there was ever a product needed in the pet supply business it is this - pet sedatives.  Imagine a drowsy kitty just barely coherent and allowing its owner to properly bathe her.  Just an idea.  But there does tend to be the addiction possibility.  That's just the chances we have to take.

 My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog. 

What I Learned Today

A few years ago, excuse me, many years ago, as a toddler/pre-teen/young adult, I would get off the school bus and unwind after that hour long trip through the country roads.  It would take around ten minutes (or less) to get to school in the mornings but it would take an hour to get home after school.  (They would drive the same route before and after school.)  I came to one conclusion.  School bus' are evil.  A form of torture devised to carry young, untrained vigilantes who felt that the world was theirs and knife fights were just cool. Actually it wasn't that bad.  One of the funniest snippets of tv I can remember was an episode of the Simpsons (I haven't really watched it for years but I do remember this episode.) where Bart Simpson meets a one-armed man and in Bart's fascinating way asks him how he lost his arm. "Well, you know kid, when they tell you to keep your arm in the bus and you don't listen?  Well, there's consequences."  I don't remember exactly what he said but it involved him sticking his arm out the window and losing it because he wouldn't listen.  But anyway, bus' are simply rolling death traps that involve a lot of bench seats, children, and drivers who can't text but have to keep looking up at the three foot long mirror to see who is standing up or punching another student.  It's a formula for safety devised by the same government agency who devised putting the same amount of students in small class rooms and putting an adult who just spent four years more than some of those same students doing the same thing as those students for the past four years but now they're the authority figure meant to keep those students in line.  But they have a college degree so it all equals out.  So life gives us experience.  And prepares us for a life knee deep in life.  But that's not what I was wanting to write at all. What I was really going to say was back in those days of hour long bus rides and youth and life raveled was a young version of me.  And I would get off the bus and run down the driveway (it seemed like a mile long but really was only 5280 feet or 1609 meters) and after several minutes I would be home.  And mom would ask the question.  That same question.  Day after day.  "What did you learn in school today?"  She would also ask other questions.  Such philosophical intrigues such as "How much do you love me?"  In reply I would tell her the answer was dependent upon the contents of the cookie jar.  Yes, young readers, there were actually cookies positioned in large jars because cookies didn't always come from Walmart in plastic wrapping or in paper baggies.  There was a time when cookies were sold but it was much cheaper to make them in your home.  And the aroma would waft through the house and they would be all warm from the oven and you would burn your fingers trying to get one off the cookie sheet and mom would yell "Get out of the oven you fool!! They'll be ready in a couple of minutes."   Mom would make these "no bake" cookies with cocoa and oats and they would be fresh off the waxed paper. Awesome stuff.  I really miss her now that she's gone.  She lives all the way cross town and it's just so inconvenient to take that long ten minute drive to visit her.  And there's hardly any fresh cookies anymore.  But I did learn something every day.  She would ask the question and I would shrug my shoulders because for some reason it was hard to summarize all those classes into a coherent five minute spiel.  She was just trying to be kind and involved in my life but the question seemed bizarre to me at that young age.  What did I learn in school today?  Do you want me to explain what a hypothesis is?  Or the rudimentary equations of higher math?  Or breakdown English into a simple explanation?  The question was really rather complicated but she was just being mom.  She just wanted to be a part of my life.  She wanted to know that I was getting something from all that free learnin' about readin', riting, and rithmetic.  But looking back on it now I did learn something much more important.  I learned patience that comes with an hour entrapment on a dusty, smelly bus.  I learned discipline from sitting in classrooms.  I learned respect for authority as I sat there bound by an unwritten contract developed between my parents and the school district.  And I learned there's nothin' better than a warm cookie at the end of that day.  Sometimes life is so simple it's complicated.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Digressing

Much to my shock and dismay, I received a fan letter the other day.  I went something like this:  Dear Rueuhy, I have been a fan of yours for a few years now.  It seems I have 3 speeds.  Low, medium, and high. Is it possible for you to use something besides high all the time?  I know you like the force of the air on your face and it's cheaper than air conditioning.  But really?  All the time?  Thank you, signed Your Fan.  I guess even appliances have feelings. Everyone has feelings. Why just the other day I found out the girl at the checkout lane at Walmart has feelings.  But she did put my pre-packaged bag of peaches on the bottom of the bag with can goods on top.  How was I supposed to know she would cry just because I threw them at her. Yes, they did splat all over her cash register but I think she did start it.  Anyway, everyone's got feelings. And opinions.  For instance, some people feel just because they drive a patrol car, wear an officer's uniform, carry a ticket holder, sit there alongside the freeway, and have a pen, that that gives them the right to follow me. And shine bright lights at me.  And then chase me for 15 miles.  And call his buddies who happen to have the same items.  And then run me off the road.  In his "opinion" I should be "locked up and have the key thrown away".  I think what he actually said was "the key thrown away, take the trash can, incinerate it, transport the ashes many miles out into the ocean, and thrown overboard".  Touchy, touchy.  Opinions.  Everyone's got one.  Or two.  Or many.  But I digress...  Because that's what I do.  If you look up "digressing" in the dictionary, at the library, where they still have a hardcopy of a dictionary, printed back in 1982 with that nice imitation leather binding, you'll see an image of an infant and a typewriter.  Under the image of the infant with the typewriter you'll see the headline - Rueuhy digressing, reprinted with permission by the mother of Rueuhy at the cost of $5.  Dictionary's are so weird.  Filled with words and pictures of me. In fact the definition of a dictionary is "the expressed consternation of Latin people using symbols and shortened phrases which allow the explanation of a word."  Strange, no? Anyway, thought I would go with a little humor but I got sidetracked into piety.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog. 

A Dummies Guide To Wisdom

An average man will look up at the sky and say "Whoa, I can see a bunny in that cloud."
An intelligent man will look up at the sky and say "Light refraction gives the sky the blue hue."
A wise man will look up at the sky and say nothing for what can summarize it?

An average man will look at a newborn and say "Diaper needs to be changed."
An intelligent man will look at a newborn and say "The human species requires 9 months of gestation."
A wise man will look at a newborn and find ways to nurture it.

An average man will look at a dollar bill and say "A few more and that would be real money."
An intelligent man will look at a dollar bill and say "Inflation and over-production makes this worthless."
A wise man will look at a dollar bill and place it in his wallet for the future.

An average man will look at the ocean and say "I would love to go fishing right now."
An intelligent man will look at the ocean and say "Billions of molecules of hydrogen and oxygen."
A wise man will look at the ocean and find tranquility from the lapping waves.

An average man will look at his job and say "If only I was making a couple more dollars an hour."
An intelligent man will look at his job and say "My credential qualify me for so much more."
A wise man will look at his job and do it well.

An average man will look at his bed and say "Tonight I'm gonna sleep well."
An intelligent man will look at his bed and say "Eight hours of sleep are required for proper rest."
A wise man will look at his bed and lie down and dream.

A Lesson In Latin

My Latin is very weak.  Which is okay due to the fact all my Latin American friends speak Spanish. Some of their friends speak Portuguese or French.  But I digress ...  Latin is a very old language and the phrase I am most familiar with is "vice versa".  According to the Free Dictionary (which surprisingly only cost me a laptop and wi-fi router and internet connection reasonably priced for the first 12 months and has gradually sky rocketed) the term "vice versa" is Latin and means "with the order of meaning reversed, conversely".  What reminded me of this is the article I read in the local paper this morning.  This is surprising due to the fact that most of the news I read from the daily paper is usually 12 hours or older from when I first saw it on the internet somewhere else.  The news involved the present location and legal status of the man known as Edward Snowden.  If you don't know who Edward Snowden is then here is a summarized summary of the man - formerly an employee of the CIA, and last employed by the NSA, he leaked classified details, top-secret actually, pertaining to mass surveillance programs conducted by the United States and Great Britain.  Now he's just a man on the run.  My country, the United States, wants him back to charge him with espionage.  He is guilty.  He knew he would be charged with treasonous crimes because he did leak information which was deemed classified to a national news source.  With that being said, what charges will be brought against those in this country who conducted massive surveillance against the general population here?  Warrantless wire taps basically?  The ability of our government to access phone records under the banner of national defense?  Who will defend us against the defenders of us?  So, back to the story.  Edward Snowden is on the run for a punishable offense.  He knows he did it.  A very public display of criminal treason.

But here's the "vice versa" that I thought of - many years ago this country (the United States) was the safe haven to foreign refugees trying to escape under the banner of political asylum.  We were the last resort of those who were deemed enemies of their own government and often you would hear the stories of Soviet defectors seeking asylum in the United States.  Now, after a dissolution of the Union of Socialist Soviet Republics since the Christmas of 1991, the country of Russia stands as the place of sanctuary of a United States citizen being hunted down as a political enemy of the current leadership of the United States.  What is happening to our country?  What is happening to Russia?  The interesting thing about this story is the asylum being offered by Russia basically boils down to two questions - What do you do with a guy trapped in an airport without a legal passport and why doesn't the Sheremetyevo International Airport in Moscow have a shower and residential facilities for travelers such as Edward Snowden?  Basically what I was thinking when I read the article, and after digesting the ongoing tribulations in the life of a NSA employee who likes to talk too much, was how different the world has become in twenty years.  Russia is now the safe-haven and the United States is the oppressive regime?  To summarize my feelings I would say that there has to be accountability on all parts.  Edward Snowden knew what he was doing was illegal and there should be consequences.  He cannot come back to the United States or any of her territories of sovereignty.  If he does come back for a visit then charges of espionage and court proceedings should commence. The current administration, including the President of the United States, must suffer the penalties of their actions which culminated in the mass surveillance of the American people, including impeachment of Barrack Obama.  The game being played is a dangerous one and should have consequences.  Edward Snowden did not blindly accept his job and he did, in the end, do the right thing.  But, if the case is made that he should not suffer charges than intelligence against one's enemies suffers at all levels.  This country must know its limits but also be able to defend itself against all enemies.  Including those within the top levels of government.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.  

Fighting Crime

I'm reading an article in our local newspaper on the problems with protesters in Egypt and I get this idea.  It's a simple one and it may have been already thought of and tried but I think it's a very simple solution to any rioting or crowd containment issue.  The concept is simple.  Sleeping agents.  No, not sleeper agents who remain anonymous as intelligence officers in covert operations and are suddenly called into active duty.  No.  I'm talking about a tranquilizing agent in vapor form that can be sprayed on a crowd and everyone just calms down.  We've all seen the news footage of crowds gathered outside a courthouse or government building and the anger is ready to spill over into uncontrolled rage against the police and suddenly there's a gunshot or other violent start which erupts into chaos.  Well, I say put 'em to sleep.  Let them doze it off for a few hours. How many of us always feel better after a good night's sleep?  That problem which seemed so terrible the night before gets a new aspect the next day.  What seemed so terrible always feels a little "less" after some rest.  Now, that's one application for sleeping agents.  Have you ever been confronted by a mad man ready to take on anyone that opposes him?  We've all seen footage of this guy.  He's the one that's holding his ex-wife and kids hostage and wants to end it all.  There doesn't seem to be any good way to negotiate with him.  Well, put him to sleep.  Put the whole family to sleep.  The wife and kids will wake up from the terrible nightmare (reality will blend with a subtle dream state and help in the recovery process) and the ex-husband will wake up in jail and not live out the rest of his life in guilt over the murder of his family.  Or, the bank's being robbed?  Well, on the same scale as a fire suppression system we have a atmospheric release system that results in everyone without a mask just dozing off and no one is hurt.  Yes, the bank robbers get away but at least no one dies trying to be the "hero".  Except for the security officer who hopefully get his mask on in time.  Not every scenario will work out the best for the victims but it's just money.  But I can see it as an effective reduction in a lot of crime/violent scenarios.  Another idea I have is EMF blasting tools which would cause a vehicle to totally shut down.  Police forces would merely set up road blocks ahead of evading criminals (no more high speed pursuits across miles of interstate) and just wait for the approaching vehicle to come down the road.  The tool, probably in a gun form, would target the vehicle and blast it with an Electromagnetic Field stream.  Most modern vehicles would shut down due to the interruption of the on-board computer.  Any electronics would shut down.  The ninety mile per hour chase would be reduced to watching the vehicle slow down to a crawl and then stopped.  They would have to pursue the suspect(s) on foot afterwards but no one else on the freeway/roadway would have to suffer bystander damage.  It would hinder the car chases we love so much in the movies but there's always another way to get away in the movies.   I really don't know how expensive these type of weapons would be and I'm sure the criminals would find a way to use them against the police forces or other agents fighting them.  But that's just the way of the world.  But if one person's life could be saved by such a weapon then that's just the cost of the war on crime.  In this technological age we need to be a little smarter than 50 years ago.  If a criminal can use a car equipped with technology from the 21st century than law enforcement needs to equip itself with better technology.  Technology that can save lives.  And in my opinion sleeping agents seem a little bit more humane than using a taser on a 12 year old.  Shoot her with a tranquilizer gun instead.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.