Happy “”ather’s Day!

 

              Alright Dundas, now you’ve gone too ““ar.  Yes, it was me that substituted your toothpaste with Elmer’s glue and yes it was me that put the plastic wrap over the toilet.  A bit mean, yes, but not something that warrants this little prank.  Why would you remove the ““ key on my keyboard when you know darn well I was planning on making this a ““ather’s Day edition o”“ Be Good or Be Good At It!? You don’t need to bring ““amily into this, you cruel little man!

              So here we are once again, on a holiday created to honor those that ““elt slighted when mothers were honored on a holiday completely created by Hallmark.  And here I am not able to even address and honor all the ““athers out there who slay the dragon at work and come home each and every day only to be told by their wives that they should have seen what happened at home today and how it was dealt with by the mother and why it was his ““ault that whatever happened happened.

              And here are you, Dundas, removing my ability to say thank you to my ““ather and to all the ““athers out there who are not looking to be honored, but simply are happy and content to have one day where they are expected to do nothing.  Granted, the expectation that we men would NOT do nothing has been abandoned by any woman that has been married over ““ive years, but THIS is the day we don’t get in trouble ““or our natural slothly behavior. 

              It was here, in these ““ew words that I wanted to honor my ““ellow ““athers, whose smiling ““ace never ““alters when ““aced with ““rowns, and ““acilitates the ““abulous ““estivities when ““ate ““eigns to ““oul up ““un ““iestas with ““eeble ““alsehoods and ““oreboding ““antasies. 

              Yes, this paragraph was intended to support the men who put up with all the nonsense that is real li”“e and keep on keeping on.  Those that spit in the ““ace o”“ illogical situations, only to realize that those illogical situations were upwind.  We honor the ““athers out there who have been aware ““or years that the clothes drier has been shrinking each and every pair o”“ pants that they own.  The ““athers who watch television with their wives and insist that the younger women these days should wear more clothing.. and she believes him.  

              And to limit the honor to just that one paragraph? ““or shame! We honor those men who success”“ully built an argument to ALMOST de”“eat his wi”“e in a disagreement. We honor the ““athers who know that there is no such thing as winning an argument with a lady, only degrees o”“ losing.  We honor all those ““ather who read this ““ar into this article without ““alling aslee…

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shhh, happy ““ather’s day all you dads out there…be good or be good at it…and rest well. 

 And “” you, Dundas.

Horse’s A Goes to See Horses…eh?

              You know, sometimes a family just needs to get away and enjoy some quality time together. For yours truly, the titular Horse’s A, and his family, this weekend was that time.  Leaving our home in Walla Walla, Washington, we packed up the Reese Rambler and headed toward Chincoteague, Virginia. Why? Well that’s the home of the world famous Chincoteague Wild Ponies…not some football team, nay, real ponies that poop real poop and attract large numbers of tourists who apparently have never seen horses before…ever.

              My wife, upon whose judgment we normally and rightfully rely, made the mind-blowingly…that’s right, I just created an adverb, deal with it…incorrect call to ask me to be the one to drive.  It’s on record that I abhor driving. Not my driving, per se, but the driving of other people. The people who go under the speed limit, those that make turns that would be impressive in video games, but not so much in real life, and…bridges.

              We had to cross the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, a remarkably well constructed bridge and one that doesn’t have a tendency to catastrophically collapse, but, being a bridge, drew my angst and ire to a fever pitch.  It is also a large bridge that spans, by my calculations, forty-three miles over the water (EDITOR’S Note: The bridge is actually 4.3 miles long. The Author is NOT to be trusted with decimal points). We cross the bridge while I test the ultimate limits of the Depends underwear bought for this specific point in our journey and we finally reach Chincoteague.  

              It should be noted at this time that we had an absolutely lovely time in Chincoteague and its neighboring island Assateague, which is actually where the ponies can be found. It should also be noted at this time that no one reads this blog to find out that everything was wonderful and nothing went awry.   That being said, we arrive at our hotel and dump our things…including the aforementioned Depends underwear and being our tourism bit. We begin on Main Street and backtrack towards Maddox Blvd…which is actually the Main Street, but whatever.  We begin to realize that the mean age of the population is somewhere between eighty-five and the age of those who actually witnessed the Civil War. And they are chatty…all of them.

              I’m not really a people person, being socially awkward, and the concept of trying and subsequently failing to come up with ways to not seem to be the horribly awkward person I am makes me nauseous.  But I’m there with my beloved girls so I have to be the father and husband so I make nice-nice.  We spent a reasonable amount of time buying up trinkets and had a genuinely great time looking at the sights and sounds of the city…er…town…uh village. We then decided to go visit the Assateague Lighthouse, which is located on an elevated section of what can only be described as a swamp. 

              The lighthouse itself was a pleasure to see and it was even fun to get to the top and get a remarkable view of the surrounding area.  When we got back to terra firma, my thighs filed for divorce on the grounds of torture and I reluctantly agreed.  Then, as I stood before the entrance to the lighthouse, I remembered my kollej edumakashun that reminded me what kinds of bugs were around swamps.  Yep, mosquitos. And guess who completely forgot to bring bug spray? Yep, me. So there we are, running down the hill, waving our hands, and generally looking like fools attempting to, unsuccessfully, evade the mosquitos of doom. 

              Alright, well, so we are now somewhat more bumpy (thanks to the bites) than when we began this trip, but hey, let’s go to the beach and relax.  It’s about sixty-five degrees and quite windy. We’ve neglected to bring some sort of protection from the sun so we bought a beach umbrella.  So there I am trying to secure an unfurled beach umbrella into the sand during wind gusts measured up to 165 mph (EDITOR’S Note: Look, we’ve been through this, people. Decimals and this lame brain author do not get along well together, so slap a period between the six and the five and you should be in the correct ballpark). 

              Well, I fail miserably to keep possession of our beach umbrella as it floated off towards the NASA station just down the road. I’m sure they had to fire a rocket or something at it for practice so I prefer to think of my feeble and unsuccessful efforts to control my umbrella as a unique testing opportunity for my Country. You’re welcome. Luckily, my wife bought sandwiches so I do what I do best…eat copious amounts of non-healthy food. I am pleased to announce that that endeavor was a complete success!

              As I alluded to earlier, we had a really good time in Chincoteague and Assateague. We suffered no fatalities and we were able to launch a new satellite into the lower atmosphere of the Earth.  Oh…and I met up with an old friend of mine named Noxzema…I forgot sunscreen so I’ll be doing a lobster impression for the next few days. Available for parties should you need a lobster impersonator!  At the very least I can try to…

WAIT! Nope, can't end this article without wishing my lovely bride a very happy birthday. Love you, honey and thank you for helping me every day in at least attempting to...

Be Good or Be Good At It!

             

             

             

Dark Cloud’s Silver Line[ing]...Doesn’t Work!

Okay, this is exactly how stereotypes are born.  One thing starts to go wrong, and everyone just gives it a shrug. Two things happen and people chuckle.  Three things go terribly wrong and the ball starts to roll downhill toward Edsel-Town or Wii-U-ville.  Welcome to the Silver Line of the Washington DC area’s Metro.

              I’m going to start out here and say that I have a dog in this fight…on wait…too soon after Michael Vick…I have a horse in this race…yeah, that’s better. I live in Northern Virginia and ride the Metro to work every day.  And I can’t wait for this new Metro expansion, which will create a new line of the metro, subway, tube, whatever you wish to call it, which will have a station within a few miles of where I live.  It will cut a great deal of travel time to and from my job (I’m a sight-challenged gynecologist with shaky hands, a nervous tick and a tendency to lie about his occupation).

   

              Naturally I was elated when I found out a few years ago that this new Metro system was going to become a reality. The new line was even given a new name…the Silver Line!  Granted the other lines of the Metro have color names like Blue, Orange, Green, Yellow, even a Red line that occasionally goes from one station to another without breaking down...rarely but it does happen. But the Silver Line, well that sounds classy.  Sounds regal. Sounds…expensive.  Oh well, it will definitely be worth it. Grab a shovel, boys, it’s time to get this job done!

              Oh wait, to quote the immortal detective Columbo, “One more thing…” the Silver Line will go $150 million over budget and 8 months late, with now an indefinite delay on the project.  The executive director has resigned in disgrace and has moved to Abu Dhabi because he likes the sound of the place.  There are leaky roofs, cables that need to be replaced, speakers that don’t work (and I presume they mean electronic speakers and not just people who make a living talking), and a communication system that shuts down for no apparent reason. Now, I’m a man who believes there is way too much talking in the world to begin with but I do recognize that this communication system, which allows the trains to talk to the control center is at least mildly important.

              I referenced earlier my belief that it is in situations such as these that stereotypes form. All around the region, artists are preparing to draw the caricatures that will define our Northern Virginia area. Oh yes, we’ll be people with no opposable thumbs, only one butt cheek as we only do things in a half-a**ed way, our tendency to take ourselves way too seriously and when push comes to shove, we can’t actually complete anything.  Congratulations, Silver Line, you’ve made us a laughing-stock. How many Northern Virginian’s does it take to screw in a light bulb? There is no finish to that joke because we can’t pull it off with the people and equipment we have. Nice.

              Maybe we shouldn’t be allowed to have a completed Metro. I mean, perhaps this is God’s way of keeping us idiots away from the general population. Perhaps we just can’t be trusted enough to create a system of transportation that is on rails…that doesn’t vary…that goes from point A to point B. Yep, too complex a task it is. Speaking like Yoda I am. Do you see what you’ve done to me, Metro? Hmm, at you I’m pissed.  

              I jest, not joust as  I can’t because I’m still having trouble removing someone’s Burgonet and Voider from my Culet…long story, but do NOT get drunk at a Medieval Times (that joke’s for you, Jessica!), but really, what can we do to pull this off?  Does the stink and failure of politics in Washington drift downwind to the Old Dominion? Are we unable to make a choo-choo that goes from one destination to another because we lack the cranial matter to complete the task?  Do we engage in financial arrangement with contractors who stopped selling snake oil only as recently as this morning to build our transportation system?  There are a lot of people in our area with a lot of pieces of paper acknowledging their smartitude that they’ve purchased from knowledge peddlers in fancy buildings.  Could they not get together and build a trolley that goes from one place to another? Well, I guess even if we do finish building the Silver Line, we’ll come up with one heck of a conductor for it…

              So go ahead Canada, invade us. We’re ready.  I know you’ve been waiting for the time and place when we’d be at our intellectually worst.  Congrats, we’re here.  Just promise me one thing. If you’re going to come down and take us over, please at least…

Etre Bon Ou Etre Bon Dans Ce!