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Satsop, Washington
The Diogenes Club
Sunday, September 8, 2013
The Rutherford B. Hayes Song
His friends, they called him "Ruddy"
But he got his hands all muddy
When he stole the election from Tilden
And we almost had Civil War 2 instead of nation buildin'
But Ruddy Hayes
You weren't so bad
You were the best President from Ohio that we had
Now I realize that's not sayin' a lot
But sometimes you've got to work with what you've got
He promised to serve only one term
Healing the nation's epiderm
He didn't drink booze, he had a big beard
And his relationship with his sister was kinda weird
But Ruddy Hayes
You weren't so bad
You were the best President from Ohio that we had
Now I realize that's not sayin' a lot
But sometimes you've got to work with what you've got
He had progressive views on race
As an ex-president he was not a waste of space
He helped the disadvantaged, what do you think of that?
If he were here today he'd be a Democrat
But Ruddy Hayes
You weren't so bad
You were the best President from Ohio that we had
Now I realize that's not sayin' a lot
But sometimes you've got to work with what you've got
Postcard - Bonners Ferry, Idaho
Looks like 1960s.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
A Personal Barber Gender Observation Concerning Eyebrows
Now this is true in my experience, not a generalization. I have been keeping score.
When I go to get my hair cut and beard trimmed I go to real barbers, you know, with the traditional poles out front and the outdated magazines in the waiting area.
I don't have a regular place to go. Around here barbers have strange hours, so I just drop in when and wherever I get a chance.
Over the last few years I visited a wide variety of barbers of both genders, I'd say evenly split 50/50, in several different cities in Thurston and Grays Harbor counties.
At this point in my life I am at the age where hair on my head grows wildly in places like out of my ears, nose, eyebrows, everywhere except the top of my head, which is thinning rapidly! Like my grandfather used to say, my hair is wavy, it is waving goodbye!
So here is what I have observed when it comes to eyebrows.
Male barbers always ask if you want your eyebrows trimmed. Female barbers never ask, they just do it before you know what is happening. So far, in my experience, this has been 100% true.
It is time for me to revisit James Thurber.
When I go to get my hair cut and beard trimmed I go to real barbers, you know, with the traditional poles out front and the outdated magazines in the waiting area.
I don't have a regular place to go. Around here barbers have strange hours, so I just drop in when and wherever I get a chance.
Over the last few years I visited a wide variety of barbers of both genders, I'd say evenly split 50/50, in several different cities in Thurston and Grays Harbor counties.
At this point in my life I am at the age where hair on my head grows wildly in places like out of my ears, nose, eyebrows, everywhere except the top of my head, which is thinning rapidly! Like my grandfather used to say, my hair is wavy, it is waving goodbye!
So here is what I have observed when it comes to eyebrows.
Male barbers always ask if you want your eyebrows trimmed. Female barbers never ask, they just do it before you know what is happening. So far, in my experience, this has been 100% true.
It is time for me to revisit James Thurber.
Morty Comix #2642
Postcard - Sarasota, Florida
Early 1960s?
The James Monroe Song
James Monroe
Was the last
Pres-i-dent
To wear a white wig
He died in New York
Broken and broke
But unlike Millard Fillmore
He did not become a Whig
Gizzards
He was a tall, lanky young fellow, this specimen standing next to me at the gas station minimart. Probably about 30. Short hair, glasses, ears that could be used for radar. He had a cartoonish overbite. He looked like he was dressed for an occupation in some office.
Next to us was a glass enclosure where food items were for sale. Most of them were deep fried, meaning the consumables were immersed in boiling hot fat. Then they sat under heat lamps until such time as a customer requested one. Several of the deep fried products were originally pigs or chickens that had been killed, cut up, deep fried, and assigned a price.
A clerk asked what the young man wanted. Without hesitation he said, almost with a sense of pride, "Gizzards, please!"
Gizzards. Some part of an animal, probably poultry in this case, that vaguely has some function involving digestion. Never before had I heard the word "gizzards" uttered in a public place with such gusto. This meant the young man had to actually build up some extra energy in his lungs before exhaling the word that would bring him what he desired. And his desire must have been strong. For gizzards.
I wonder why.
The clerk went to the enclosed case, removed some deep fried gizzards, and placed them in a small black plastic bag. The young man was told the price, he paid it, and then confidently strode out of the store with his small black plastic bag of deep fried gizzards.
A couple minutes later I drove past him as he was walking down the street, eating the food that was now his by virtue of the fact he had traded tokens of his labor for it. He had a blankly pleased expression, like he was happy but possibly unaware he was happy.
I wonder if, after we die, there is someone around to explain some of the mysteries of life we had experienced.
Next to us was a glass enclosure where food items were for sale. Most of them were deep fried, meaning the consumables were immersed in boiling hot fat. Then they sat under heat lamps until such time as a customer requested one. Several of the deep fried products were originally pigs or chickens that had been killed, cut up, deep fried, and assigned a price.
A clerk asked what the young man wanted. Without hesitation he said, almost with a sense of pride, "Gizzards, please!"
Gizzards. Some part of an animal, probably poultry in this case, that vaguely has some function involving digestion. Never before had I heard the word "gizzards" uttered in a public place with such gusto. This meant the young man had to actually build up some extra energy in his lungs before exhaling the word that would bring him what he desired. And his desire must have been strong. For gizzards.
I wonder why.
The clerk went to the enclosed case, removed some deep fried gizzards, and placed them in a small black plastic bag. The young man was told the price, he paid it, and then confidently strode out of the store with his small black plastic bag of deep fried gizzards.
A couple minutes later I drove past him as he was walking down the street, eating the food that was now his by virtue of the fact he had traded tokens of his labor for it. He had a blankly pleased expression, like he was happy but possibly unaware he was happy.
I wonder if, after we die, there is someone around to explain some of the mysteries of life we had experienced.
Friday, September 6, 2013
Bil Keane Statue
A statue of Bil will be dedicated on Nov. 8 in Scottsdale, Arizona (I would so like to be there) and possibly a museum will be built covering his life and work.
Here's the article.
The Business of Guns
View The Business of Guns, click here
Minute MBA has a very nice and nonpartisan short video on the gun industry in the United States.
My own interpretation is that U.S. gun ownership is a measure of our own paranoia as a nation. Maybe in the past pioneer era having a deadly weapon was useful, but in Century 21 private gun ownership is not about freedom, it is about fear.
As for hunters, they can use crossbows, that way it'll be a real sport.
Two links to clarify:
Watercolor series: Since I originally posted this, I have moved more solidly into the gun control camp. The more I read about Americans shooting each other, the more I welcome the day when the NRA is considered the terrorist organization it is and gets shut down. What they are promoting is destroying our country.
Cold Dead Hand: The Jim Carrey video that riled up Fox and the NRA. Go Jim!
Morty Comix # 2641
Postcard - Sanibel Island, Florida
1960s.
Favorite Movie Quotes: Stagecoach
"I'm not only a philosopher, sir, I'm a fatalist. Somewhere, sometime,
there may be the right bullet or the wrong bottle waiting for Josiah
Boone. Why worry when or where?"
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Morty Comix # 2640
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
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