Arrr!
A pirate walks into a bar and the bartender says, "Hey, I haven't seen
you in a while. What happened, you look terrible!"
"What do you mean?" the pirate replies, "I'm fine."
The bartender says, "But what about that wooden leg? You didn't have
that before."
"Well," says the pirate, "We were in a battle at sea and a cannon ball
hit my leg but the surgeon fixed me up, and I'm fine, really."
"
Yeah," says the bartender, "But what about that hook? Last time I saw
you, you had both hands."
"Well," says the pirate, "We were in another battle and we boarded the
enemy ship. I was in a sword fight and my hand was cut off but the
surgeon fixed me up with this hook, and I feel great, really."
"Oh," says the bartender, "What about that eye patch? Last time you were
in here you had both eyes."
"Well," says the pirate, "One day when we were at sea, some birds were
flying over the ship. I looked up, and one of them pooped in my eye."
"So?" replied the bartender, "what happened? You couldn't have lost an
eye just from some bird poop!"
"Well," says the pirate, "I really wasn't used to the hook yet."
An Open Letter To My Sister, or Whatever Pops Into My Head at the Time...
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Friday, February 13, 2015
Shamrocks In The Sun
When someone goes away, you try to keep contact.
Then if they're gone long enough you try to have a bit of fun with it.
In this case, I started getting texts while I was out back. Rack was boring holes through my soul with those brown puppy eyes of his.
Doggy Telepathy: "I want out. I want out. I want out."
I'm thinking somethings up... Maybe I should ask Rack what he wants?
" Show me boy, show me what you want".
Skid marks in my Florida room as he ran to the back door. He probably wanted to visit his other family on the other side of the wormhole behind the shed. I grabbed the phone, checked that the front door was closed, and let him out back.
Yes, really, the door sometimes opens on its own. It could be me, or it could be Rack's wormhole family, but I do need to make special effort to keep the door locked. If it is locked, it won't open on its own.
Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Betel...!
Don't say it three times. House guest from hell would arrive.
The texts began.
"Its cold"
Yes, you are in Douglas, Isle of Man, UK. It isn't summer yet. Summer is scheduled for August 13th from 11:43am to 4:27pm and it may indeed hit 70F.
"I know. Rack is enjoying it." Picture sent of Rack watching over the swimming pool in full sunlight. The light making diffraction patterns in his jet black fur shining in deep blues, vibrant reds, and ...
"You're mean. It's beautiful there, I miss it!".
I was walking to the back of the yard. The pool water was a wee bit low. May as well give it a hot foot and raise the level a bit.
"I thought you might enjoy a little sunshine. Everything there looked so cold and grey. It is the UK you know. Lovely people, fascinating culture, I'd love to visit some day, just not in the middle of the coldest week of the year"
I get back a single word "Shaddap".
I send back the picture of the shamrocks. They're Wood-Sorrel. It grows as a weed in my turf in the back yard. Technically it's Oxalis. They grow little tubers, just like the potatoes that are sprouting in the kitchen, and can be cooked or eaten raw. The tubers are sweet, and edible. Although they do contain Oxalic Acid, so do many of your foods, and as long as your Wood Sorrel is cleaned well, the risk is considered minimal.
But I will let someone else try first.
Yes, I am channeling some of those oddball survivalists. You know the guys who say "Every part of the pine tree is edible" - and I pipe up telling them to go to the lumber yard and eat a plank. But Pignolas are simply the seeds of a pine tree, and every pine tree has seeds that are edible.
Blah blah blah.
The sun caught the pink flowers just so, five minutes later it would be dark. The mosquito sunning itself on the top flower realized that she might be able to find her own meal and started after my feet first.
Snap off a few more shots, and go away from the little flowers. Rack was returning from a visit from the wormhole family and tearing up the turf while running circles around the bougainvillea, coleus, and big palm trees in the yard.
"I know you didn't choose to go to Douglas in this time of year. Maybe some other time. It does look like a pretty place. Bring a Parka."
I'm getting a lecture of a street that is called "Athol" street in the central business district. I read the word rudely, and realize it is his favorite new word. Probably named after some oddball British Admiral that conquered some obscure island somewhere.
Every picture he sends me has a splat from a passing sea bird. It now becomes The Isle of Poop. Douglas, Isle of Poop. Not nice of me but there is rather a lot of it, and that is a part of being near the ocean.
It's time to go back in. The mosquito is zooming in for the kill. My right hand was getting attention as I try for one last picture of the Wood-Sorrel Shamrocky thing. Pretty flowers. I look at the display on the camera and back to the flowers. They're in shade now.
"I'll see you later, I have to go to the pub."
"Try the Fish and Chips. Proper British Fish and Chips served in a proper British Pub!"
Maybe not. He hates fish, loves the chips, and there's no way I can suggest that. Maybe some fried wood sorrel chips. I won't tell him what they are!
"Enjoy dinner and stay warm!"
Then if they're gone long enough you try to have a bit of fun with it.
In this case, I started getting texts while I was out back. Rack was boring holes through my soul with those brown puppy eyes of his.
Doggy Telepathy: "I want out. I want out. I want out."
I'm thinking somethings up... Maybe I should ask Rack what he wants?
" Show me boy, show me what you want".
Skid marks in my Florida room as he ran to the back door. He probably wanted to visit his other family on the other side of the wormhole behind the shed. I grabbed the phone, checked that the front door was closed, and let him out back.
Yes, really, the door sometimes opens on its own. It could be me, or it could be Rack's wormhole family, but I do need to make special effort to keep the door locked. If it is locked, it won't open on its own.
Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Betel...!
Don't say it three times. House guest from hell would arrive.
The texts began.
"Its cold"
Yes, you are in Douglas, Isle of Man, UK. It isn't summer yet. Summer is scheduled for August 13th from 11:43am to 4:27pm and it may indeed hit 70F.
"I know. Rack is enjoying it." Picture sent of Rack watching over the swimming pool in full sunlight. The light making diffraction patterns in his jet black fur shining in deep blues, vibrant reds, and ...
"You're mean. It's beautiful there, I miss it!".
I was walking to the back of the yard. The pool water was a wee bit low. May as well give it a hot foot and raise the level a bit.
"I thought you might enjoy a little sunshine. Everything there looked so cold and grey. It is the UK you know. Lovely people, fascinating culture, I'd love to visit some day, just not in the middle of the coldest week of the year"
I get back a single word "Shaddap".
I send back the picture of the shamrocks. They're Wood-Sorrel. It grows as a weed in my turf in the back yard. Technically it's Oxalis. They grow little tubers, just like the potatoes that are sprouting in the kitchen, and can be cooked or eaten raw. The tubers are sweet, and edible. Although they do contain Oxalic Acid, so do many of your foods, and as long as your Wood Sorrel is cleaned well, the risk is considered minimal.
But I will let someone else try first.
Yes, I am channeling some of those oddball survivalists. You know the guys who say "Every part of the pine tree is edible" - and I pipe up telling them to go to the lumber yard and eat a plank. But Pignolas are simply the seeds of a pine tree, and every pine tree has seeds that are edible.
Blah blah blah.
The sun caught the pink flowers just so, five minutes later it would be dark. The mosquito sunning itself on the top flower realized that she might be able to find her own meal and started after my feet first.
Snap off a few more shots, and go away from the little flowers. Rack was returning from a visit from the wormhole family and tearing up the turf while running circles around the bougainvillea, coleus, and big palm trees in the yard.
"I know you didn't choose to go to Douglas in this time of year. Maybe some other time. It does look like a pretty place. Bring a Parka."
I'm getting a lecture of a street that is called "Athol" street in the central business district. I read the word rudely, and realize it is his favorite new word. Probably named after some oddball British Admiral that conquered some obscure island somewhere.
Every picture he sends me has a splat from a passing sea bird. It now becomes The Isle of Poop. Douglas, Isle of Poop. Not nice of me but there is rather a lot of it, and that is a part of being near the ocean.
It's time to go back in. The mosquito is zooming in for the kill. My right hand was getting attention as I try for one last picture of the Wood-Sorrel Shamrocky thing. Pretty flowers. I look at the display on the camera and back to the flowers. They're in shade now.
"I'll see you later, I have to go to the pub."
"Try the Fish and Chips. Proper British Fish and Chips served in a proper British Pub!"
Maybe not. He hates fish, loves the chips, and there's no way I can suggest that. Maybe some fried wood sorrel chips. I won't tell him what they are!
"Enjoy dinner and stay warm!"
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Butterflies and Leis at M.E. DePalma Park
Then did you decide to let it be because it amused you?
Yep, that's what I did.
One of the local bars had a second anniversary. Rumor's Bar on Wilton Drive. I've had their food, the Reuben is worth the trip, and I keep hinting around that I would like to go back but ... Oh I guess I should get off my lazy butt and use the drink chips I find all over town and get a meal while I am at it.
At any rate, when they had their party there had to have been a theme. I walked past the place with Rack the McNab Superdog when it was in High Gear. They have a tented area that now takes up part of the parking lot. At the street side of the area, they hung all these garlands of silk flowers in bright colors.
I'm still finding them around town. They're the "pretty" ones, although I suppose that strictly speaking anything that isn't where it belongs isn't ...
Never mind that thought, they're just pretty.
People must have agreed because they took walks all over Wilton Drive. There were Leis in trees, over shrubs, light poles, in fences, and at one point around my own dog's neck. There was a beautiful woman who decided that my dog needed to be decorated.
What freaked me out about that was the improbability of it. Rack the Superdog is anything but Super around strangers. You need to have a dog as an escort, and you have to have the right energy. The second time he meets you it's different.
We got home, I left the Lei with someone else who thought it was cute. Rack being a herding breed thinks because we did something once, it becomes a Thing and it is therefore Required and I didn't want to have to be putting a silk lei on my dog every time we go out for a walk.
It would be come Weird. Herding Dog OCD aside.
The next morning, I was out at my normal predawn Stupid O'clock walk hour of 5AM and rounding the corner, something caught my eye in the M.E. DePalma Park. I turned on the Torch Of Doom, my 1200 Lumen Flashlight, and pointed it in the park.
All was quiet but someone had hung a Lei on the green Butterfly statue on the plinth at the back of the park.
I laughed at it's positioning, but couldn't bring myself to remove it.
In fact the next walk, for all the dozens of people who walk past it, the Lei was still there.
It's been about a week now. I should probably stop in there on the next dog walk and see what I should do about it.
Really.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Quaker Oats Vanishing Oatmeal Raisin Cookies Recipe
Ok, when I get bored, baking happens.
That was this weekend.
I've had this recipe for probably a year now, maybe two or even three. It taunted me. Oatmeal Raisin Cookies are one of those things that I do in fits and starts, and even then I have been somewhat disappointed with the results.
I've found some really strange recipes out there. One even substituted butter flavored shortening for the butter in the cookies and you end up with something that would survive the fall of mankind since there isn't any real food in that recipe.
No, really. That bad. No, not again. Not even...
But.
This recipe? It's as good as it gets as far as I am concerned. These cookies are really That Good.
Soft and moist inside, tasting richly of warm cinnamon and sweet raisins.
Guess what? I used the recipe from the Quaker Oats Cylinder. Really. I'm finding when I want to try something, the recipes off of the "bulk" food containers are usually the best. They're tested, they're "approved" and while they do tend to maximize the use of "their product", I have never had a problem with them.
In this case, the "Quaker Oats Vanishing Oatmeal Raisin Cookies" recipe was as good as promised. I had to restrain myself from attacking them.
A couple of clarifications in the recipe:
1) 30 grams of cookie makes a 105 calorie cookie on average. 28.3 grams to the ounce. Next time I will make a 29 gram cookie for a 101 calorie cookie. Why the nonsense about the measurements? The instructions say "Drop by rounded teaspoons onto ungreased cookie sheet". I wanted measured cookies that were all the same weight and calories. It is my own preference.
2) I omitted salt. I don't like salt in my foods. Again my own preference. I did, however, use a good quality Salted Butter simply because it was what I had on hand. I'm thinking it balanced out.
3) I'm American. Born and bred in South Jersey. So for my Overseas and Non American readers, and there are quite a few, I will try to use both Imperial and Metric Measurements. They are not strictly speaking Imperial any more since we sell beer in weird measurements, but that would be a bit pedantic. If you are Metric and want to give this a go, look over my shoulder and verify my conversions from Imperial to Metric. The chart I used for the conversion is here. Bring your own calculator.
4) Oats. The recipe calls for Rolled Oats or Quick Oats. Not the Steel Cut "Irish" or "Scottish" style oats that come in the can. The quick oats are almost a powder, but not quite.
5) I baked on parchment paper. When they came out, I merely lifted the parchment up and allowed the whole sheet to cool on an "empty" counter. If anything can be called empty in a kitchen!
6) Make These Cookies! They're excellent if you like a good Oatmeal Cookie. Or biscuit as they say in The Commonwealth. They really are That Good.
Recipe:
Ingredients:
Process:
That was this weekend.
I've had this recipe for probably a year now, maybe two or even three. It taunted me. Oatmeal Raisin Cookies are one of those things that I do in fits and starts, and even then I have been somewhat disappointed with the results.
I've found some really strange recipes out there. One even substituted butter flavored shortening for the butter in the cookies and you end up with something that would survive the fall of mankind since there isn't any real food in that recipe.
No, really. That bad. No, not again. Not even...
But.
This recipe? It's as good as it gets as far as I am concerned. These cookies are really That Good.
Soft and moist inside, tasting richly of warm cinnamon and sweet raisins.
Guess what? I used the recipe from the Quaker Oats Cylinder. Really. I'm finding when I want to try something, the recipes off of the "bulk" food containers are usually the best. They're tested, they're "approved" and while they do tend to maximize the use of "their product", I have never had a problem with them.
In this case, the "Quaker Oats Vanishing Oatmeal Raisin Cookies" recipe was as good as promised. I had to restrain myself from attacking them.
A couple of clarifications in the recipe:
1) 30 grams of cookie makes a 105 calorie cookie on average. 28.3 grams to the ounce. Next time I will make a 29 gram cookie for a 101 calorie cookie. Why the nonsense about the measurements? The instructions say "Drop by rounded teaspoons onto ungreased cookie sheet". I wanted measured cookies that were all the same weight and calories. It is my own preference.
2) I omitted salt. I don't like salt in my foods. Again my own preference. I did, however, use a good quality Salted Butter simply because it was what I had on hand. I'm thinking it balanced out.
3) I'm American. Born and bred in South Jersey. So for my Overseas and Non American readers, and there are quite a few, I will try to use both Imperial and Metric Measurements. They are not strictly speaking Imperial any more since we sell beer in weird measurements, but that would be a bit pedantic. If you are Metric and want to give this a go, look over my shoulder and verify my conversions from Imperial to Metric. The chart I used for the conversion is here. Bring your own calculator.
4) Oats. The recipe calls for Rolled Oats or Quick Oats. Not the Steel Cut "Irish" or "Scottish" style oats that come in the can. The quick oats are almost a powder, but not quite.
5) I baked on parchment paper. When they came out, I merely lifted the parchment up and allowed the whole sheet to cool on an "empty" counter. If anything can be called empty in a kitchen!
6) Make These Cookies! They're excellent if you like a good Oatmeal Cookie. Or biscuit as they say in The Commonwealth. They really are That Good.
Recipe:
Ingredients:
- 1/2 Pound (227 Grams) Softened Unsalted Butter, Salted Butter, or Margarine.
- 1 Cup (220 Grams) Firmly Packed Brown Sugar
- 1/2 Cup (100 Grams) Granulated or White Sugar
- 2 Large Eggs
- 1 teaspoon (5ml) Real Vanilla Extract
- 1 1/2 Cups (204 Grams) All Purpose Flour
- 1 teaspoon (5ml) Baking Soda
- 1 teaspoon (5ml) Cinnamon
- 1/2 teaspoon (2ml) Salt - Optional
- 3 Cups (255 Grams) Rolled Oats or Quick Oats.
- 1 Cup (240 ml - by volume) Firmly Packed Raisins
Process:
- Preheat oven to 350F - 180C - Gas Mark 4 - Moderate (source for conversion)
- Beat Together Butter and Sugars well until creamy
- Add Eggs and Vanilla and beat well
- Add combined Flour, Baking Soda, Cinnamon, and Salt, Mix well
- Stir in Oats and Raisins, Mix Well
- Drop by Rounded Tablespoons onto ungreased cookie sheet.
- Bake 10 to 12 minutes or until golden brown (It took me 12 to 14)
- Cool 1 minute on cookie sheet then remove to wire rack
- Makes about 4 dozen
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
You Never Know Who's Heart You Touch In This Town
True story.
Since I moved here, I have walked my dogs all over this part of town. First my dearly departed superdog Lettie. She came here with me in 2006 and her presence echoes to this day.
When Lettie left, Rack came two weeks later. I was ordered to "Find another dog". Practically in a growl. Now I walk Rack in circles, in the same neighborhood that Lettie was walked, sometimes at the same time of day.
People, including myself, are creatures of habit. Just ask a Police Officer.
When I got here, I walked from the place I rented out to the nearest shopping district, and back. Three different addresses, two different shopping districts and cities.
I would walk past the same shops practically the same time, in the same direction. After a while I realized that my own presence set a rhythm for others and some of the shopkeepers would wave as we passed. Lettie loved the attention when they'd come out. She was a people person. Their dogs, she would rather do without.
Now, being a Former Philadelphian, I walked. We're known for that. It's an intensely walkable city, and it is not unknown for people to walk two or three miles a day simply to get to and from work, another two miles for lunch. Compact downtown means you walk, but it doesn't mean that the restaurant you wanted to "hit" at lunch was near you.
I was no different. I'd walk a mile to the train and office each day, and get out three times a day with Lettie for a total of 4 miles on a quiet day.
It's a habit I continue here, three miles a day even now.
My neighborhood in Wilton Manors is constrained by some natural boundaries. The New River to the South with the big bad city of Fort Lauderdale.
No, really, that's a rough neighborhood over there across the river. I've been told that you lose 10 percent property value for each of the first couple blocks that you head out of Wilton Manors, and just don't go there after dark.
The FEC train tracks, Wilton Drive or Oakland Park Boulevard, and Andrews Avenue make up some of the other natural boundaries of the Central Neighborhood.
So I was limited in where I walked to when I moved into this happy house, on the quirky island, in this bizarre state of Florida.
Three times a day no matter what. A dog's bladder simply will not wait.
Luckily my couch has not been "blessed". Yet.
In my walks I would change the directions, but typically each of the three walks of the day went a different way to see different parts of town.
The later walks of the day I would walk past the apartment buildings near the park.
This went on for years, and is beginning again since Rack is getting used to walking further and getting a little more confident. We can walk down to the apartments that sit next to the park and make a little more than a mile ensuring a good night's sleep.
I really hadn't thought about the constant drip of my actions, like the water falling from the roof after a rain.
But others have and they noticed.
We were walking Rack through the parking lot of the big shopping center here when we were stopped by someone. That's kind of normal here, if I didn't get stopped in a walk it would be a shock, and that even happens as early as the 5AM walk.
He introduced himself by saying that he used to see us walk past his home every day. He lived up in the towers and used to watch for us. Me and my dog, and whoever else was tagging along in our Pack. He looked at Rack and then realized something was different.
I told him that Lettie had lived a long and beloved life, and she crossed over about two years back. This is Rack, and we got him soon after.
This new friend had said he didn't realize there was a difference until then. He told us that they looked the same from a distance. Laughing I explained the story that Lettie was a Mostly McNab dog, and Rack was most likely a purebred McNab since he looks like a textbook.
But that was when he repeated how much he enjoyed waiting and watching for us. He said that he chose to live where he did so he could watch out on the park and on the people who came by. Just like everyone who lives in Wilton Manors, you could choose to live elsewhere, but you move here because you want to.
We were surprised that someone walking their dogs would make such an impression, but I will try to keep an eye out in the future.
The next day, we had a waitress come out from the Italian restaurant at the North end of the Drive called Bona. She wanted to give Rack a cookie, telling us that she looks forward to watching Rack walk past the window and look in just like the other dog used to do.
I felt sorry that I couldn't accept her gesture of kindness, we found out recently that Rack is missing a "Pre Molar" and that partially explains why he is so hesitant to eat hard or dry foods. Everything gets soaked in hot water now.
But you really don't know who notices you in this town.
We could have chosen to live anywhere else in South Florida. We chose here for a reason.
Since I moved here, I have walked my dogs all over this part of town. First my dearly departed superdog Lettie. She came here with me in 2006 and her presence echoes to this day.
When Lettie left, Rack came two weeks later. I was ordered to "Find another dog". Practically in a growl. Now I walk Rack in circles, in the same neighborhood that Lettie was walked, sometimes at the same time of day.
People, including myself, are creatures of habit. Just ask a Police Officer.
When I got here, I walked from the place I rented out to the nearest shopping district, and back. Three different addresses, two different shopping districts and cities.
I would walk past the same shops practically the same time, in the same direction. After a while I realized that my own presence set a rhythm for others and some of the shopkeepers would wave as we passed. Lettie loved the attention when they'd come out. She was a people person. Their dogs, she would rather do without.
Now, being a Former Philadelphian, I walked. We're known for that. It's an intensely walkable city, and it is not unknown for people to walk two or three miles a day simply to get to and from work, another two miles for lunch. Compact downtown means you walk, but it doesn't mean that the restaurant you wanted to "hit" at lunch was near you.
I was no different. I'd walk a mile to the train and office each day, and get out three times a day with Lettie for a total of 4 miles on a quiet day.
It's a habit I continue here, three miles a day even now.
My neighborhood in Wilton Manors is constrained by some natural boundaries. The New River to the South with the big bad city of Fort Lauderdale.
No, really, that's a rough neighborhood over there across the river. I've been told that you lose 10 percent property value for each of the first couple blocks that you head out of Wilton Manors, and just don't go there after dark.
The FEC train tracks, Wilton Drive or Oakland Park Boulevard, and Andrews Avenue make up some of the other natural boundaries of the Central Neighborhood.
So I was limited in where I walked to when I moved into this happy house, on the quirky island, in this bizarre state of Florida.
Three times a day no matter what. A dog's bladder simply will not wait.
Luckily my couch has not been "blessed". Yet.
In my walks I would change the directions, but typically each of the three walks of the day went a different way to see different parts of town.
The later walks of the day I would walk past the apartment buildings near the park.
This went on for years, and is beginning again since Rack is getting used to walking further and getting a little more confident. We can walk down to the apartments that sit next to the park and make a little more than a mile ensuring a good night's sleep.
I really hadn't thought about the constant drip of my actions, like the water falling from the roof after a rain.
But others have and they noticed.
We were walking Rack through the parking lot of the big shopping center here when we were stopped by someone. That's kind of normal here, if I didn't get stopped in a walk it would be a shock, and that even happens as early as the 5AM walk.
He introduced himself by saying that he used to see us walk past his home every day. He lived up in the towers and used to watch for us. Me and my dog, and whoever else was tagging along in our Pack. He looked at Rack and then realized something was different.
I told him that Lettie had lived a long and beloved life, and she crossed over about two years back. This is Rack, and we got him soon after.
This new friend had said he didn't realize there was a difference until then. He told us that they looked the same from a distance. Laughing I explained the story that Lettie was a Mostly McNab dog, and Rack was most likely a purebred McNab since he looks like a textbook.
But that was when he repeated how much he enjoyed waiting and watching for us. He said that he chose to live where he did so he could watch out on the park and on the people who came by. Just like everyone who lives in Wilton Manors, you could choose to live elsewhere, but you move here because you want to.
We were surprised that someone walking their dogs would make such an impression, but I will try to keep an eye out in the future.
The next day, we had a waitress come out from the Italian restaurant at the North end of the Drive called Bona. She wanted to give Rack a cookie, telling us that she looks forward to watching Rack walk past the window and look in just like the other dog used to do.
I felt sorry that I couldn't accept her gesture of kindness, we found out recently that Rack is missing a "Pre Molar" and that partially explains why he is so hesitant to eat hard or dry foods. Everything gets soaked in hot water now.
But you really don't know who notices you in this town.
We could have chosen to live anywhere else in South Florida. We chose here for a reason.
Monday, February 9, 2015
Amaryllis In Bloom, iPhones, and Other First World Problems
It's the technology equivalent of a toddler coming down the stairs, seeing you for the first time, walking over, sitting next to you on the couch, opening his mouth, and crying.
Yes, that happened to me too, and you know who you are who did that.
Jonathan.
Ok, so I am channeling that toddler today.
I have known that the cameras in cellphones aren't all that great. Then I got the Samsung Galaxy S4 which has a camera almost as good as the standalone camera that I had been using for years. The drawback is that the S4 has a fixed lens so no Macro Zoom allowed unless you buy one of those $3 snap-on jobs that looks like something a jeweler would use.
I may do that.
But I had a problem. Someone needed to stay in touch with me, internationally. He went to London, and yes I am jealous, then to Douglas on the Isle of Man.
Who goes to Douglas on the Isle of Man in the middle of the Winter anyway?
Never mind that, it's for business.
He's on an iPhone and instead of spending insane amounts of money for international texting, he suggested I use my old creaky iPhone 3GS. We ruled that out since my SIM won't fit in there. But luckily I was loaned an iPhone 4S for this purpose.
Now I can internationally iMessage him for free. Free is good, my budget is tight. The idea of even paying for a text these days offends me to no end, and I was very late in the game only upgrading my plan when T-Mobile changed things around to unlimited talk, text, and 1GB data. It's enough and it's the same cost I had before. Since I hardly use the phone for data, I'm good.
Now I have this iPhone in my pocket. First thing I noticed is that it's small in my big hands. Being 6'4" tall, everything is proportional, and the big Samsung with the gorgeous 5 inch AMOLED full HD screen that literally lights up the room fit me perfectly. This 4 inch iPhone looks a bit "Barbie's" phone in my hand.
No worries, I'll deal with it, even if it's "quaint".
All the apps I had on my 3GS that I got over the years moved over and I'm back to "normal" whatever that is.
I went out and started taking pictures.
Mind you, when I sell my next picture, I'll sell my first. Not a professional. Maybe a Prosumer, what ever the hell that means. I take pictures to remember what to write about, and I do take care to make the pictures as good as possible so they may be interesting to the hundreds of whoevers that stumble across this blog now and in the future every day.
Go ahead and graph that last paragraph, I know it is phrased clumsily, I'll wait...
This weekend was the first time I tried to look at the pictures on the laptop. I noticed two things. The pictures were over-saturated. Also they were fuzzy. To be fair, it's an older phone. It's been repaired professionally. Good looking beast, but it's clad in glass on both sides. Apple recognized their mistakes and went to plastic and metal for the back.
It's possible that the focus could be slightly off due to "deceleration trauma". That could explain the focus but not the color intensity.
So for now, I'll carry the two phones and hope for the best.
The best you ask? I get an attitude adjustment and stop being so fussy. I'll also use the Galaxy for pictures. Looks better in my big paws and takes better pictures.
The iPhone is a communication device anyway. The camera there is an afterthought.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
Little Mary Earns Fifteen Dollars
One day, little Mary was coming home from school, and when she came home, she said, "Mom, I got five dollars!"
Her mother said, "Where'd you get the five dollars?"
Mary replied, "Well, little Tommy was up the tree and he asked me to do a cartwheel."
The mother said, "Mary, don't you know that he just wanted to see your panties?.."
Little Mary got mad. She said, "Oooh..." and the next day, she came home with ten dollars.
"Mary, where did you get ten dollars?" said the mother.
"Well, I told you little Tommy was up there," said Mary, and her mother replied, "Mary, didn't I tell you he wanted to see your panties?"
Mary said, "No, Mom, I fooled him! I wasn't wearing any!"
Her mother said, "Where'd you get the five dollars?"
Mary replied, "Well, little Tommy was up the tree and he asked me to do a cartwheel."
The mother said, "Mary, don't you know that he just wanted to see your panties?.."
Little Mary got mad. She said, "Oooh..." and the next day, she came home with ten dollars.
"Mary, where did you get ten dollars?" said the mother.
"Well, I told you little Tommy was up there," said Mary, and her mother replied, "Mary, didn't I tell you he wanted to see your panties?"
Mary said, "No, Mom, I fooled him! I wasn't wearing any!"
Saturday, February 7, 2015
The Singing Mouse
A drunk walked into a tavern, sat down at the bar. He placed a small
cardboard box on the bar, and ordered a beer. When the beer came, he
opened the box, pulled out a tiny piano and bench and set them on the
bar, then ordered another beer.
When the beer came, he reached into the box, pulled out a frog, sat him on the piano bench and said, "PLAY".
The frog immediately began to play the piano.
It played all the favorites, and some classical and then launched into contemporary jazz.
The man ordered another beer, and when it came he reached into the cardboard box and pulled out a little white mouse.
He set this mouse on top of the piano and said "SING".
The frog began to play the piano and the mouse began to sing, first some 'oldies but goodies', then all of the current favorites.
A man at the bar who was watching all of this approached the drunk man and offered to buy this little outfit that he had.
After a bit of negotiating, the drunk man agreed to sell just the mouse to the man for $500.
The man took the mouse and ran out the door before the drunk could change his mind.
The bartender had been watching all of this goings on and said to the drunk "You damned old fool! You just sold that mouse for $500 and you could have made millions off of it!"
The drunk laughed heartily, burped and replied "Don't be silly, The frog is a ventriloquist!"
When the beer came, he reached into the box, pulled out a frog, sat him on the piano bench and said, "PLAY".
The frog immediately began to play the piano.
It played all the favorites, and some classical and then launched into contemporary jazz.
The man ordered another beer, and when it came he reached into the cardboard box and pulled out a little white mouse.
He set this mouse on top of the piano and said "SING".
The frog began to play the piano and the mouse began to sing, first some 'oldies but goodies', then all of the current favorites.
A man at the bar who was watching all of this approached the drunk man and offered to buy this little outfit that he had.
After a bit of negotiating, the drunk man agreed to sell just the mouse to the man for $500.
The man took the mouse and ran out the door before the drunk could change his mind.
The bartender had been watching all of this goings on and said to the drunk "You damned old fool! You just sold that mouse for $500 and you could have made millions off of it!"
The drunk laughed heartily, burped and replied "Don't be silly, The frog is a ventriloquist!"
Friday, February 6, 2015
Selective Hearing In Dogs Can Be A Help In Training
It's the dry season in South Florida. That is why you folks are clogging up our roads and putting money into our businesses. The weather is nicest this time of year for people from out of state. Their homes are surrounded by something we'd put in our drinks and our freezers, while we're complaining about something that would make a Scotsman sweat in the "heat".
It's also a great time of year for us to do some outdoor chores like pest control. Our homes are constantly being invaded by the great outdoors, and if you don't want to live with great patrols of ants making their way inside to carry you off, you get on a first name basis with a pesticide company.
Herbie. His name is Herbie. If you ask me nicely I will even give you a reference.
But Herbie, as good as he is, can't be here the entire time. We got some pellets and spread them around the foundation of the home to make a ring of doom for critters. Sorry, we pay the mortgage, you critters don't.
It created a problem for us. More specifically, for Rack, my McNab Dog.
Yeah Him again. You see, he's incredibly intelligent and is learning English, at least the way we speak it.
There's a wrinkle to that. Dogs hear individual words and try to assemble meanings. Humans store the sentence, or paragraph, and try to assemble meanings.
At least some of us do. Both people and dogs. When you're talking about a McNab, you're talking about a dog that is as smart as the smartest out there.
So one morning we were talking about whether it was time to add a ring of doom around the house, give it a booster shot of poison. That means that we couldn't let Rack out to run his lap around the yard. His family on the other side of the wormhole that is in behind the shed will have to do without him for a couple weeks. The poison that we used is persistent and will take a while to soak in with rains. Since we have just had our first rain in weeks, the prospect of not using the back yard with Rack is very real. We put notes on the door so that I will remember, and even one at Dog's Nose Height.
That was the discussion.
Rack heard "Rack Backyard Note Go Run".
He trotted to the back door, sat down and stared holes into us.
I walked over to the door and my velcro-dog was with me, glued to my right calf. I needed to go outside. Luckily he does understand more than I think he does, and I get great results when I devolve my own University Educated English into a Pidgin Dog Speak.
I said "Rack, This Says Not For Dogs" while pointing at the post-it note with the thick letters that say "No Dog".
I swear Rack Moaned before he looked back and forth between the note and my own eyes.
"Rack, you can't go out" pointing back at the post-it I said "Not for Dogs. No Dogs Allowed".
Sure, I'm channeling an old Charlie Brown cartoon but it worked. Rack's ears went down, tail dropped from excited to grumble height, and he slunk out of the Florida Room. I went out back and dealt with the pool's water level and came back.
Rack was staring at the glass door, then the note, and when he spotted me, myself.
"Sorry Boy, not today."
See, he will go to the back room when he needs to go Use The Tree out back, and our own routine is for him to stare me down until I pay attention, then I'll ask him "Show Me" and he'll lead me to what he needs. Kind of like Lassie where they're asking "Did Timmy Fall Down the Well?".
Leads me to wonder why they didn't build a wall around that damn well with kids falling in it so often.
That particular morning I took it a step further. I got him to go out to the Front Yard on his own. That isn't a big deal for most, but Rack is highly fearful. He's afraid of anything noisy, which could be anything from a leaf moving down in Miami to my own making a Kissing sound toward him or the parrot.
I managed to coax Rack out front where the street was, let him Use The Rock instead of the Palm tree out back, and watched as he stopped. His tail went full tilt. He saw a pack of dogs being led out for their march round the block.
"Rack, go home". He looks up at me as if to say he wanted to go play.
"Sorry Buddy, let's go home". I didn't have to say it again, he was already in motion toward the open front door.
It proved that I had a few milestones passed that I didn't realize I had passed, all because I don't feel like living with ants.
Rack could be depended on to go out front, avoid the pack, and go back into the house on command. Pretty big step for a dog who would go into hiding and shiver in a corner when I dropped my mixing spoon on the floor the other day.
The forecast is clear for a week more so Rack will be out back only on leash. That's a shame because I really do enjoy watching him run around the property like a CrazyDog. The grass will grow back where he "corners" around the big palm tree and accelerates past in a black and white blur on the way to the wormhole behind the shed.
But, the good thing is that we just had a mid-term test and passed with flying colors. He's well on the way to becoming another Dog Of A Lifetime like my Lettie was. I could open the door to the house, she'd do her thing and come back, completing whatever tasks I told her I needed done on the way. I swear if she had thumbs, she could have built us that pergola over the spa I was thinking about.
Rack is learning. He may not get a construction permit, but he's figuring out life, and at this point that's a good thing.
It's also a great time of year for us to do some outdoor chores like pest control. Our homes are constantly being invaded by the great outdoors, and if you don't want to live with great patrols of ants making their way inside to carry you off, you get on a first name basis with a pesticide company.
Herbie. His name is Herbie. If you ask me nicely I will even give you a reference.
But Herbie, as good as he is, can't be here the entire time. We got some pellets and spread them around the foundation of the home to make a ring of doom for critters. Sorry, we pay the mortgage, you critters don't.
It created a problem for us. More specifically, for Rack, my McNab Dog.
Yeah Him again. You see, he's incredibly intelligent and is learning English, at least the way we speak it.
There's a wrinkle to that. Dogs hear individual words and try to assemble meanings. Humans store the sentence, or paragraph, and try to assemble meanings.
At least some of us do. Both people and dogs. When you're talking about a McNab, you're talking about a dog that is as smart as the smartest out there.
So one morning we were talking about whether it was time to add a ring of doom around the house, give it a booster shot of poison. That means that we couldn't let Rack out to run his lap around the yard. His family on the other side of the wormhole that is in behind the shed will have to do without him for a couple weeks. The poison that we used is persistent and will take a while to soak in with rains. Since we have just had our first rain in weeks, the prospect of not using the back yard with Rack is very real. We put notes on the door so that I will remember, and even one at Dog's Nose Height.
That was the discussion.
Rack heard "Rack Backyard Note Go Run".
He trotted to the back door, sat down and stared holes into us.
I walked over to the door and my velcro-dog was with me, glued to my right calf. I needed to go outside. Luckily he does understand more than I think he does, and I get great results when I devolve my own University Educated English into a Pidgin Dog Speak.
I said "Rack, This Says Not For Dogs" while pointing at the post-it note with the thick letters that say "No Dog".
I swear Rack Moaned before he looked back and forth between the note and my own eyes.
"Rack, you can't go out" pointing back at the post-it I said "Not for Dogs. No Dogs Allowed".
Sure, I'm channeling an old Charlie Brown cartoon but it worked. Rack's ears went down, tail dropped from excited to grumble height, and he slunk out of the Florida Room. I went out back and dealt with the pool's water level and came back.
Rack was staring at the glass door, then the note, and when he spotted me, myself.
"Sorry Boy, not today."
See, he will go to the back room when he needs to go Use The Tree out back, and our own routine is for him to stare me down until I pay attention, then I'll ask him "Show Me" and he'll lead me to what he needs. Kind of like Lassie where they're asking "Did Timmy Fall Down the Well?".
Leads me to wonder why they didn't build a wall around that damn well with kids falling in it so often.
That particular morning I took it a step further. I got him to go out to the Front Yard on his own. That isn't a big deal for most, but Rack is highly fearful. He's afraid of anything noisy, which could be anything from a leaf moving down in Miami to my own making a Kissing sound toward him or the parrot.
I managed to coax Rack out front where the street was, let him Use The Rock instead of the Palm tree out back, and watched as he stopped. His tail went full tilt. He saw a pack of dogs being led out for their march round the block.
"Rack, go home". He looks up at me as if to say he wanted to go play.
"Sorry Buddy, let's go home". I didn't have to say it again, he was already in motion toward the open front door.
It proved that I had a few milestones passed that I didn't realize I had passed, all because I don't feel like living with ants.
Rack could be depended on to go out front, avoid the pack, and go back into the house on command. Pretty big step for a dog who would go into hiding and shiver in a corner when I dropped my mixing spoon on the floor the other day.
The forecast is clear for a week more so Rack will be out back only on leash. That's a shame because I really do enjoy watching him run around the property like a CrazyDog. The grass will grow back where he "corners" around the big palm tree and accelerates past in a black and white blur on the way to the wormhole behind the shed.
But, the good thing is that we just had a mid-term test and passed with flying colors. He's well on the way to becoming another Dog Of A Lifetime like my Lettie was. I could open the door to the house, she'd do her thing and come back, completing whatever tasks I told her I needed done on the way. I swear if she had thumbs, she could have built us that pergola over the spa I was thinking about.
Rack is learning. He may not get a construction permit, but he's figuring out life, and at this point that's a good thing.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
It's Going to Rain, Hurry, Feed the Dog!
The first thing I did in the morning was to look at Radar.
The nearest green blob of rain was a good 35 miles away. Shouldn't be a problem, right? A couple hours away, I should be able to get the dog walked, get back, have breakfast, and take my time at the rest of the morning nonsense.
I set about doing just that.
Except.
My dog had different ideas. Most dogs will at least pay attention to weather when it is coming. Thunderstorms and the like, anything noisy, they will know it's coming before you do.
I got Rack out of the front door.
Normally he stays close. Not quite a velcro dog, but he does stay close enough that he can see me wherever I am in the house.
I know, Aww, Right?
That's why you have a dog, Right?
But this was outside and having 45 pounds of McNab Dog glued to your legs was a little odd.
"Bump". Come on boy, lets go!
He walked down the driveway, past the car, and snuffled the post to the mailbox - all at slow speed and well behind me. Usually he's pulling to get me to move faster at this point in the walk. The roles were reversed this morning. I haven't yet convinced him to "modulate" his speed so neither of us are being stretched along. It may not happen.
Getting to the big parking lot near the house, he was uneven and uneasy. Usually he'll sniff the grounds and do his business. Wasn't happening that way today. Looking up at the dark skies, two hours before sunrise, he wandered aimlessly. I dragged him parking island to parking island.
"You have plenty of time, Rack, there's no rain yet".
Shouldn't have said that. He visibly ducked when he heard "rain".
We wandered through the town. There were a few people I knew up at this hour, mostly dog walkers, but some that work at the various shops getting them ready for you to go in a bit later. As I was chatting with one, he noticed that Rack was sitting down and shivering. Insisting that it was the weather and not an approaching 50 Bus, we went on with the walk and eventually home.
Feeding is still uneven on the best days. He's fearful and won't eat on his own. You just don't want to depend on the "He'll eat when he's hungry" maxim - it won't work with a fearful dog and it's just cruel anwyay.
With atmospherics going on with in 50 miles, he wouldn't eat easily even if I hand feed him. I have to boil water, pour hot water over the food, and allow it to soak into the food. This is all in order for him to get some into him once it cools.
All that took time. Place the bowl under his nose in his hiding place in the crate, I say cheerily "Hungry, Rack! Lets Eat!".
Nothing.
I go back to my own routine thinking the smells and sounds of my own breakfast will help.
May as well have set loose crickets in the house for all the good that did.
Giving him 30 minutes, he got out of the crate and parked by my feet. Reaching over for the food bowl, I once again put it in reach. One piece of spongy soaked kibble at a time to prime the pump. He nibbled a little bit of food.
This is easier than wet dog food because you just don't want to get wet dog food on your hands while you feed them. Too nasty.
As he finally began to eat on his own, the Duck and Cover alarm went off. The front had come close enough to "throw an alert". As I am listening to the weather radio telling small craft to come into port, it sounded another alarm, then a third. It hadn't even finished the alert from alarm one.
Should be interesting. Practically every town I could think of in two counties and part of a third that had ocean front were named. Then they went onto the thunderstorm watch. Yep, my town too.
Oh the food? That was forgotten. Time to prime the pump again, and re-feed.
He's in a small gap in the living room furniture and I am sitting in front of it. He must have liked it because he gave me a wag or three out of that tail of his when I first arrived. Here we were 15 minutes into the ritual and I was still tapping the metal bowl, grabbing lost pieces of kibble, and handfeeding him.
A little less fear would be greatly appreciated, I thought to him, as I continued the ritual.
15 minutes to get a cup of food into him that has been "rehydrated".
All in the job feeding a fearful dog in a loud front of thunderstorms and all this at a time where people were just getting out of the shower in the morning.
It will be a full day.
The nearest green blob of rain was a good 35 miles away. Shouldn't be a problem, right? A couple hours away, I should be able to get the dog walked, get back, have breakfast, and take my time at the rest of the morning nonsense.
I set about doing just that.
Except.
My dog had different ideas. Most dogs will at least pay attention to weather when it is coming. Thunderstorms and the like, anything noisy, they will know it's coming before you do.
I got Rack out of the front door.
Normally he stays close. Not quite a velcro dog, but he does stay close enough that he can see me wherever I am in the house.
I know, Aww, Right?
That's why you have a dog, Right?
But this was outside and having 45 pounds of McNab Dog glued to your legs was a little odd.
"Bump". Come on boy, lets go!
He walked down the driveway, past the car, and snuffled the post to the mailbox - all at slow speed and well behind me. Usually he's pulling to get me to move faster at this point in the walk. The roles were reversed this morning. I haven't yet convinced him to "modulate" his speed so neither of us are being stretched along. It may not happen.
Getting to the big parking lot near the house, he was uneven and uneasy. Usually he'll sniff the grounds and do his business. Wasn't happening that way today. Looking up at the dark skies, two hours before sunrise, he wandered aimlessly. I dragged him parking island to parking island.
"You have plenty of time, Rack, there's no rain yet".
Shouldn't have said that. He visibly ducked when he heard "rain".
We wandered through the town. There were a few people I knew up at this hour, mostly dog walkers, but some that work at the various shops getting them ready for you to go in a bit later. As I was chatting with one, he noticed that Rack was sitting down and shivering. Insisting that it was the weather and not an approaching 50 Bus, we went on with the walk and eventually home.
Feeding is still uneven on the best days. He's fearful and won't eat on his own. You just don't want to depend on the "He'll eat when he's hungry" maxim - it won't work with a fearful dog and it's just cruel anwyay.
With atmospherics going on with in 50 miles, he wouldn't eat easily even if I hand feed him. I have to boil water, pour hot water over the food, and allow it to soak into the food. This is all in order for him to get some into him once it cools.
All that took time. Place the bowl under his nose in his hiding place in the crate, I say cheerily "Hungry, Rack! Lets Eat!".
Nothing.
I go back to my own routine thinking the smells and sounds of my own breakfast will help.
May as well have set loose crickets in the house for all the good that did.
Giving him 30 minutes, he got out of the crate and parked by my feet. Reaching over for the food bowl, I once again put it in reach. One piece of spongy soaked kibble at a time to prime the pump. He nibbled a little bit of food.
This is easier than wet dog food because you just don't want to get wet dog food on your hands while you feed them. Too nasty.
As he finally began to eat on his own, the Duck and Cover alarm went off. The front had come close enough to "throw an alert". As I am listening to the weather radio telling small craft to come into port, it sounded another alarm, then a third. It hadn't even finished the alert from alarm one.
Should be interesting. Practically every town I could think of in two counties and part of a third that had ocean front were named. Then they went onto the thunderstorm watch. Yep, my town too.
Oh the food? That was forgotten. Time to prime the pump again, and re-feed.
He's in a small gap in the living room furniture and I am sitting in front of it. He must have liked it because he gave me a wag or three out of that tail of his when I first arrived. Here we were 15 minutes into the ritual and I was still tapping the metal bowl, grabbing lost pieces of kibble, and handfeeding him.
A little less fear would be greatly appreciated, I thought to him, as I continued the ritual.
15 minutes to get a cup of food into him that has been "rehydrated".
All in the job feeding a fearful dog in a loud front of thunderstorms and all this at a time where people were just getting out of the shower in the morning.
It will be a full day.
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