The State of My Driver’s License

The State of My Driver’s License

 

Mitch at Sick B*tch, http://s1ckb1tch.blogspot.com/  recent post reminded me of this:

Years ago I moved from New Jersey to Staten Island, New York.  I moved about one month after I had just renewed my New Jersey driver’s license.  At the time, this cost me the princely sum of $25 and was good for two years.  I was not about to fork over more money for the right to drive in New York when my New Jersey license was perfectly legal 15 miles to the west, so for two years I drove with an illegal license...sort of…well yes it was illegal in New York.

Two years later I was finally forced to obtain a New York license in order to have any license that was “legal.”  I went to the DMV and had to take a written test.  I passed because I read the booklet and knew all about driving farm equipment on NY roads, speed limits in residential areas when not posted, what makes a tire “bald” and other shit that people forget after they pass their drivers test.

One month later, I moved back to New Jersey.  I had just forked over the princely sum of $30 for my New York license which was good for two years. I was not about to fork over more money for the right to drive in New Jersey when my New York license was perfectly legal 15 miles to the east, so for two years I drove with an illegal license...sort of…well yes it was illegal in New Jersey.

Two years later I was finally forced to obtain a New Jersey license in order to have any license that was “legal.” I went to the DMV and had to take a written test.  I passed because I read the booklet and knew all about driving farm equipment on NJ roads, speed limits in residential areas when not posted, what makes a tire “bald” and other shit that people forget after they pass their drivers test.

When I went to pick up my new license, the miserable DMV employee who had nothing better in her life then to flaunt her limited DMV power, asked for my old license.

Comparing it with my proof of residence she realized that I had been a resident of New Jersey for two years while my license was from New York.

“This New York license is only valid in New Jersey for 3 months!”

“OK…”

“It is illegal to drive in New Jersey after three months residency with only this New York license.”

“OK…”

“So how have you been driving for the last 21 months?”

“Have you seen me driving in the last 21 months?”

“Are you telling me that you haven’t been driving illegally for the last 21 months with a New York license?”

I couldn’t believe that for the last four years I have been driving with an illegal license and now that I finally had a legal license this bureaucratic, no life asshole, was going to try and convict me after the fact.

“Have you seen me driving in the last 21 months?”

“No.”

“Then if you follow me out to the parking lot you will see me step into my car which my wife dropped off for me and then walked ten miles home, and you will see me drive for the very first time in 21 months…now may I take my brand new license and go?”*

I left without waiting for an answer.


*Ok, that's what I wanted to say, actually I stammered like a friggin idiot until she just said, "have a nice day."

___________________________________

WOW, what a great new post from this blogger http://thebrandywinechronicles.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-haunting.html she reminds me of my daughter...ok, she's my daughter.

LABEL UP!

LABEL UP!

 

Here is an observation from this year’s World Series.  It is a little late for this season, but for next year may I have a word with you professional baseball players out there? 

Why do you keep breaking your bats? 

Please, look at the bat.  See the grain.  See how the grain of the wood runs in little parallel patterns along the bat.  Look at where those patterns come to the end…see it?  They come to the end on the side of the bat where the label is printed.  When a wooden bat is made the label is placed in a precise spot so that if you hit a ball with the label facing straight up or straight down the ball will hit the hardest part of the bat. You want the ball to hit where the grains are closest together, so if you look at your bat and put the label straight up or down then you will see to the sides the grains are closest together.

If you hit a ball on wrong side of the bat, the wood grain is weak.  The bat will break.  I cannot believe that professional ballplayers do not know this.  I realize that the first time any of them ever used a wooden bat is when they reach the pros, but can’t they figure it out?

Back in the day, baseball players seldom broke their bats.  They might get a small crack, especially if they hit a pitch off the extreme end of the bat or off the handle, but I do not recall ever seeing a bat break in half with one end flying into the field and almost skewering a fielder.  It happens all the time now.  Someday someone is going to get killed because it happens so much.

Baseball people will tell you it is because today’s bats are so light and made out of weaker wood.  Bull shit!  Watch the slow motion of one of these broken bat swings…the batter hits the ball right on the label.  He hits it where the grain of the wood is the weakest.

As kids we never hit the ball on the label.  Hell, those bats cost five bucks and we treated them like gold.  Every time someone stepped in the batter’s box the owner of the bat would yell, “LABEL UP!”

At ten years old we all knew to hit the ball with the label up!

Players today all grew up with metal bats, but damn…figure it out.  Look at the grain.  Check your swing and make sure your bat goes through the zone with the label up.

Please…before someone is killed, swing the bat: LABEL UP!!

BLOG COMMENTS

BLOG COMMENTS

 

I love comments on my posts.  Well I love most comments on my posts.  I’m sure every blogger likes comments.  We judge the effectiveness of a post on comments.  I think often that is a mistake.

Some posts which I feel are not my best get lots (for me) of comments.  Some posts which I feel are thought provoking or controversial get few comments.  This used to frustrate me, but now I think that some posts just lend themselves more to comments than others.

Posts which evoke memories get many comments.  Posts which are light get comments.  Contraversial posts get long comments.  Emotional posts get long comments.  Posts about comments usually get lots of comments.

I try and comment only when I have something to say.  I read some posts that I really like, but have nothing to add so I may not comment.  Some blogs I almost always comment on just to let the person know I was there.

Sometimes I try to make funny comments.  Sometimes I try and “one up” the post I comment on.  That is a bad idea, so now if I do that, I try and at least say something positive after I make my self-serving funny comment.

It used to drive me crazy when a comment indicated the person did not read my whole post.  Now I appreciate that at least they looked and were nice enough to let me know they stopped by, even if they missed the point.

Sometimes a comment tells me the reader misinterpreted what I said.  This also used to bother me.  Now I realize that maybe I did not make my point well, and sometimes the reader just comes from a different place and their interpretation is based on different events in their life.

The comments I like best are those that tell me I hit a cord in a person’s life, or made them think, or made them laugh.  I have some favorite commenters, but I won’t single them out (Anita, Katrina) because I like almost all comments. 

Some commenters are funnier than others but I won’t say who (Scott, Fran.)  Some are more sincere (Stephen) but I will not mention them, and some always have a personal touch to them (Val); some are valued extra because they are rare (Sully, Skip, AF Sarge, Pearl, Mommy Bags, Lo, Gia, Sarah) some like to put me in my place (Joanne,) and some are just supportive (Josie.) Some commenters have disappeared and I miss them (Lou, FlyFishGirl, Silvija, Scott Z.)

Anyway, I will not name anyone because I am sure to leave someone out (TexWisGirl, Jackie K., Dan the MM. Jeanie, Tabor, Jenn, Jim + Sandie, Cindy, One Bad Pixie, Emily, Shelly, Bob, JJ.)  Suffice it to say I like and appreciate almost all commenters, even those that generally disagree with me (Nelson.)

So keep them coming…please.

Any comments?


Does anyone know why lately I get hits on my post in bunches of 20-35 in the same minute?  I know they are not real hits...What's up?   

DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?

DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?

Of all the sports in the world, I rank hockey just one notch above curling and synchronized swimming, and yet the greatest sporting event I ever watched was a hockey game.

A lot of you probably saw this same game, and everyone probably knows the story but the interesting fact that many of you may have forgotten or not known is that very few people saw this game live.

In 1980, the US Hockey Team had a solid chance at winning a medal in the Winter Olympics in Lake Placid, New York.  This was before professionals could participate in the Olympics.  The US team consisted of collegiate players. 

A medal was in their grasp, the gold was a pipe dream.  To win the gold the US had to get through the Russians.  The Russians, perennial “Amateur” champs.  The Russians, the same team which toyed with the US in an exhibition game 11-1 months earlier.  The cold-war evil empire Russians were considered invincible and had dominated the amateur hockey world since 1954.  Most people believed the Russians could compete in the NHL and dominate.  In fact they were 5-3 in NHL exhibition games.

The US faced the Russians in the semi-final game.  It took place in the afternoon.   In this day and age there is no way they would allow this game to not be played and broadcast in prime time, but it was a different time, not ruled by television.

The game was televised on tape delay at night.  There was no Twitter, no Facebook, no internet, and if you didn’t want to know the outcome before the tape delay was broadcast it was very simple and the media went to great lengths to not broadcast the outcome.  I sat down in front of my TV at 8:00 pm and tuned into watch the impending slaughter.

I don’t remember the exact details, but I believe it was a 2-2 tie after the first period; that in itself was a huge victory.  After the second period the score was 3-2 in favor of the USSR (go ahead and Google it if you want.)

Only a one goal deficit at the end of the second period against the Russians was unbelievable.  I still assumed at this point that the Russians would come alive in the third period and blow the US out, but then…

The TV accidently flashed to a live shot of people cheering and dancing in the streets of Lake Placid. 

“OMG…did we score a goal and somehow hold on for a tie?”

To tie the Russians would have been incredible; a win never crossed my mind.

In the third period the US did tie the game, and then Mike Eruzione scored what will forever be the most famous goal in US Hockey history to put the US ahead 4-3.

AHEAD!!!

“Damn, maybe we did tie the Russians.”

Even though we were winning, the thought of anything better than a tie still never crossed my mind.

As the period continued I waited for the Russians tying goal. 

It never came. 

As Al Michaels counted down the final seconds of the game, he yelled that famous call,

“Do you believe in miracles?  YES!!

Many people forget that the US still had one more game to secure the gold medal.  They played Finland 8:00 am the next day, a Saturday morning.  I think all of the USA set their alarms for 8:00 that morning, and watched the still underdog USA team managed to beat Finland to win the gold.

What prompted this memory?

Mrs. Cranky just asked me, “Do the Giants or Jets have a chance to play in the Super Bowl this year?”

THE EASTERN SHORE GROUNDHOG WARS - a cranky re-run

THE EASTERN SHORE GROUNDHOG WARS

 This Monday Cranky Re-run is from October 2012 

Almost fifty years ago my parents retired from New Jersey to Eastern shore, Maryland.  They moved to a house on a creek.  On the Eastern Shore, a creek is not a “crik,” a creek is a C R E E K!  This creek was basically an extension of the Chesapeake Bay.  There was boating, crabbing, and fishing all off a dock on their property. 

Eastern Shore, Maryland and the Chesapeake Bay was utopia May, June, September and October.  The rest of the year was either very cold or stifling hot.  In the summer you could not swim in the creek as it swarmed soup like with stinging jellyfish called sea nettles.  Still we loved that house and we loved that creek.  To my mother, especially after my dad passed away, it was her own piece of heaven.

Mom maintained that property into her late eighties.  She gardened, she cleaned, and she supervised several building improvements.  She added a deck, enclosed the porch with sliding glass doors, turned the old garage into a large sun room and added a new garage.

The house was only about twenty-five yards from the bank of the creek, and the bank was slowly eroding in towards the house.  If nothing was done, the creek bank would eventually threaten the house…in maybe eighty years.  Mom was fanatical about making sure that never happened.  I’m pretty sure she was not worried about the erosion in her lifetime; I think she just felt it was her responsibility to keep the erosion from ever taking her precious home.

She negotiated with some Maryland commission to have the bank protected.  With the work slightly subsidized by the State the bank was filled in with sand.   Reeds were planted in the sand to hold back the tide and rock “rip-rap” jetties were built to reverse erosion and help build up the sand.  With this large effort mom became even more vigilant about protecting her land.

The bank was also the home to a family of ground hogs.  They bothered no one and were really quite cute.  Mom, however, was convinced their burrows and their digging was a danger to her newly shorn up creek bank.

Keep in mind my mom was a tiny women. She was maybe 5’2” and 105 pounds sopping wet.  She was sweet and caring.  She loved her birds and her water fowl.  She loved the rabbits, the squirrels, and the deer.  She was excited when we spotted an occasional fox or an otter. 

She hated those groundhogs.  She shooed the groundhogs, she threw rocks at the groundhogs, and she tried to fill in the groundhog holes.  The groundhogs laughed at my mom.

Mom escalated the war.  She bought a 22 rifle.  This woman hated guns of any kind her whole life.  She hated those groundhogs more.  The groundhogs had little to fear.  After the first missed shot, they knew to avoid this angry old lady whenever she approached.  They would run to their burrows and she would fire at will and in vain.

Mom enrolled my brother to shoot the groundhogs.  Jim could shoot,  in the Navy they taught you how to shoot a gun, but he couldn’t shoot those groundhogs.  He did not share mom’s hatred for those rodents.  He fired high and he fired wide, but he never took one down.

One year we bought and planted “rodent runners” along the bank.  These contraptions emitted a vibration in the ground which was supposed to disturb the interlopers and drive them away.  The ground-hogs danced around them like they were May Poles.  If they had hands they would have given us the finger.

Mom’s battle with the groundhogs never stopped right up to the day she had to leave her piece of heaven and retreat to an assisted living facility. 

She is no longer with us, and I have not been back to that house on the creek.  I am betting the groundhogs have not budged.

I really miss my mom, but I’m glad she lost the groundhog wars.      

STUPID HEADLINES 102713

STUPID HEADLINES 102713

It is time once again for:

 

STUPID HEADLINE SUNDAY

 

It is organic and gluten free!

 

This week’s stupid headlines and my stupider sophomoric and sometimes offensive comments.
 
One headline is completely made up.  Guess the fake and win a mention.

_______________________________

 

Argentine scientists tap cow burps for natural gas – Filler up?  OK, but it may take a while.

Deranged man flings excrement during game in Giant Stadium – Coach Coughlin is worried now that the shit has hit the fan.

Does Oprah owe an apology to atheists – In response to atheist, Oprah offered the following apology, “I am very sorry y‘all are atheists.”

Navy's largest destroyer heading into the water in Maine –   Those “Downeasters” better not try anything funny!    

Feds try to eliminate housing for the deaf -- at complex built for hearing-impaired – OK, so a 2005 federal study found there was not enough housing for deaf people.  The Federal Government aided in the building of a facility for deaf residents, and now the Federal Housing Agency claims there are too many deaf people in the facility.  Wait…what?

Hawaii surfer escapes shark attack by throwing punches – Kuani “Stumpy” Oahu says, “I’d like those punches back, but I’m just happy to be alive.”

Trick Out Your Treats with Exotic Candies from the Asian Market – Did your car get egg bombed last night?  Here, have a chocolate covered fish-eye you little prick!

How Your Middle Name Could Screw Up Your Credit Score – So now I’m thinking of changing my middle name from “Deadbeat” to “Ralph.”

McDonald's helps workers get food stamps – Terrific, now all the burgers will have imprints of Ronald McDonald.

Poem gets high school football player suspended, kicked off team – How bad could a poem be to suspend the star running back for Nantucket High?

Detroit mailman saves family's burning home, continues on delivery route – Now they have to add “nor burning home” to that “neither rain nor sleet” thing.

Man's body found hanging in apartment after eight years – You would think that if a person was missing the first thing to check would be “is he just hanging out in his apartment.”

Obama wants Marines to wear ‘girly’ hats – When the Commander and Chief enters, everyone curtsey!

Iran gives Christians 80 lashes for communion wine – Let see, disrespect the Koran, get your head cut off, but they whip Christians for partaking in their holiest rite…the religion of peace and love has some ‘splainin to do!

Georgia man runs into burning home to get beer – And the number one way to know you’re a “Redneck?”

 

                                               ___________________________________________

 

Last week’s fake headline was:

Corona executive admits: “We invented Cinco de Mayo.” – Well the Mexican holiday did exist, but it was kinda like our Arbor Day.

And the winners are:

           (not necessarily your) Uncle Skip, said...

My choice is:           
"Corona executive admits: 'We invented Cinco de Mayo.' – Well the Mexican holiday did exist, but it was kinda like our Arbor Day."

Because... well, we were celebrating it long before I ever heard of Corona.

Hmmm…Lots of Mexicans in California

Follow Skip for…? Uh…stuff!  Just stuff, little of this, little of that… Hell just check him out at http://lionskip.blogspot.com/

fishducky said...

Pour me a Corona, please, Joe!!

Fishducky is back!

Check out Fran for funny stuff @ http://fishducky.blogspot.com/

 

_____________________________

 

 

At this time it saddens me to report a fake headline cheater.

 

  Fraternity Brother “Squeak” sent me the following:

 

Cranky,

Thanks for wasting 45 minutes of my fucking time!

Motorcycle 140 MPH for a pee.  All others are Google confirmed true! Jerk!

Squeak

 

Not only did he still get the wrong answer, but as all readers know, Googling is against the rules!!

I summarily placed Squeak on a 6 day suspension, and he is not able to submit any guess until 10/27/13!

I hope you have learned your lesson!

Thanksgiving Comes First

Thanksgiving Comes First

 A cranky opinion for

CRANKY OPINION SATURDAY

This cranky opinion is a re-run from last year

The following is the opinion of a cranky old man.  Opposing opinions are welcome, they are wrong, but welcome, and please no name calling…that means you, you big stupid head!

A Mr. Jim Sully of the blog “Suldog” fame http://jimsuldog.blogspot.com/2013/10/thanksgiving-comes-first.html  has a bug up his butt on the early commercialization of Christmas. 

I say rightly so! 

I realize stores need to make money and The Christmas Season often makes or breaks many establishments but the decorations and Christmas music before Christmas dilutes the Holiday.  This early start to Christmas also diminishes Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is a great holiday and it should not be pushed aside before Christmas.  Perhaps the solution is to change some traditions which would give the merchants their season sales, honor Thanksgiving, and halt the dilution of Christmas.  What am I suggesting?

Gift giving on Thanksgiving! 

Yes, on Thanksgiving all the kids, grandkids, spouses, and parents should exchange the (new) Traditional Thanksgiving Gifts.  This would generate some real Thanksgiving excitement.  Think of it…what a glorious day it would be…football, turkey, sweet potatoes, pie, stuffing and STUFF!

An extra gift giving holiday would give merchants a boost without diluting Christmas and would at the same time add some new luster to a great holiday.

Gifts would be left around the highly decorated corn stalk tree.  Little children would sit on the lap of the “Great Turkey” at the department store and ask for their Thanksgiving Gift.  New Thanksgiving songs can be created and Justin Bieber can record the first Thanksgiving album.

“Deck the bird with Grandpa’s ax head”

“We Wish You were much more Thankful”

“Giblets Smells”

“Have Yourself a Merry Little Drumstick”

We could celebrate this holiday in school until atheists figure out that the Pilgrims were not really thanking the Indians, but in fact they were extremely (gasp) religious folks who were thanking (double gasp) GOD!

If we created the tradition of gift giving on Thanksgiving people would not be able to prepare for Christmas until after December first, a manageable and reasonable start to the Christmas season.

I support Suldog’s cause of not starting the Christmas madness until after Thanksgiving.  I think we can accomplish this by making Thanksgiving almost as big a deal as Christmas.


The preceding was the opinion of a cranky old man, and not necessarily that of management...Mrs. Cranky.    

WHEN IN THE SUPERMARKET…

WHEN IN THE SUPERMARKET…

 

I just got back from the supermarket, and I was about to pull up my misogynistic cranky pants and go all bat crap about women and shopping.

But then…

I had an epiphany! 

The supermarket is woman’s territory.  Women make the rules, they determine the culture.  When I am in their environment, it is up to me to adapt to the rules of the supermarket.  It is silly for me to expect that normal behavior and courtesy would prevail; it is up to me to learn the rules and abide by them.

And so…

From now on when I am at the supermarket I will be sure to push my cart not all the way to the right, but right down the middle of the aisle.  I must remember it is the supermarket, not the highway.  The rules of the road do not apply in the supermarket aisle.

When I meet another shopper who is also pushing straight down the middle of the aisle I will remember to look down or at the produce.  The first person to see another cart coming is obliged to veer to the right. 

If I am looking for an item I now know to leave my cart on the opposite side of the aisle from where I am looking.  That way I am sure to keep any other shopper from passing through until I pick out my item.  Never, I repeat never, look behind you or you will be obliged to move your cart for another shopper who is coming through.  This will make you an object of scorn and the other shopper will block you from passing while she is looking for a jar of olives.

If you change your mind about buying something, just put it on any shelf, preferably behind a box of cornflakes.  Remember it is not your problem.

If you are buying corn on the cob, always shuck five or six ears to get the very best ones.  Put the ones you don't want back...they will go bad when un-shucked.   Other shoppers will have to purchase the inferior spoiled corn.  Hey, it is the supermarket...shuck'em! 

Never check out of the express line with less than 18 items, the 12 item limit is just a suggestion.  Multiple items count as one, i.e. ten cans of tuna fish even if they are rung up separately still count as only one item.

When you are checking out, take your time, shoppers behind you probably have nowhere else to go anyway.  Let the cashier bag for you while you read the latest copy of “Star,” then put it back in the rack.  Do not take out your wallet until the final tally is announced, then take your time seeking out the most bills and change possible to reduce the weight of your wallet.  Never just hand the cashier a ten dollar bill to pay $9.74; you have the exact change dammit and if it takes eight minutes to dig it out it is well worth it.

In keeping with the aisle rule, stay in the middle of the road as you push your cart back to the car.  The cars behind you really have no place to go.

If a car is waiting behind you to take your space when you are all packed up and ready to leave, that is the perfect time to make a phone call.  You will be too busy when you get home to blab to someone about nothing.

I know there are many other rules of which I am unaware, but this is a start.  If I work hard at getting used to and abiding by the rules and culture of the supermarket I may be able to survive a simple shopping trip without blowing my stack.


I discovered a new blogger today, check out http://thebrandywinechronicles.blogspot.com/ she reminds me a whole lot of my daughter...ok, she's my daughter. 
Her first post mysteriously disappeared...it is back again.
 

 

DON’T YOU WANT SOMEBODY TO HATE

DON’T YOU WANT SOMEBODY TO HATE

 

 

 

Not the title from a Jefferson Airplane hit, but I think Grace Slick had it wrong. 

Don’t you need somebody to hate?

Wouldn’t you love somebody to hate?

Everyone has that one person in their life.  A neighbor, a co-worker, a boss, your train conductor, a teacher; everyone has that one person that makes their life more difficult and or miserable.

Mine was Bobby T, a manager at the Wall Street firm where I toiled for forty years.  Bobby T was a misogynist asshole who often left the female employees in his unit crying in the ladies room because of his being an insensitive low class bullying sadistic asshole (did I say asshole again...sorry I have no other word for him.) 

Bobby treated those below him on the corporate totem pole like gum on the bottom of his shoe.  He backstabbed anyone at his corporate level and if anyone above his station stopped short, they ended up with a Bobby T nose up their butt.

I will never know how Bobby T became a manager.  He could not manage worth a dime.  His style was from the 1950’s.  Beyond “Because I said so,” and “Just do it” he had no management skills at all.  He did not know spit about the very unit he ran, was as dumb as a stump and was hated by everyone.  Even his own managers knew he was an asshole, but they did not want to make waves.

He was also fat and ugly.

I did not like Bobby T. (Did I mention he was an asshole?)

When things were slow, I would swap Bobby T stories with co-workers.  We would laugh about his stupidity.  We would complain about his treatment of other workers.  We would laugh about his snooping on everyone and his underhanded ways to gain favor with corporate big wigs.

When I went home, my wife (pre-Mrs. C.) would ask,

“What did Bobby do today?”

 It was the only part of my job that interested her.

Mrs. C. recently had a co-worker who was a pathologic liar.  She made things difficult at work.  She was pushy and obnoxious.  First thing I would hear when Mrs. C. came home from work was,

“Guess what Joanie did (or said) today.”

There was always something interesting to talk or vent about.

In 2005, my firm had a mandatory staff reduction. 

Bobby T was reduced.  Bobby T cried.  Bobby T stomped his feet like a child.  Bobby T was escorted out of the building by security. 

The rest of the office rose to their feet and applauded as he left.

Weeks later, when work was slow, I sat in a friend’s office bored and with nothing to talk about.  In unison we both suddenly blurted out,

 “Somehow I miss Bobby T!”

Joanie left Mrs. C’s dance studio a few months ago.  Last night when she came home I asked her,

“How was work?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine? Damn, I miss Joanie!”

“I know, me too.”

 You better find somebody to hate.