Stop The Noise In Here!

Way back when I was in elementary school, there was a substitute teacher (I can't remember her name, so I'll just call her Mrs. C) who would lose it whenever any chatter took place in the classroom. Any side conversations would come to an instant halt when she would shout, "I SAID STOP THE NOISE IN HERE!!"

It was a thunderous command that could be heard down the entire hallway of the old school building. I imagined students in other classrooms jumping from their seats as their daydreams were abruptly interrupted.

Mrs. C was a stout woman who resembled Shirley from the old 70's sit-com "What's Happening". So, when she spoke, people tended to listen. For the most part, she was jolly woman. She often joked and seemed to have a genuine bond with the girls in the class. But when she was giving instructions, it was all business.

She would often strut around the room in these skin-tight polyester pants. They were always a tan color. I'm mot sure if she had several pairs or she wore the same pair every day. This was back in the 70's and times were tight, so it could have been the latter. But anyway, with every ass-dimple on full display, she methodically walked down each aisle looking for an unsuspecting victim. If she ventured upon a distracted student, she would unleash the bullhorn:

"WHATCO DOIN', MR WILSON? WE GOTTA CLASS GOIN' ON HERE! I SAID STOP THE NOISE IN HERE! PAY ATTENTION, BOY!!"

After getting blasted from such a close proximity, my ears were ringing like I just set off an M80 in the broom closet. I would try to shake the cobwebs off as I eagerly waited for Mrs. C to pass me.

This would cause the other students to react with random giggles and comments. This only fueled the fire as it triggered another spontaneous round from Mrs. C ....."I SAID STOP THE NOISE IN HERE!!!" She would then look around the room with an icy gaze just in case anyone thought she was playing. She was like a Drill Sargent laying down the law to the new recruits. It was intense!

When she really got pissed, her head would start to shake and her eyes turned into laser beams. She looked like a heavyweight boxer during a pre-match stare-down. We always felt the urge to laugh but we didn't dare walk down that dark alley.

I especially liked it when she would scream, "DON'T MAKE ME RAISE MY VOICE, Y'ALL!" Even at a young age, I fully appreciated the comedic irony in her statement. It's kind of like when someone asks, "Can I ask you a question?"

Thinking of those powerful pipes, I sit here and wonder if Mrs. C ever moved onto bigger things. She could have probably given Aretha Franklin a run for her money on the big stage. Or maybe she got a job as the PA system at a large sports arena. The late Sam Kinison would have absolutely loved Mrs. C.

Today's kids don't get to experience these types of things. If modern educators raise their voice to the little snowflakes, it would probably initiate a visit from the school board, the ACLU and at least two reps from Child Protective Services. So, all we have left are the survivor stories from those of us who lived it....

kw

2016 - A Tough Year

Well, another year is almost in the books and it can't close soon enough. 2016 was a rather turbulent year all the way around. First off, we lost our share of notable celebrities. The music world was hit especially hard as we said goodbye to iconic performers like Prince, Glenn Frey, Paul Kantner, Maurice White, Keith Emerson, Greg Lake, Leon Russell, Leonard Cohen, Merle Haggard, George Michael and David Bowie. While driving around earlier today, I listened to Bowie's "Blackstar" album. The ominous tone of the music illustrated the void left behind by his departure. If your a Bowie fan (who isn't?), you gotta add this album to your collection.

Hollywood lost it's share of people including Doris Roberts, Patty Duke, Garry Shandling, Gary Marshall, Gene Wilder, Abe Vigoda, Florence Henderson, Alam Thicke , Zsa Zsa Gabor and most recently, Carrie Fisher and her mom, Debbie Reynolds.

The political arena lost notable folks like Nancy Reagan, John Glenn, Janet Reno and Antonin Scalia,

The sports world lost legends like Muhammad Ali, Goldie Howe, Arnold Palmer, Pat Summit and Joe Garagiola.

.............................................................................................................................................

It was a really tough year for me personally. Early in the year, my cousin suffered a stroke which continues to have a lingering effect on her. She is perhaps the most intelligent, articulate person that I've ever known. We would often converse for hours about politics, religion and any other topic du jour. Although we still talk regularly, it's not quite the same. It's really hard to absorb for both of us. I can only hope that things will eventually get better for her.

In June, we said goodbye to my father-in-law who had battled dementia for several years. Although we all prepared for the inevitable, it's always sad when the time finally comes. My father-in-law, who was more of a friend to me, was another person with whom I shared many stories through the years. The memories always bring a smile to my face.

And in August, I was dealt a blow that hit me extra hard. I lost my Dad. Although he would have been 83 years this month, he was very active so I though that he would live forever. Next to his hospital bed, I watched him pass. I fought the uncontrollable urge to cry while trying to appear strong for my sisters, who were also in the room. I left the hospital in a daze as I prepared break the news to my mom, who was dealing with her own health issues at home.

I still get emotional when I think of my Dad. On any given weekend, he would spontaneously show up at my house in his beloved Chevy pick-up truck. Yesterday, I was driving down I-95 and I saw a guy in a pick-up who looked just like my Dad. I know it sounds crazy, but I rode beside him until he eventually took his exit. I really miss my Dad and think about him every day.

Several people have asked me why I haven't been writing over the past few months. Aside from the things I've already mentioned, I also started a new job/career in September (In a bit of twisted irony, I officially got hired on the same day my Dad passed away). After spending 25 years in the IT world, I took a leap of faith and landed a position in the bio-tech world. The learning curve has been quite steep. So, after working extended days, I often find myself doing research when I get home at night. As things (hopefully) become easier, I plan to get back to the little things that really make me happy, like writing...:-)

Thanks for all the support over the past year. Looking forward to a brighter 2017. May each of you have a happy and prosperous New Year!

kw

It's a Wonderful Brewpub

Our day in St. Michaels progressed into a day of browsing the shops on Talbot Street. When we're in a water town, it's mandatory that we pick up at least one crab related item. So, once I helped Tina find an interesting-looking crab sculpture, I knew my daily shopping obligation was fulfilled. Right on queue, my buddy Joe mentioned that the Eastern Shore Brewing Company was a few doors down. Joe and I struck an agreement with the girls that we would sample a few of the micro-brews while they continued to shop. This, my friends, is known as a win-win situation.

As Joe and I make our way towards the brewpub, we are greeted by a guy wearing an ugly Christmas sweater. He tells us that this bar is the place to be and invited us inside. He seemed like a trust-worthy guy to us, so we took him up on his offer. (It turns out that the guy was also the manager). We walked up the steps and through the main door where we were met with a barrage of activity. The crowd was alive and festive as they cheered for a guy who was playing music at the far end of the room.

After grabbing a couple of St. Michael's Ales, Joe and I found an open spot near the center of the room. We were greeted by another ugly sweater wearing guy who turned out to be the owner. He introduced us to his large St. Bernard who was also wearing a Christmas sweater. I've seen some big St. Bernards, but this dog could have eaten Cujo for lunch. It was kind of strange to see this gigantic dog laying in the middle of the floor with all of the activity and noise going on around him. But he seemed perfectly content.

After progressing through a few familiar cover tunes, the musician set down his acoustic guitar and picked up a fiddle. I knew things were about to get serious now. He started into a Dave Matthews song and the crowd responded with approval. As the guy wailed away with his bow, a man and woman broke into a strange Irish dance of some kind. It was actually kind of cool. It reminded me of the scene in "Titanic" where Joe and Rose sneak off to party with the common folks (Ok, I'm a little embarrassed that I can name the characters from the Titanic).

As time moved on, I realized that the girls were still out shopping. I started to worry because they could potentially rack up a serious tab in those little shops. Of course, the girls were probably equally concerned about the bar tab Joe and I could run up in this place. So, to take our mind off this stressful situation, I ordered us another round of beers.

I looked around the room and saw a guy in stove-pipe hat. I don't know, maybe it was the beer talking, but I turned to Joe and said, "Look at that bad-ass hat. I'd like to have one of those."

Joe agreed that I too would look bad-ass in a hat like that. Of course, Tina would probably laugh hysterically and tell me that I look like an oversize Abe Lincoln. So, it let it go...

We eventually met up with the girls who were next door at the St. Michael's Winery doing some indulging of their own. We then headed back to the hotel to get some much needed rest after a long day. Interestingly enough, on the way back to the hotel, Tina found a discarded cardboard guitar. It even had strings on it. I immediately thought back to the Abe Lincoln hat. I imagined donning the hat while doing a Chuck Berry duck-walk down Main Street with the guitar. On second thought, maybe that wouldn't be such a great idea.....

kw

It's a Wonderful Town

Last weekend, Tina and I joined our good friends, Joe and Fran, for a Christmas themed get-away in St. Michaels. If you live in the Maryland area and you've never been to the small eastern shore town, you should really plan a visit. It's a quaint little place, tucked far enough off the beaten path for maximum relaxation.

We got into town Saturday morning as preparations were being made for the annual Christmas parade on the main strip (Talbot Street). We parked our car at our hotel and walked a few short blocks where we were eventually met with an abundance of townspeople. We made our way down the crowded sidewalk as the locals sipped on hot chocolate in anticipation of the parade. In spite of the frigid temperatures, the holiday mood was brought to life by a band of young musicians who played a variety of Christmas classics. In between songs, the conductor acknowledged their challenge by asking, "Do you know how hard it is to play a French Horn with frozen lips?"

As we walked another block, the impact from the wind was really making me wish that I had dressed warmer. I ducked into a local gift shop to take cover from the elements for a few minutes. I pretended to shop as my eyelids slowly thawed. I actually thought about buying some extra warmth in the form of a St. Michael's sweatshirt but the $60 price tag deterred me. I thought about conversing with the cashier but my face wasn't quite limber enough yet.

I ventured back outside to rejoin the rest of the gang. After another 10 minutes, the arctic blast was really taking it's toll on me. My face felt like it was about to break. Desperately trying to tough it out, my dilemma was instantly solved when Joe asked, "Anybody wanna stop in the Irish bar and have a drink?" Although he wasn't wearing a cape, I instantly viewed Joe as a Super Hero.

It was only 11 am but this was an easy choice. I could either stay out in the cold and freeze my ass off or I could sit in a warm bar and enjoy a Harp draft. I think you know where I wound up. So, Joe and I sipped on our beers as the girls ventured back out into the cold to get a good vantage point for the imminent parade. The bartender pointed out that we could watch the parade through the large bay window. Joe and I clanked out beer mugs in celebration. From a nearby jukebox, Mariah Carey was telling the entire bar that all she wanted for Christmas was me. While it was flattering, it was a little uncomfortable at the same time.

Anyway....

The parade progressed down Main Street (actually Talbot Street) with all the usual suspects: Santa Claus, a snowman, Christmas carolers, a John Deere tractor, etc. I have to admit, it was a magical sight. There's something very "Mayberry" about this town. But at this time of  the year, there's an added element of "It's A Wonderful Life". I felt my inner George Bailey trying to escape as I fought the urge to run down the strip and yell, "Hello, you old movie theater. Hello, you rickety old savings and loan..."

After about 30 minutes, an influx of half-frozen spectators made their way into the warm bar. The bartenders did their best to keep up with spontaneous demand. There was a smile on everyone's face as lively conversations commenced throughout the bar. I knew we had a full day of events in front of us but I would have been fine spending the entire afternoon right here. Good people, good times....what more can you ask for?

kw

Pho King Awesome (A Dining Experience)

While I was in San Jose a couple of weeks ago, I was introduced to some new foods. There's a heavy Asian population in the San Jose/San Francisco area, so it stands to reason that there's no shortage of Chinese, Korean and Vietnamese cuisine. If you went into shopping center where there were ten restaurants. seven or eight of them would specialize in some sort of Asian fare.

One of the more interesting places was called Pho Tau Bay. As my friends led me into the restaurant, I half expected to see a tropical themed place similar to Cheeseburger In Paradise. However, this place was quite the contrary. Methodically lined in neat rows, uneventful tables filled the dining area. As we sat down, my friends, who were much more versed in this type of cuisine, informed my that we were about to dine on pho (pronounced "fah"). As long as it wasn't fish eyeballs or bull testicles, I was game for almost anything. (Of course, the four Anchor Steam lager's that I had prior to dinner had lowered any inhibitions that I might have had.)

We look over the menu and we all settle on the house specialty. It consists of a bowl of thin noodles in a beef broth with a variety of "fixins" on the side. The dish also comes with thinly sliced pieces of filet mignon. We have the choice of a regular size bowl or a large one. Although we're not in Texas, we take "bigger is better" approach and order the large version. After all, it was only $10. How big could it be?

They must have had this stuff already prepared because within a few minutes, the waiter was already walking towards us with two large bowls. Actually large is an understatement. You could have bathed in these things. When the guy put the bowls down on the table, my firs thought was that these were community bowls and that we would somehow split the contents between the six us us. But before I wrapped my head around it, the waiter retreats and then returns with a couple more bowls. And after that, he brought numbers five and six. And after that, he started to bring out the various garnishments. And then lastly, out came the individual portions of raw steak.

Now, I've eaten sushi before but I had never eaten raw beef. And frankly, even with the liquid courage flowing through my blood-steam, I wasn't thrilled about it. I never had to worry about this kind of thing at the Outback. As I stared at the red meat on the plate in fornt of me, I mentally prepared for the inevitable.

Thankfully, one of my friends informed my that you put the meat in the hot broth to cook it. I am so glad these guys were there. Otherwise, I would have been gnawing on the raw meat like a vulture on a piece of roadkill.

So, I pick up a piece of the blood soaked steak and drop it into the soup. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the cooking process was actually happening. So,  I proceeded to dump the rest of the meat into the bowl.

When I was confident that the meat wasn't going to "moo" at me, I prepared to dine. But there's was one problem...I had no silverware. I announced that I was going to grab the waiter to secure a fork and spoon. But one of my buds quickly informed that this was an authentic Vietnamese diner and that the "silverware" was right in front of me. All I saw was a pair of chopsticks. I impulsively responded, "You're kidding, right?"

I can understand trying to a solid piece of food with chopsticks. But how in the hell do you eat soup with them? It's liquid!

Nonetheless, when in Rome.......

So, I fumbled with the chopsticks and fished out whatever piece of noodle or steak I could grab. After a little practice, I was pulling stuff out of the cavernous bowl like a pro. I looked like one of the Deadliest Catch guys pulling a King Crab out of the Bering Sea. The flavor of the combination of beef, broth and the thin noodles was incredible.

The problem was that we were no match for the gigantic portions. So, most of us left at least half a bowl behind. I didn't want to insult the staff so I told the waiter how great it was. He just looked at me with a blank face. In his defense, I don't think he (or any of the staff) spoke a word of English. But that's part of the authentic experience, right?

All in all, an interesting experience that will likely result in a return visit.....

kw

Strangers On A Plane

Air travel has it's conveniences. Instead of spending 18 hours in a car of screaming kids, you can load  up the family in a 737 and get started on that Disney vacation in a couple of hours. However, flying the friendly skies can also have it's inconveniences.. On a recent flight to San Diego, I had a front row seat to one of them.....

On Southwest airlines, there's always a jostling of the seats. Because of their open seating policy, the first two-thirds of the passengers will hustle to secure those coveted window and aisle seats. They eventually give way to the final  (aka the "C Group") who inevitably board the plane with a look of utter despair in their eyes. On a recent flight,  I sat in my aisle seat (secured by a bargain price of $15 via an Early Bird check-in) and watched the crowd look to and fro in hopes of spotting a window seat that has somehow flown under the radar. Unfortunately, these hopes almost always lead to disappointment.

As the crowd moves in, a woman in the back of the plane decides that she wants to take a seat near the front of the plane. I guess it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind? Nonetheless, her attempt to move to her new seat is headed off by the disgruntled C-group. Keep in mind, the aisle on  his plane is very narrow. Unless you're a super-model with an eating disorder, you're probably not going to make it down the aisle too easily.  So, squeezing past another full size adult is virtually impossible. But the woman is determined. She desperately tries to squeeze by an oncoming man but it's quite obvious that it ain't happening. The man, already pissed because of the middle seat that awaits him, asks the woman, "Where the hell are you trying to go??"

The woman points to a seat about ten rows behind him towards the front of the plane. The guy rolls his eyes and then turns sideways and presses his pelvis into the head of sleeping passenger in the aisle seat in front of me. The woman turns sideways in the opposite direction and attempts to squeeze past the guy. With her ass firmly wedged up against the man's ass, the woman wiggles in a futile attempt to make it past him. Keep in mind, the woman had one of those large Kim-Kardishain type asses.

Meanwhile, after practically being sexually assaulted by repeated pelvic thrusts, the sleeping passenger inevitably wakes up. That last thrust to the head must have been too much to absorb. Looking as if he just took an overhand right from Mike Tyson, the guy sits in his seat and shakes out the cobwebs. I heard him mumble a subtle "WTF" as he rubbed his eyes and tried to figure out what just happened.

The whole scene was like watching an old episode of Seinfeld. And although I was genuinely enjoying the pre-departure comedy show,  I was starting to worry that it would delay our flight. The man finally puts an end to the nonsense and says to the woman, "Look, this isn't going to work. You need to let me get by so I can get to my seat for Christ's sake!"

Instead of simply turning around and walking to the back of the plane, the woman tries to squeeze into the aisle seat directly across from me. The problem here was that there was a person sitting in the seat. But again, the woman was determined and would not be deterred. The seated passenger leaned into the the person on the middle seat in order to give Miss Inconsiderate a little space. She stayed in this position until the rest of the C-group boarded. The poor passenger would probably need a chiropractor after staying that cramped position for so long. I'm not a violent person but I would have probably throat-punched the woman if she infringed on my space like that.

Eventually, all of the C-group boarded the plane and the woman was finally able to move freely through the aisle. After all of the hassle and inconvenience, she finally settles into a middle seat next to a guy who I assumed to be her husband. All of this effort for a middle seat....are you kidding me?

After what seemed like a brief eternity, the plane finally entered the sky. And can you guess who the first person who needed to get up an use the bathroom? Yep, we were barely in the air for 15 minutes and the woman was walking into the on-coming direction of an approaching flight attendant. The flight attendant gave a subtle roll of her eyes and a forced smile as the woman squeezed past her....

kw

Lost At The Great Mall

A couple of weeks ago, I had to travel to San Jose to attend an orientation class for my new company. The long travel day was made even longer by a 6+ hour layover in Los Angeles. I did my best to pass the time by watching the Sunday football games on the limited number of TVs. This particular area was extremely crowded so getting a seat at one of the two bars was nearly impossible.

Eventually, I boarded my flight and headed north to San Jose. Landing a short time later, I gathered up my bags and ventured outside to catch an Uber to the hotel. About ten minutes later, I received notification that my driver had arrived. According to the Uber app, he was driver a Toyota Prius. I surveyed the area only to discover that there were no less than ten Prius's within throwing distance. Before I even got a chance to interrogate the first one, my app informed me that my driver had left! So, I immediately called for another. Fortunately, the second guy had the courtesy to call me and tell me that I was in standing in a "no pick-up" zone. So, he instructed me where to go and picked me up a couple of minutes later.

Once I got to the hotel, I began to unpack. It appeared that I had forgot to bring my razor. While most guys have no problem going a day or two without shaving, I do. So, I decided to venture over to the shopping mall across the street from the hotel in search of a razor. As I pass a Chinese restaurant, I enter The Great Mall (yes, that's actually the name of the place).

I walk around the perimeter of the mall no less than three times before I realize that there's no drugstore. So, I walk into one of those "everything's a dollar" stores, hoping that I can find a cheap package of Bic's. But no luck. So, I accept the reality that I'm going to have to show up for tomorrow's class with a face full of stubble.

So I look for the exit. The problem is that there are lots of exits and I can't remember where I entered. I walked around and tried almost every escape route. The only landmark that I have to orient me is the Chinese restaurant that I saw on the way in. But I can't seem to locate it. After walking completely around the mall again, I decide to look at one of the directories. I search under the restaurant header but the only Asian restaurants seem to be in the food court. And I know for a fact that I didn't come in anywhere near the food court.

So, I decide to walk outside in hopes of getting a better bearing on my location. My hotel is only a couple of blocks away so I figure it shouldn't be too hard to find. The problem was that it was now dark and all of the surrounding buildings looked the same. Panic began to set it. I really wished I would have dropped a trail of breadcrumbs on the way in.

I thought about calling an Uber but I figured the guy would laugh at me for the entire 2-block ride. So, I swallowed my pride and decided to do what no man ever wants to do: ask for directions. The first couple I approached didn't speak English so I moved on. The second person I approached didn't speak English either. I repeated this scenario with several more people with the same results: No hablos Ingles.

Childhood anxieties came rushing back as I recalled the first time I got separated from my parents in a public place.

I gave up and proceeded to walk around the entire perimeter of the mall. I eventually stumbled on the elusive Chinese restaurant on the edge of the mall. It was called the Mayflower. No wonder I couldn't find it on the directory. When I think of Mayflower I think of either Pilgrims or Colt thieves. I certainly don't think of a Chinese restaurant.

Drenched in perspiration, I finally make my way back to the hotel. My legs were actually starting to cramp up. I really should have grabbed a drink while I was doing laps around the mall. But thankfully, I made it back to the hotel without collapsing. As I walked past the desk person, he asked if I had a good evening. I explained that I had just finished exploring the mall. He then informed me that it is a great place for mall walkers because a complete walk around the mall is exactly one mile. Figuring that I walked around the mall no less than eight times (at a very brisk pace), I felt like I got my exercise in for the month.

Perhaps the most amazing thing about the whole evening......When I got back to my room, there was a razor on the bathroom sink. I swear that I don't remember seeing it there. That was the whole reason I walked over to the mall! It really freaked me out. Was someone playing a game with me? At this point, I really didn't care. It had been a very long day and I just wanted to get some sleep......

kw

The Kaepernick Sideshow

I didn't really want to spend a whole lot of time talking about the Colin Kaepernick situation. But several people have asked me how I feel about it, so I feel compelled to give a brief commentary.

In a nut shell, unless a person has physical or mental impairments that prevent him from doing so, it pisses me off to see anyone sitting down during our National Anthem. I find it disrespectful to say the least. And although it's often considered a passive protest, I personally find it quite incendiary. Just look at the uproar Kaepernick has created with his pre-season sideshow.

With this being said, as crazy as it might sound, I fully support Kaepernick's right to do what he's doing. Ironically, he's exercising the very freedom that the flag and our Anthem represent. I get that. It's that freedom that we have to focus on. Exercising my own freedom of expression, I'm gonna call Kaepernick an ungrateful asshole.

I understand that Kaepernick is attempting to perpetuate the false narrative that the police are the biggest threat to young black men in America today. But what is sitting out the National Anthem going to accomplish? Maybe Kaepernick's time could be better spent boycotting the next shooting in Chicago or Baltimore. Or better yet, maybe he could contribute to a Big Brother or other mentoring program that might actually give a kid a chance at succeeding.

The 49ers washed-up quarterback has also said that his "sit-out" is to address the oppression of black people in America. It's hard for me to buy that argument when it's coming from a man who's making $19 million a year  (And as a bonus, he has a season ticket to watch every the 49ers every week from the sideline). Some people will inevitably ask, "What's money got to do with it?" Well, it's this simple.....if you're raking in $19 million a year, you're not very oppressed.

As we move closer to the opening of the NFL season, like most of the other teams, the 49ers will open their season this Sunday. Increasing the drama even more is that Sunday happens to fall on September 11. So, while there will likely be tributes/references to that infamous day in the pre-game ceremonies, it's only going to escalate Kaepernick's antics to another level. If you think he's unpopular now, just wait until Sunday.....

kw

Summer School

We're barely a week into the new school year and we already have weather-related closures. Of course, Maryland doesn't get a whole lot of snow in August. But it can get a bit hot and humid. So, a few weeks ago, Baltimore County School administrators announced a new policy to address the heated classroom issue. When the heat index reaches 90 (which is almost everyday this time of year), schools without air conditioning will be closed.

They are now estimating that the kids could miss close to three weeks of school due to heat (and snow) closures. When will they make the days up? In July? If I remember correctly, July can get pretty hot too.

I'm kind of amazed that things have been allowed to get to this point. After all, it's 2016. I thought my garage was the only place in Maryland that was air conditioned. It seems that any government building, especially one filled with pampered kids, would have a climate controlled environment at this point. But apparently not...

And the risk of showing my age, I can't resisting segueing into a "back when I was a kid" story....

Yes, back when I was in school, there were hardly any schools with AC. There were only a lucky few who would temporarily escape the summer heat by sitting in a classroom in one of the annexed parts of the school building. For the rest of us, we would jostle for a coveted spot near one of the open windows. If you had a compassionate teacher, he/she might bring one of those large standing fans into the classroom. But the most interesting thing is that I don't remember anyone ever considering closing the schools due to heat. We just sat there and compliantly sweated our asses off.

I can remember entering the class room and being greeted by desktop sweat left behind by the poor bastard from the previous class. I would run down to the bathroom and grab a wet paper towel in order to prepare a more desirable work area. Looking back on it now, the classrooms should have all had those spray bottles that are used in gyms to wipe don the sweaty workout equipment.

Back back in the day, I guess the kids were more acclimated to the hot weather. Many of us grew up in homes without AC. And almost all of us played in the Baltimore heat the entire summer. Additionally, most of the automobiles were sans AC. To keep "cool", you rolled down the window. The closest thing to climate control was the interior vents which essentially blew hot air on you as you progressed down the road. If you were really lucky, you might find yourself in a vehicle with one of those little wing windows which could be adjusted to re-direct even more hot air onto your perspiring body.

Of course,  today's kids are much more fortunate. They're kept at optimum temperature all year as they sit comfortably in front the TV playing their video games. So,  I guess I can understand how a 90 degree heat index could be like a sucker punch to these unsuspecting lads......

kw

Memories of My Father

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, my Dad left the tobacco fields of North Carolina to pursue a new life in the city. Unsure of what awaited him in the future, he eventually landed in Baltimore. The young country boy was like a fish out of water but he quickly adapted to his new surroundings.

Before long , he met a young lady from Locust Point who would ultimately turn out to be his life-long soul mate.

In search of a career path, my Dad found a liking for carpentry. He landed a job with a local builder and soon discovered that he had a natural gift for the trade. He quickly progressed and before long, he could transform a pile of lumber into a work of art.

Dad started taking me along on side jobs when I was about 11-12 years old. Although I didn't inherit his natural skills, he tried his best to teach me. When I turned 16, he got me a summer job at his company. As we rode to work together, he would talk to me about the day's project like a coach preparing a player for a big game.

My father was a bit of a perfectionist when it came to his work. I can remember this one time, I was installing the base molding in a room. As I finished trimming out one of the closets, Dad came into the room to critique my work. He quickly pointed out that I had left a small gap between two pieces of molding. I tried to explain that it was inside of a closet and no one would even notice it. When that didn't work, I attempted to enlighten him to the benefits of caulk. He abruptly informed me that he wasn't going to tolerate this kind of work. He explained that there's a right way to do things and there's wrong way. He then made me rip out the molding and re-do it the right way. He drilled this mentality into me every chance that he got. At the time, I thought he was being hard and unreasonable. But years later, I realized that he was attempting to teach me a lesson in pride and accountability.

Dad also believed that a man's word was his bond. If you looked someone in the eye and told them you were going to do something, you did it. This is something he instilled in me from an early age. He also taught me that it's ok to make mistakes. Just be sure to own up and take responsibility for them.

When it came to music, my father liked the old-school country guys like Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard and the Statler Brothers. I remember introducing him to the song "Country Roads" by John Denver. He really liked the song but he had a problem with John Denver's "long hair". He explained that the song would sound so much better if the singer would get a hair cut.....If you think that's funny, you should have seen the look on his face the first time he saw one of my Ted Nugent albums.

My father really enjoyed going to flea markets and yard sales. As a kid, I would often tag along with him. I was always impressed with his ability to wheel and deal with the different vendors. I would stand quietly and watch him work his magic. He tried to teach me that everything is negotiable. Well, one day, I venture into a 7-11 to buy a Slurpee and a candy bar. The cashier rings up my items and tells me that it's gonna be $1.49. Instinctively, I rub my chin and respond, "I'll tell you what. Make it an even dollar and we've got a deal!".........Yep, I'm a chip off the ol' block.

Through recent years, my Dad spent a lot of time repairing lawn mowers. On any given day, you could find him in his back yard breathing new life into old gas-powered engines. At the first hint of spring, people would come out of the woodwork to visit Brooklyn's famous Lawnmower man. I can remember this one time I stopped by to visit my parents. My Dad wasn't home at the time. Well, there was a knock at the front door and I went to answer it.  I was greeted by two men who said that they were here to see the "lawnmower man". It reminded me of that scene where Dorothy and the gang arrive in Oz and ask to see the Wizard.

Anyway, I explained that he wasn't home. They asked if I was his son. I told them that I was. The next thing I know, these guys are shaking my hand and telling me all about the famous Lawnmower Man. It turns out that my Dad was Brooklyn's biggest celebrity since the $99 Dollar Down Man.

Last week, I stopped by my parent's house to cut the grass. The garage was loaded with about a dozen "project" lawnmowers. Making my way through the garage, I tried to start each one with no luck. I asked Marshall, a family friend who lives across the street, if he knew where my father kept his good lawnmower. He told me that my dad sold it to someone a couple of weeks ago......Really, Dad? You couldn't leave me with one working lawnmower??

So anyway, I wind up going to Sears and buying a new one. Here I was, the son of the legendary Lawnmower Man, paying the retail price for a new lawnmower. I felt like such a loser....

Like I eluded to earlier, my dad would always try to get the best possible price on anything. One of his weapons of choice in the war of frugality was the coupon. He would spend Sunday morning clipping all of the coupons out of the Sunday newspaper. It wasn't uncommon for him to stop by five different grocery stores in one day just so he could use every one of them. With a gleam in his eye, he would sometimes show me the receipts just to gloat about how much money he saved. His ultimate goal was to, one day, have a grocery store actually pay him for shopping there.

And the ironic part of of all this is that my Dad would give away half of the things that he bought. He would always start by asking something like, "Hey Ken, do you like ice cream?" I would reply, "Of course. Who doesn't like ice cream?" He would then instruct me to go to his large freezer and pick out a carton. I'm not kidding you, I would open up the freezer and it would look like the inside of a Good Humor truck. I would ask why he bought so much. And whether it was ice cream, peanuts or laundry detergent, the answer was always the same.....because it was on sale and he had a coupon.

My dad was also quite the debater. If you've ever had an argument with him, you know that you couldn't possibly win. Years ago, I remember having a disagreement about our opinions on the best Major League baseball player. We went back and forth, arguing our views. As my Dad's blood reached a boiling point, I tried to settle him down by explaining that this is just my opinion. He told me that I was entitled to my opinion. But I was still wrong.

Since we're in Baltimore, we probably have a few Ravens fans here. Well, my Dad certainly wasn't one of them. If you ever wanted to get him fired up, all you had to do was mention how awesome the Ravens were. And you never, under any circumstances, wanted to utter the words "Ray Lewis" in front of him. This would usually result in him storming into the kitchen where he'd grab his canister full of news clippings. He had collected every negative news story that's ever been printed about the Raven's linebacker. He'd hand you each clipping and say, "Here, go ahead and read this and tell me what you think."

One time, I said, "Dad, this is an opinion piece." He replied, "It doesn't matter, it's the truth! They wouldn't print it if it wasn't true!" Like I said, you're not winning any arguments with him.

Through the years, Dad spent a lot of time with his best friend, John Cook. They could often be seen running local errands together or zipping through John's back yard in a golf cart. My father would often tell me about their adventures. He really enjoyed their time together. I spoke to John last week and I could tell that he was hurting. John, you should know that you made my very father happy and he loved you like a brother.

My Dad would often make his rounds visiting the kids and grand-kids. Always unannounced, you never knew when his white pick-up truck would show up in your driveway.  He would stay for a short conversation over a Pepsi and then he would get up and head to his next destination.

I have to tell about one time where one of his impromptu visits caught me totally off guard. I was hosting a Sunday football party at my house. Someone alerted me that my Dad was there. So, I walked down the driveway to greet him. As I got closer, his smile faded and his eyes fixated on my torso. Trying to figure out what was going on, I glanced down and quickly realized that I was wearing a Ray Lewis jersey. I honestly felt like crawling under a rock. I really caught an earful from him as we walked to my house. He eventually forgave me but I knew that I would be in for a barrage of newspaper clippings the next time I stopped by his house.

All of these things will now become a precious memories. We had so many good times and shared so many laughs together. The countless stories of my Dad will keep him alive in our hearts forever.

My father was so proud of all his children and grand-children. He really cherished the time that he got to spend with all of us. And we certainly felt the same way about him. Celebrating 54 years of marriage to my mom this year, my dad stuck by her side until the very end.

Success in life is measured by how may other lives you touch along the way. Ervin Wilson was indeed a successful man.

The tremendous outpouring of love and support during the past week has been overwhelming. People have told me heartfelt stories and shared the memories that they have of my father. It's comforting to know that he had an impact on so many people. Thanks so much to everyone for helping our family through this difficult time. It is appreciated more than you will ever know....

kw

A Evening With Rik Emmett

I have been a big fan of the Canadian band, Triumph, since I was a teenager. Songs like "Magic Power", "Fight the Good Fight" and "Lay It On The Line" were inspirational tunes that had the ability to make your day just a little bit brighter.

I can remember going to a Triumph show at the old Baltimore Civic Center back in the early 80's. After the opening band (Foghat) finished their set, the crowd began to move closer to the stage. Even though I was already sitting in the second row, I figured this was an opportunity to get even closer. So, securing a spot just to the left of one of the large stage speakers, I leaned against the stage and prepared for a night of melodic tunes and blistering guitar solos.

The good news was that the show was awesome. The not-so-god news was that my ears were ringing for three days. My ear drums had taken a full frontal assault from Rik Emmett's thunderous guitar riffs. I actually began to worry that I might have suffered some irreparable hearing damage. But thankfully, the ringing eventually stopped and my hearing was saved for another day (and many more concerts).

Fast forward a few decades........

Last night, I went to see Rik Emmett last night ar Ram's Head in Annapolis. Similar to that concert in Baltimore 30+ years ago, I was again very close to the stage. However, the Ram's Head venue is more like a large living room. So a couple of small speakers was sufficient to broadcast the sound. I quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

Around 8 o'clock, Rik and his fellow musician, Dave, approached the small stage. They immediately kicked into the classic Triumph tune "Hold On" and then followed up with the familiar instrumental "Petite Etude". Throughout the evening, there was a trade-off of vocal songs and guitar instrumentals. There's no secret that Rik Emmett is a gifted guitarist. But I was also very impressed with his bandmate, Dave Dunlop. They traded off guitar solos much of the evening, each displaying his own special blend of talent.

We heard all of the Triumph classics as well as a cover of Joe Walsh's "Rocky Mountain Way". Perhaps the most surprising song was a quirky rendition of Monty Python's "The Galaxy Song". But as with all of the "normal" songs, they did a brilliant job and it was very entertaining.

Aside from the music, Rik is also a very funny guy. He told stories in between songs that had the Annapolis crowd rolling. Listening to his music and stories in the intimate Ram's Head venue, I felt like I was spending time with an old friend in my living room.

After the show, Rik and Dave hung around to meet people and sign CD's and other memorabilia. And unlike many other performers, they didn't gouge the fans by making them pay another $50 for the meet & greet. I was impressed to see Rik laughing and talking to each and every fan. I got the feeling that he was genuinely good guy who really did care about his fans.

All in all, it was a great night. And as a bonus, I had absolutely no ringing in my ears....

kw

The Unresters

For the past week or so, I've been out of touch with current events and the "going-ons" of the world. So, this morning I pour a cup of coffee and make my way to the living room. Rubbing my eyes to bring things into focus, I reach for the remote. I hit the power button and the TV comes to life. I'm greeted with a scene of mayhem from Milwaukee,

It didn't take me long to find out that the commotion was a so-called reaction to another police shooting Although no specifics were given other than a police officer fatally shot an armed man after a foot chase, I assumed that it was part of the "white cop shoots black guy" media narrative.

So, as I scanned the various news sources, I noticed one thing that they all had in common: Unrest. Instead of referring to the burning, looting and vandalism for what it was, they continue to water it down by calling it "unrest".

By calling the senseless violence "unrest", we are led to believe that the actions of the "unresters" are somehow acceptable and justified. Sorry folks, I have to call bullshit on this one. When people set fire to a gas station or loot a convenience store, we should be making excuses for them. We should be calling them out for the parasites that they are. They seize any opportunity to pick the low-hanging fruit of a bad situation. Realizing that the media will spin their violent behavior as oppressed and justified outrage, they are encouraged to "unrest" at will.

All of this brings the traditional protest to another level. Instead of encouraging citizens to engage with their community leaders and elected representatives, the media has fueled a movement that promotes senseless violence. Once upon a time, a looter who walked out of a liquor store with "complimentary" case of scotch might have been called a vandal or a thief. But by today's dismal standards, that person is championed as an "unrester". Instead of condemning his actions, the media invites us to somehow celebrate them.

In 2011, Time Magazine named The Protester as it's Person of the Year. Don't be surprised if Time ups the ante sometime in the near future and gives the same accolade to "The Unrester". I can see the cover now.....

An group of unresters disrupt traffic in the middle of a busy downtown street. While small fires burn around them, they advance toward a line of police who are donned in full unrest gear. In the background, you can see a few frequent shoppers leaving a 7-11 with an abundance of  cigarettes and Cheetos. Another group cheers wildly as they watch one of their "soldiers" hurl a Molotov cocktail towards a corner Walgreen's. 

The talking heads will have a slobbering love-fest over it as they hail it as provocative and absolutely breath-taking. It becomes an instant classic and is a virtual shoe-in for a Pulitzer Prize.
Unrest has become the most compelling catch-phrase since "Shit Happens".

kw

The Mysterious Beer Guzzler

Last week, I'm sitting in a Colorado brewpub watching the baseball game. The Orioles happened to be playing the Rockies back at Camden Yards. So, when I cheered for the "home team", I got some pretty strange looks.

Anyway, what really caught my attention was this old guy who strolled up to the bar and planted himself right next to me. Instead of pulling up a bar stool, he just stood there with his hands pressed up against the bar. He had long gray hair which was pulled into a ponytail. Some older guys can pull this look off. However, it only made this guy look creepy. He resembled the character on the cover of Jethro Tull's "Aqualung" album.

He seemed like he was in a hurry. He desperately tried to catch the attention of one of the barmaids. When one finally appeared, she told the man that she would be right with him. He mumbled something under his breath and then loudly exhaled. Although the guy was really starting to weird me out, I did my best to ignore him. The last thing I needed was for this guy to lure me into a bizarre conversation about what he had buried in his back yard.

The barmaid returned. Tossing a cardboard coaster towards him, she said, "Sorry for the wait, sir. What are we drinking tonight?"

The guy, demonstrating his impatience, spreads his hands and says, "Nothing. That's the problem. I need a beer!"

Assuming that the guy would be a little more specific, the barmaid follows up, "Ok, you got it. What kind of beer would you like?"

"I don't care as long as it's cold", says the guy.

The barmaid shoots me a quick glance that says "why did I come to work tonight?"

"Ok, sir", she says. "Do you want the big one?"

He looks at her like she's an idiot and slowly says, "Yes. Big is good."

So, the barmaid disappears and heads over to pour Aqualung a beer. At about the time she had the glass halfway filled, the guy looked at his watch and under his breath, mumbled, "Come on!"

He was really starting to lose his patience. I kept him in my peripheral vision just in case he decided to go postal. It sounds crazy but you can't be too careful these days. Thankfully, the barmaid returned with his large beer and placed it down on the coaster. She smiled and said, "There you go, sir. Is there anything else I can get you?"

He didn't even respond. He simply seized the heavy beer mug with his right arm and started guzzling like a college freshman. The bottom half of his face was buried in the glass as he made intermittent slurping noises. It was funny and disturbing at the same time. He manged to down about a third of the beer before he was forced to come up for air. He slammed the beer mug down on the bar and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His breathing was louder and more rapid now. Going in for round two, he picked the mug back up and started guzzling again. He got another third down before he dropped the mug back onto the bar. The loud thud made at least five other bar patrons turn around.

Determined to finish what he started, he took a deep breath and snatched the mug for the coup de grâce. Tilting the bottom of the mug to the ceiling, he poured the remainder of the beer down his esophagus. I was half-expecting a loud celebratory burp. But keeping consistent, he slammed the mug down for the final time. Then, instead of letting out some type of rebel yell, he simply threw a ten dollar bill onto the bar and walked out as mysteriously as he came in. His work was clearly done here.

I glanced over at the barmaid who had been taking it in from across the bar. She just shook her head and rolled her eyes.....

kw

The Burrito Family

So, last Sunday I'm sitting in the airport waiting for my flight to Denver. As usual, I saw people reading and listening to their I-pods while others were busy being hypnotized by their cell phones. There also happened to be an abundance of young kids scurrying about the waiting area. Flying can be stressful enough, so I sympathize with anyone who has to travel with young children. In a society where 9 out of 10 kids seems to have some type of hyperactivity disorder, trying to corral them in a busy airport can be quite challenging.

I was sitting across from a mother who had three kids in the 3-5 year old range. These kids were running all over the place, completely ignoring the mother's repetitious pleas to settle down. At some point, the kids all seemed to get hungry at the same time. As they headed back to the seating area to grab their grub, they resembled a bunch of puppies jostling for position at the food bowl. They started to pull their meals out of a large bag next to where their mother was sitting. Frantically grabbing at the contents of the bag, chunks of food rained down on the carpet below. I'm not really sure what type of food was in the bag. But judging by the big grease stain on the bottom, I'm pretty sure it wasn't loaded with fruits and vegetables..

Well anyway, the kids grab their food and then take adjacent seats directly across from me. They then proceed to devour the food like a pack of hungry wolves. Some of it winds up in their mouths but the majority of the food winds up on the floor. By the time they were done, the seating area looked like the bottom of a fast-food dumpster. I envisioned the cleaning crew walking up on this after we boarded the plane and exclaiming, "WTF!? I think we need a raise!"

Meanwhile, the mother conveniently ignored the mess as she devoured what appeared to be a large burrito. It must have tasted really good because she almost appeared to be making love to it. She carefully manipulated the cheese-filled tortilla in order to land the biggest bite possible. I desperately hoped that this woman didn't decide to sit next to me on the plane. When the after-effects of the burrito kicked in at 30,000 feet, I wanted to be on the other end of the plane. The cabin pressure would be no match to what was currently building up in this woman's digestive system.

My thoughts were quickly interrupted by a sharp, hideous twanging sound. As I turned my attention back to the kids, I saw one of them with a small nylon-stringed guitar. The greasy food must have given him a temporary burst of energy. He strummed the guitar as loud as he could. With every twang, people in the waiting area flinched as if they were hearing nails on a chalkboard. This almost classified as cruel and unusual punishment. I glanced at the mother in hopes of shooting her a "can you please do something about this" look. But her full attention was still dedicated to tearing up her burrito. My fear was that her little Elvis-wannabe would serenade us all the way to Denver.

When we finally boarded the plane, I took a seat near the front. The woman and her kids came aboard a short time later. I broke into a sweat as they came down the aisle towards me. I felt like I was pulled up the hill on a large roller-coaster. I impulsively gripped the handles of my seat and braced myself for the imminent plunge. But today would be lucky day as the burrito family strolled past me and made their way to the back of the plane.

Although I made it through this without incident, my thoughts went back to the cleaning crew. They were probably already firing up their industrial-strength vacuum cleaners. I had a feeling that they'd be calling in the janitorial SWAT team before it was all over. I silently wished them luck as the plane left the ground and carried me away from the natural disaster......

kw

Hanging Out With The Amish

On Monday, Tina and I spent the day in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. We make the short trek up there every couple years to see if anything has changed with the Amish. This year, we decided to stay overnight. I got a great deal on a hotel which was formerly a cork factory, of all things.

As we made out way into town around early afternoon, we stopped off at a shopping village in Intercourse. This is place is a "touristy"place where people are fooled into thinking that they're buying authentic Amish products. But in reality, most of the stuff here is likely mass-produced is an overseas sweatshop. But if buying a "I ♥ Intercourse" t-shirt makes a person happy, who am I to stand in the way?

After walking around for about an hour, we were getting rather parched. There were plenty of places to buy a lemonade. But I'm not much of a lemonade guy. So, Tina says, "Hey Ken, do you want to walk over to that restaurant and grab an appetizer and a couple of beers?" That sounded like a great plan to me, so we pointed ourselves in the direction of the Kling House. When we walked in, we told the hostess that we were just planning on grabbing a beer and an appetizer. She informed us that the restaurant did not serve beer because it was a dry town. Tina and I both looked at one another and simultaneously said, "A dry town? Are you you kidding me?" It was like one of those old Daffy Duck "Sufferin' Succotash" moments.

Anyway, the hostess is looking at us as if we're a couple of refugees from Alcohol Anonymous. She then informs us that the Lancaster Winery is in an adjacent building and they sometimes offered wine tastings. We thanked her for the advice and headed out. A short time later, we found ourselves passing by the Lancaster Winery building. So, I think you can figure out what we did.

We entered the small shop and were greeted by a nice man. He showed us a wine list and told us we could either do a tasting of their product line or we could just order a full glass. Tina opted for the tasting and went for the glass. I'm not much of a wine guy but I occasionally like a glass of red wine. So, went for a glass their Merlot. The wine rep was very knowledgeable and enthusiastic about his products. He laughed when we told him about the "dry town" story. He pointed out that he was in here selling wine, so the town couldn't be that dry. I tried my best to mask my deficient wine IQ as I discussed tannins and residual alcohol with the guy. Our brief stop in the wine shop was quite enjoyable. After settling up and buying a couple of bottles to take home, we ventured back out to the general population.

A passing storm had hit the village briefly while we were inside. But it had since given way to a burst of bright sunshine. There was a bustling of activity as we mixed in with the crowd. Walking along the main street, we would occasionally hear the clopping of horseshoes in the distance. Before long, we would see an Amish buggy appear. Passing hoards of curious tourists, the "driver" of the buggy would generally ignore them as he kept his eyes concentrated on the road ahead. The abundance of Amish travel in the town was made evident by the scattering of horse manure along the road.

Instinctively, I'm always wanting to snap a photo to capture these moments. But the Amish generally frown on people taking their picture. I can respect that, so the images will have to reside in my head instead of on my SD card.

I also saw children and young women riding these small scooters. Unlike some of the modern scooters today, these scooters had no electric or gas motors. Instead, they were propelled by leg power alone. On a hot summer day, it looked a bit peculiar to see a woman in a long black and white dress kicking her scooter down Main Street. But perhaps the strangest scene was when I saw a baby riding in the basket of one the scooters. The kid couldn't have been more than 18 months old and here he was sitting up in the basket as his young mother propelled them down the busy street.

As we took everything in, Tina says, "What a way to live life. These people don't have all of the distractions and chaos of the 'regular' world. Wouldn't you want to be Amish?"

I don't know, maybe she was feeling the effects of the wine. But I looked at her like she was crazy and blurted out, "Hell, no!"

Now, I have to admit that I don't know a whole lot about the Amish way of life. But there's no way that I would want to confine myself to their restrictions. I'm not judging. I'm just saying that I like to indulge in the pleasures of life (beer, an occasional burst of profanity, a Sopranos marathon on HBO, etc).

When I don't completely understand someone, I like to talk to them. Personally, I think the world would be a much better place if more of us took this approach, but that's another story. But I would love to hang out with a couple of Amish guys and see what makes them tick. I hear the Mennonites are a bit more progressive in terms of the modern world. So, maybe I could start there. My knowledge of the Amish is pretty much limited to what I learned from watching "Witness". Sitting down with a couple of Mennonites over a couple of beers would be something that I would really enjoy.

With this being said, I can certainly respect the hard work and dedication that comes with the Amish way of life. For instance, I would love to see those guys "raise" a barn. As we entered town on Monday, we saw a recently constructed barn. To envision the Amish constructing this thing with only hand tools was fascinating. This brings me to something that I'd like to add something to my bucket list. One day, I'd like to take a fold-up chair and a cooler of beer to one of these barn raising events. I'd sit front and center so I could really take it all in. I would tip my beer at them as I occasionally shout, "Lookin' good, fellas!" Doesn't that sound like a great way to spend an afternoon?

As we finished up our stay in Lancaster yesterday, we stopped off at the Central Market. This place was located in a busy area of downtown. I expected to see a lot of bearded men, clad in black and white, along the busy street. But, surprisingly, I saw none. It was actually similar to a modern city. We walked into the crowded market where people were lined up at the various counters to buy meats and vegetables. Many of the stands were managed by Amish women. I find the women to be much friendlier than the men. But this is just my observation. Tina was fascinated with the variety of fresh produce. But to me, you see one bunch of kale, you've seen them all. But I hung in there with her as she gathered up several bags of vegetables and at least two pounds of freshly cut bacon.

As we made our through the old part of town on our way home, we passed several Amish horse buggies. And in the distance, you could see Amish farmers working in the fields along the road. Men, horses and mules were the only farm equipment that you see in these parts. The absence of the familiar green John Deere tractor is somewhat profound. But the Amish like to keep things simple. We give the town of Lancaster one last wave goodbye as we head back home to our convenient, modern lives......

kw

The Hunt for the Butterfly Net

This morning, Tina asked me to pick her up a few things at Walmart. One of the items happened to be a butterfly net. You see, we have an abundance of frogs around our yard and one of them occasionally winds up in the basement window well. Tina informed me that there is one imprisoned there now. So, it's my duty to break him out. We've exhausted almost all other extraction methods, so a butterfly net seemed like a logical next step.

So, as I pass the Glen Burnie Walmart earlier today, I reluctantly swing into the parking lot. I make my way in through the garden section. The entrance door is broken so I have to squeeze through a hoard of Wal-martians via the exit door.

When I finally get inside, I try to figure out where I can find a butteryfly net. I venture towards the fishing and hunting section. As I walk down an aisle of fishing rods, I see an attractive woman in a short, tight dress examining some fishing gear. To say that she looked out of place would be an understatement. But nonetheless, it made my quest for the butterfly net a little more enjoyable. Walking past her, I fought the urge to ask, "So, what's a nice girl like you doing in place like this?" But I let it go.

I eventually found some nets. But choices were limited to crab nets and minnow/shrimp nets. I guess there's not a lot of butterfly (or frog) hunters in Glen Burnie? So, I take the minnow net and move on. I see that the woman is still browsing in the same area. She has drawn the attention of a couple of Walmart employees who nonchalantly take turns gawking at her.

As I make my way to the other side of the store, I see a guy with a mullet. I know that mullets and Walmarts go hand-in-hand like drunks at Denny's at 2 in the morning. But this was special. The guy had permed it to make it look extra full and curly. He was wearing it loud and proud. It looked like a large rodent clinging to the back of the guy's head. The contrast of his white tank top really made it pop.

I was having a lot of fun, but it was time to hit the checkout line. On my way there. I passed two woman who were arguing pretty heavy. They dropped a few casual F-bombs on each other. The one woman, whom I guess was in her mid-60's,  was there with her teenage granddaughter. But let her age fool you, she more than held her own in the battle of 4-letter words. And just when I thought it was over, the grand-daughter decided to get in on the action. She started to advance on the other woman, unleashing her own satchel of profanities. I heard her say something like, "How 'bout I come over there and bust you in your f*ckin' grill?"

Now, I've been in enough Walmarts to know precisely when things are about to get real. And we were officially at that point. Meanwhile, I'm standing there looking like the old man in the American Gothic painting. But instead of holding a pitchfork, I'm holding a minnow net. I figured it was time get out. I walked past the store manager and told him there was about to be a beat-down in aisle five. He must have been used it because, before I even finished my sentence, he was already bolting in that direction.

I made it home without any further incidents.....

kw

The Media Plants Another Seed

The tensions around the country remain high as people try to comprehend the recent police-involved shootings. Many people, including media outlets and high-level politicians, have seemed to already chosen a side. Instead of coming together, the country is once again, clearly divided.

The media wasted little time to pour gas on the fire after the police shootings in St. Paul and Baton Rouge. They immediately ran with their predictable taglines "Police shoot and kill black man in St. Paul", "Police shoot and kill black man in Baton Rouge". While these statements were certainly true, they were also strategically biased. The reports conveniently added the word "black" knowing that it would stir up emotions.

Have you ever heard of a guy named Vinson Ramos or Richard Dinneny? How about William Patterson or Jonathon Justice? Or what about a woman named Melissa Ventura? I'm assuming your answer is no. But do you want to take a guess what all of these people have in common? They were all shot and killed by the police in the past couple of weeks. Oh, and there's one other minor detail........none of these people were black. Hmm....

So far this year, there have been over 600 people shot and killed by the police. If you've got time, click on some of the names on the link below. Sure, there are plenty of black men on this list, But there's a helluva lot of white folks on it too. But I don't see a whole lot of outrage and protests over it. And I didn't see any major media coverage on these cases. Why? Because they simply don't fit the narrative.

http://killedbypolice.net/

As a result of this narrative, our nation is becoming increasingly more divided. There's a huge and growing distrust within the black community of the police. The police have been portrayed as a rogue band of racists who are using young black men as target practice. Black groups have thus risen up to protest "the blue line of racists". And while it's true that groups like Black Lives Matter have some white supporters, the truth of the matter is that the majority of white folks find these groups to be divisive and incendiary.

Over the weekend, President Obama said that "America is not as divided as some have suggested". Well, in his defense, he was in Poland last week, So, maybe he missed all of the disruptive protests and the murdering of police officers in Dallas.

I also find it interesting how the police are often generalized in these situations. Although it's an extremely small percentage of cops who actually shoot black people, we're led to believe that there's an out-of-control racial element that lives within police departments across America. However, when a racist gunman kills five Dallas cops (and wounds several others), we're quickly reminded that he's a "lone-wolf" and should not be associated with the rest of the anti-cop movements. (Excuse me while I change the batteries in my bullshit detector).

Whenever there's a police involved shooting (or any police altercation, for that matter), it should be fully investigated. If it's determined that the police used unnecessary force, they should be held accountable. The problem that we have today is that everyone rushes to judgment before they know all of the facts. Of course, when we have videos of police shootings, such as the recent ones in St. Paul and Baton Rouge, we rarely see what led up to the altercation. Kind of convenient, don't you think? The media then leads every news segment with the shocking video clip and subsequently labels it with the "white cop shoots black guy" tagline. Once the seed is planted, there will be no shortage "breaking news" stories and flaring tempers.

Instead of working for an amicable solution, we've been pitted against one another by people who's main goal is to sell a story. As a result, everyone feels compelled to choose a side. And as we know, there are usually three sides to every story. Maybe one day, that elusive third side might be invited to the table...


kw

For All Intents & Careless Purposes

The recent decision by the FBI to not prosecute Hillary Clinton over her email scandal has certainly generated some heated water-cooler conversations around the country. Not surprising, people have pretty much lined up along party lines. Republicans are outraged over Hillary's escape act while Democrats view the whole thing as nothing more than a partisan witch hunt.

FBI Director James Comey described Hillary's handling of the classified emails as "extremely careless" but saw no reason why she should be criminality charged. The reason? Because there was no intent to harm the United States. This, of course, has people scratching their heads. Can a drunk driver now use this excuse if he happens to get into an accident? Even though he may have been "extremely careless", he really didn't get behind the wheel with the intent to hurt anyone.

From what I understand, the "intent" clause was only recently added to Section 793(f) of the Federal Penal code thus giving Hillary the loophole she needed. It kinda sounds like they changed the rules in the middle of the game. I wonder if they'd do the same for you and me?

Although Hillary will not be charged, the negative exposure that she's gotten over this ordeal certainly can't help her bid for the White House. Along with being "extremely careless" with sensitive material, she has been exposed as a liar. Her claims of not sending or receiving any classified emails via her server turned out to be false. Her claim of using only one device to send/receive email also turned out to be false.  Hillary also claimed to have returned all work-related emails to the State Department. But we learned that there were thousands of these emails that were not returned. If it walks like and duck and talks like a duck......

The thing that's most profound in all of this is the blatant disregard for the basic rules. We're led to believe that Hillary "just didn't know" that what she was doing was wrong. Anyone with even a low level security clearance should know the guidelines regarding sensitive documents. So, are we to believe that an attorney, former First Lady, former US Senator and current Secretary of State didn't know that she was breaching protocol? Will this set a new precedent of deniability for future infractions? What ever happened to that old "ignorance of the law is no excuse" proclamation?

Of course, the investigation received even more public scrutiny after Bill Clinton met privately over the weekend with Attorney General Loretta Lynch. Maybe they were only talking about golf and the grand-kids but it sure doesn't look good when, Right in the middle of the investigation, Hillary's hubby has a closed-door meeting with the boss of the FBI Director. If I didn't no any better, I'd say that we could have a conflict of interest here...

I caught some of the Congressional grilling of Director Comey earlier today. Actually, it was only the Republicans who seemed to be doing the grilling. The Democrats spent their time voicing outrage that the GOP would even question the motives and integrity of Comey. (Considering that Comey is a Republican, this would almost seem like a Kum Baya moment between the parties. But we know better than that....)

Attempting to defend Hillary's "extreme carelessness", the Dems also pointed out that high ranking Republicans have done the same thing and have not even been investigated. Perhaps they have a legitimate point. But this particular instance involves the person who could very likely become our next President. If she can't be trusted to handle government secrets. is she really worthy of a promotion? It's hard for me to believe that Joe Schmoo would be treated in the same manner. If a normal everyday government employee was found to be "extremely careless" with confidential information, there would likely be some serious repercussions. At the very least, his/her clearance and employment future would be in serious jeopardy.

With all of this being said, I actually expected this outcome. With all of the political scandals the Clintons have dodged, why would this one would be any different? The email revelations may have a negative effect on her current poll numbers, but memories can sometimes be short. Can any of this carry over into November? It's hard to say but I would expect Donald Trump to keep it alive during the debate season. Pull up a chair, it's going to get interesting.......

kw

Remembering Karl

Whenever we lose someone close to us, it's natural to go through a period of grief. But as we mourn their death, it's really important that we remember to celebrate their life. Not only does it help to ease the pain, but it reminds us why that person was so important to us in the first place. The smiles, the laughs, the memories......these are the things that will keep that person alive in our hearts forever.

With that being said, I would like to share a few stories and some of my favorite memories of Karl....

I was first introduced to Karl many years ago when I was a teenager. I was best friends with his nephew (Rip) and I would occasionally see Karl at family gatherings. He was very friendly and always had a smile on his face. From the beginning, I felt very comfortable around him.

When I first started to date Tina, she lived at home with Karl and Evelyn. When I would make a phone call to their house, I never really knew what fun awaited me. You see, Karl would always be the one to answer the phone. After he greeted me, I would say, "H Karl, is Tina home?"

"I don't know. Let me check", he would say. And then, I would hear him walk down the hallway and yell, "TINA, ARE YOU HOME?"

In the distance, I would here a faint "yes" from Tina. And then after a few moments, Karl would pick the phone back up and say, "Yep, she's here." And then he would hang up on me. I'd call back and ask why he hung up on me. He would say, "You asked if Tina was here and I answered you. I thought we were done." Of course, this was just Karl being Karl.

Years later, after Tina and I got married, he would often stop by our house. I would sometimes come home from work on Friday to find Karl waiting for me on the back porch. Armed with a 12-pack of Coors Light, he would toss me a cold one and say, "What'd ya know, Shadrack?" (To this day, I still have no idea who Shadrack was.)

Karl and I would sit out there, exchanging stories until the sun went down. Our conversations were animated and lively with no shortage of laughter. I don't know, maybe it had something to do with the beer. But I think it had more to do with two people who genuinely enjoyed each others' company.

Karl could be quite adventurous at times. For instance, about 15 years ago, a bunch of us were hanging out by the pool at my house.  Well, we were all having a good time and when someone got the wise idea to start a diving "competition". Well, not to be outdone by any of us "youngsters", Karl approached the diving board with the confidence of a Gold Medal Olympian. Taking a couple of warm-up bounces for good measure, he finally catapulted off the spring board and flew into Glen Burnie sky. With the bright sun setting behind him, he looked like the Flight of Icarus. Personally, I thought it was quite moving. But Tina didn't think so. She came running out of the house just in time to see her father hit the water with a violent belly-flop.

With steam practically coming out of her ears, she yells, "Ken, what is wrong with you?! My dad is 65 years old!"

Thinking that we were in agreement, I nodded and said, "Yeah, I know, I'm impressed too!" (Not the response she was looking for..)

Karl would sometimes relax by listening to music. He really liked this French singer named Charles Aznavour. I had never heard of the guy. So, I was surprised to see one of his CD's while I was browsing at a local music store. Figuring it would be a nice gift, I bought the CD and gave it to Karl. He absolutely loved it. He immediately put it in his CD player and started to sing along. He knew every word! It made me happy to see him so happy.

Well, no good deed goes unpunished....

As Karl was busy belting out the lyrics to the next song, I hear Tina and Toni upstairs saying, "Oh my God, Not again! Make it stop!" Then, they inform me that, years ago,  Karl used to have a cassette tape of Charles Aznavour. He used to play it over and over to the point where it drove everyone in the house absolutely crazy. So, practicing some tough-love for the over-all good of the family, the sisters hid the cassette. For years, the house was Aznavour-free. And then I come along and kick the hornet's nest....

Along the same lines, Tina and Toni told me about how Karl used to dress up like Elvis and perform family concerts in their basement. He would turn his shirt collar up and drape towels around his neck as he made his way down the steps and into the "arena". He would wipe his brow with the towels and then give them to his "fans" for souvenirs.. The captive audience was treated to his one-of-a-kind renditions of "Burning Love" and other Elvis classics........... I can honestly say that I would have paid good money to see this.

Of course, Karl had occasional hobbies as well. One of the more interesting ones was when he decided to start raising bees. I have no idea what led him to this adventure but he was certainly gung- ho about it. He went out and bought a bunch of bee-keeper equipment including an official bee-keeper suit. It was the most ridiculous looking thing that I've ever seen. He looked like someone on the Haz-Mat team. Anyway, he tells me that he's got several bee hives that are full and he wants me help him "sling" the honey out of them. I had no idea what I was in for, but there was no way that I was gonna miss this. So, I met Karl over in his basement bar room where he had several wooden frames with honeycombs in the middle. He also had a large metal bucket with an attached handle on it. According to Karl, this was called a "slinger". The plan was to put the frames into slinger and turn the handle really fast so the honey would be "slung" out of the frame in into the metal bucket. It sounded simple enough. So, we touched our beer bottles together and (according to Karl) prepared to introduce the world to the KJ Honey Company.

As Karl started to crank the slinger handle, there didn't seem to be a whole lot of honey dropping into the bucket. So, quickly improvising Plan B, Karl decided that we should apply some heat to the honeycombs. He sends me upstairs to get a blow-dryer. I come back down and then Karl proceeds to heat things up with the hair-dryer. Well, it sure did the trick. Before long, the honey was flowing like the Niagara Falls. The faster the honey fell, the faster Karl cranked the handle. Soon, he was slinging it so fast, that honey was overshooting the bucket and splattering onto the walls, ceiling and anything else in it's path. I really hated the idea of shutting don the production line, but something had to be done.

Taking on heavy fire, I shielded my eyes and said, "Whoa, Karl! Slow down! You've got honey going all over the place!"

Frantically working the handle with sweat beading on his brow, he says, "Just stay back and let me work, Ken! I've got this!"

When it was all said and done, the room was an absolute mess. He had turned the place into a human fly-trap. You would stick to anything you touched. As I watched the honey drip off the ceiling,  I asked him how he planned on cleaning up all of this mess. He just said, "Don't worry. I'll take care it." ........I haven't been in that house for many years, but I'll bet that room is still sticky.

As many of you know, Karl's birthday is July 4th. So, during our annual Independence Day party, we would also take some time to celebrate his birthday. Well, one year John bought one of those gag scratch-off lottery tickets and gave it to Karl as part of his birthday gift. Instantly, Karl starts scratching away at the ticket and before long sees that he's a "$10,000 winner". He was absolutely ecstatic! Waving the ticket high above his head, he danced around the table with the grace of a drunken ballerina. Joining in on the celebration, John told him to turn the ticket over and find out where he could pick up his money. Karl squints his eyes to read the back of the ticket and says, "Wait a minute. It says to go to "Yo Momma's House" to claim your prize money. What the hell is this?"

Watching the emotional transition on Karl's face was priceless. Once reality set in and he realized he wasn't getting the $10,000, Karl responded with a barrage of profanities that would have made his old Navy buddies blush, He followed this up by shooting us the moon and affectionately telling us all to kiss his ass!

.................................................................................................................................................


I tell these stories because this is the Karl that I want all of you to remember. He was a fun-loving guy who was full of life. And while it was hard to ignore Karl's decline in recent years, it didn't change the person that we all knew and loved.

I'm going to remember the guy who used to wait for me on the back porch after work. I'm going to remember the guy with the big smile and bigger heart who always made me laugh.  And I'll never forget that guy who jumped up from his seat and cheered the loudest when the preacher pronounced Tina and I husband and wife.

In the end, what matters most is how many lives you touch. And Karl certainly touched mine. He wasn't just my father-in-law, he was my friend. Although he has now moved on, he will remain with us through the memories and endless stories that I'm sure we'll be re-telling for years to come. And that's exactly the way Karl would have wanted it......


kw

Terror In Orlando

As the people of Orlando are still trying to absorb the shock of Sunday's nightclub massacre, others are trying to figure out how and why these senseless things continue to happen. Perhaps the most intriguing thing in the aftermath is the way that it's being politicized. Let's take a look....

As expected, the anti-gun pundits seized another opportunity to scapegoat the weapons. Before the smoke even cleared, we were already hearing calls for stricter gun control laws. They love to blame the gun but somehow ignore the fact that it takes human intervention to fire it.

The shooter in this case, Omar Mateen was a Muslim who, during the nightclub melee, pledged his allegiance to ISIS via a 911 call. And it's also been reported that Mateen shouted "Allah Akbar" during the massacre. But for some reason, this is all being downplayed. We're told that it's simply a hate crime and an act of terrorism. While these are indeed valid descriptions, the part about the guy being a radical Islamist seems to get conveniently ignored.

To no one's surprise, Donald Trump doubled down on his call to delay entry to the US for any Muslim immigrants until they can be fully vetted. Of course, prominent Democrats, including the President and Hillary Clinton, somehow view this as just another "racist" rant by the Republican presidential hopeful. Whether you agree or disagree with Trump, the facts dictate that there is a serious problem when it comes to radical Islamists. There have been roughly 25,000 Islamic-fueled terrorist attacks around the world since 9/11. But somehow, we're expected to believe that it's not such a big problem in the US. Aside from the terrorist attack in Orlando, we've also seen recent attacks in San Bernardino, Chattanooga, Fort Hood and the Boston Marathon. And in case anyone forgot, we also had quite an incident in New York City back in 2001. But even after all of this, the harshest thing that the President can say about radical Islam is that it's a nothing more than a political talking point.

Earlier today, President Obama gave an address from the White House concerning the use of the term "radical Islam". In a condescending tone, he lashed out at those who feel that this is an appropriate label to put on recent terrorist attacks. While taking some obvious jabs at Donald Trump, the President's address came off looking like half lecture/half campaign speech. Perhaps even worse, he looked weak.

Setting all of this aside for a moment, we should all be equally outraged about what happened at the Pulse nightclub on Sunday morning. And while it's true that this was a gay nightclub, this wasn't simply an attack on gays. It was an attack on America. Islamic extremists frown on the freedoms that we enjoy in our country. And that's precisely what they're targeting. In the delusional world of these sadistic pricks, they treat women like than farm animals and homosexuals even worse. Do we really want to be "friends" with countries that advocate this kind of third-century bullshit? (By the way, I am certainly not grouping all Muslims into this category. But if you happen to believe that women have no rights or that gays deserve to be thrown off of rooftops, you are a sadistic prick.)

Speaking of sadistic pricks, let's talk a little about Omar Mateen....

We've learned that he was a 29-year-old US citizen born in New York to Afghan parents. He had been investigated in recent years by the FBI for possible links to terrorist organizations. Despite these suspicions, Mateen was employed by a Department of Homeland Security contractor for the past ten years. And just last week, Mateen legally purchased a Sig Sauer MCX (presumably the one used in the murders). From people who knew him (including his wife), we are told that he had an an issue with gay people. And now to make things even more confusing, it's being reported that Maheed himself may have been gay.

During the attack, Mateen made a 911 call and pledged his allegiance to ISIS. Hmm, that sure sounds like something an Islamic terrorist might do. But let's not tell anyone...

And speaking of not telling anyone, it's just been reported that Mateen's wife (Noor Salman) knew about his plans to shoot up the Orlando night club. And she did absolutely nothing. According to a source from Fox News, Salman will likely be arrested.

Not surprising, the FBI has come under some scrutiny for letting Mateen out of their sites. But I think that's a bit unfair. Although Mateen had made some inflammatory remarks and seemed like a real douchebag, he still hadn't committed any crimes. There wasn't a whole lot that the FBI could do under the circumstances. Interestingly enough, prior to the shooting, Hillary Clinton's State Department shut down an investigation of Mateen's mosque due to profiling concerns. Isn't political correctness just grand?

So, did this guy fly under the radar? Well, not really, After all, he was on the radar as recently as 2014. Should he have been permitted to work for a DHS contractor? Should he have been able to legally purchase guns? Without sacrificing some of our basic rights and freedoms, I don't think there's a clear answer here. It sucks that so many people have to die before we figure it out.

With all of this being said, my heart goes out to all of the families and friends of the Orlando victims. May they find the strength they need to get through this senseless tragedy.

kw

Nuggets of Laughter

This morning, I roll out of bed around 6:30. As my feet hit the floor, I give my eyes one last rub for good measure. Thoughts of coffee float through my mind as move out of the bedroom and into the hallway. I turn the corner and make my way towards the stairs when my bare foot comes down on something soft and gooey. Still half asleep, I tried to comprehend it as best I could.

And then a light bulb went off......it was a cat "nugget" that was left behind by one of Tina's cats!

Realizing what just happened, I felt the need to lift my foot so I could survey the damage. Sure enough, what looked like a flattened Tootsie Roll was stuck to the arch of my right foot. Impulsively, I let out barrage of profanity. Although the profanity was heartfelt and genuine, it also served as a wake-up call for Tina. I certainly wasn't going to go through this alone. Right on cue, I hear Tina rustling and then she asks, "What going on out there?"

Knowing that a picture is worth a thousand words, I decide to make my way back into the bedroom. Using only my heel to make contact with the floor, I hobble back into the bedroom. Almost falling over in the process, I lift my foot up as high as I can. Displaying the trophy in all it's glory, I reply to Tina by saying, "This is what's going on. See anything wrong with this picture?"

Instead of consoling me with compassion, Tina starts laughing. Actually, she starts laughing so hard that she almost falls out of the bed. Meanwhile, while she's enjoying the early morning comedy, I'm standing on one foot looking dazed and confused.

"Why is this so funny to you?", I ask.

Struggling to get her words out through the laughter, she says, "You crack me up!"

I try to explain that this is no laughing matter. But this only causes her to laugh even harder. While I'm glad that I can be the source of Saturday morning entertainment, it doesn't change the fact that I've got a cat turd stuck to the bottom of my foot. I limp over to the laundry room where I scrape the crap (literally) off my foot and into the litter box. Meanwhile, the cat's staring at me like I'm somehow crossing the line. Tina sees what's going on and then starts to practically hyperventilate. I just shake my head.

Welcome to my world, folks!

kw

The Old People of Walmart

Earlier today, I needed to pick up a few things from the store. Passing by a Walmart, I decided to take my chances. I figured it was fairly early and most of the regular Walmarians were probably still in bed or catching the last half of the Maury Povich show.

So, I walk into the store and was happy to discover that it wasn't crowded. I only had to pick up a few things, so I figured I could complete my shopping in about 10 minutes. However, there would be one huge obstacle that would add considerable time to my visit. That obstacle came in the form of old people.

I'm not kidding you, it was like all of the area nursing homes had planned a field trip at Wally World today. There were walkers and canes everywhere. And the motorized scooters were buzzing around the pharmacy like a geriatric version of The Jetsons. And to be fair, aside from the aid of a shopping cart, there were actually a few that were fit enough to independently maneuver themselves around the store. Of course, they would bump into a shelf and knock a few items onto the floor, but who's really keeping score?

As I head down a random aisle, I approach an old guy who's studying the label on a bottle of Metamucil. I reach the point where I'm going to pass him. It's then that he decides to turn his shopping cart around. I nearly hit him broadside as his cart is now perpendicular with the aisle. He works the cart into a 3-point turn, nearly running over my big toe. During the entire maneuver, the guy remains expressionless and doesn't make a sound. He eventually rights his ship and then slowly makes his way down and out of the aisle.

I quickly grab my items and then head down the next aisle to grab some toothpaste. There, I'm greeted by two robust women on Wal-scooters. They're having a casual conversation and don't seem to be in any hurry to get to point B. They seem oblivious to the fact they've got the entire aisle blocked. Getting a little annoyed, I push my cart in their direction. Although they clearly see me coming, neither of them makes an effort to move out the way. Childhood memories of bumper cars raced through my mind and I get a sudden urge to go get my own scooter. I could imagine the look on the old ladies' faces as I whipped around the corner with my scooter. Nearly tipping over from the inertia, I would balance my scooter on it's two left wheels before gravity allowed the right ones to recontact the floor. I would race towards the husky women with as much speed as the rechargeable battery would permit. As I crashed through their scooters, I would grab a box of Crest off the shelf with reckless precision. Yes!

Back to reality....

I approach the women and say, "Excuse me, ladies. Can I squeeze by you?"

I receive an acknowledgement in the form of a grunt as one of the women fires up her scooter and moves it a few feet closer to the shelves. Even though the scooter did most of the work, the woman appeared to have exerted a fair amount of energy. But nonetheless, it gave me just enough room to make it through.

Not wanting to deal with any more of this nonsense, I headed towards the checkout lines. I glanced down each open line to gauge the one with the shortest wait time. I finally found one with only one elderly couple in it. So, I pulled in behind them. They were loading their items up on the belt at a snail's pace. I almost offered to help them but I didn't want to insult them. So, I waited it out by examining the various varieties of beef jerky hanging on the wall. They even had turkey jerky. Who knew? Anyway, the old couple's items were finally all scanned and it came time to pay. Unlike most old people that pay with cash, this couple had a credit card. The tried to swipe it several times with no luck, The cashier then asked them if their card had a chip in it. The lady said, "Chips? No, we didn't buy any chips."

"No, ma'am," replied the cashier. "I'm asking you if you're credit card has a chip in it."

Visibly confused, the lady looks at her husband for help. He just shrugs his shoulders and says, "I dunno."

The cashier then asks for the card and inserts it into the chip reader. There seems to be an issue with the reader and/or card. The cashier then blows on it and rubs it on her shirt. I'm thinking that I might be here for a while. After about the fourth try, the transaction finally goes through. Thank God for small miracles.

The cashier hands the old lady her receipt and wishes her a good day. I prepare to advance my cart. But the old couple aren't quite finished yet. They linger at the end of the line a little longer. The cashier looks at me and we exchanged a smile knowing that we're just going to have to wait it out.

I finally get my few items checked out and I'm out my way to the parking lot. As I pull my car out of the parking space, I'm extra careful to avoid the numerous cars that appear to be on auto-pilot. Hitting the open road, I finally breathe a sigh of relief......

kw