tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74016502829655706762024-03-17T11:53:09.282-04:00A.G.E's JointThis is my psychiatrist's couch. Take from it what you will.
But do leave a note. I usually reply.
My name is Christopher Mitchell and my internet handle is “Another Government Employee” An aging late boomer who wonders why life passed him by.
Short Fiction, Doggerel and Insensitive Opinion are spoken here.
Every time you comment, an angel gets its wings. If you like what you see, please follow and share.Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.comBlogger787125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-83099035799316564372024-03-16T11:23:00.003-04:002024-03-16T11:23:55.607-04:00Advanced Demon Training (Blogophilia 38.15)<p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNz_fvd8KNxP-mCxKsc3EjunDYPa2PxALw6ig2n1QxdCXJd6OwySEHuUYjdNdnWGB2ZoXiHO5FQ19ajxKegFjy9-T2FUSUjTk7BsCPK-1LLQWlMLuGUJT5NPsVLTHnm-OvnSizMNAmADERsy2lBGHp_kBbKhQWx7fNDRD9ibP_WhEQ68PLm4c4m2p74A/s4032/PXL_20230716_181728150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNz_fvd8KNxP-mCxKsc3EjunDYPa2PxALw6ig2n1QxdCXJd6OwySEHuUYjdNdnWGB2ZoXiHO5FQ19ajxKegFjy9-T2FUSUjTk7BsCPK-1LLQWlMLuGUJT5NPsVLTHnm-OvnSizMNAmADERsy2lBGHp_kBbKhQWx7fNDRD9ibP_WhEQ68PLm4c4m2p74A/s320/PXL_20230716_181728150.jpg" width="240" /></a></i></div><i><br />In the DQ training room..</i>.<p></p><p>"Alright, everyone. Take your seats and let's get started."</p><p>A screen comes down from the ceiling. On it is an old timey streetlight. </p><p>"Welcome to Adventures in Gaslighting - An Advanced Course in Mind Games. I'm Don Draper and this," nodding to the blond on his right, "is Rachel Jezebel. You may remember us from your Deadly Sins training."</p><p>Draper shuffles his notes.</p><p>What is Gaslighting? It is a <i>mind game</i> where the subject is convinced truth is a lie and lie is truth. It is the basis of most modern marketing and has significant uses in politics and crowd control.</p><p>"When I was topside, the subject was one of my specialties. I spent much of my time manipulating the public to buy things they did not need with money they did not have. And if the folks needed to go into debt to buy this stuff, the more money I and my client made. A good example was premium liquor. Often it is the regular stuff in a fancy bottle and people line up. People used to refer to me as a flaming bullshit artist and I would respond I was the best one, especially with the ladies. Right, Rachel?"</p><p>Rachel Jezebel blushes at the memory. "Yes, Don. You were the best."</p><p>"So, what does that diatribe have with the current lesson? If you remember the lessons of Greed and Gluttony, you are flipping the target back and forth between having and not having something. You might be thinking, I wonder if a strictly Envy strategy would work without bringing an artificial scarcity in. In a few cases, it would be adequate and it is a good place to start. But in DQ's long years of experience, we have found the combination of Lust, Greed, Glutton, and Envy is far more effective. Especially if you need a Wrath response to accompany the project."</p><p>Rachel speaks up.</p><p>"Lust is a good opening for a gaslighting campaign. The opposite doesn't need to be good looking, just "empathetic' to the cause. It sure worked for us."</p><p>Draper nods. "Absolutely. If the Mortal is unsteady due to a loss or death, the possibility of a rebound relationship is as effective as a <i>scorpion</i> sting. You get to turn both people at the same time, which looks good on your stats. We have whole telemarking divisions that specialize in lust combinations and they have proven effective time and again."</p><p>How does Envy play into this? As the new couple's "happiness" becomes apparent, those associated with them wonder what they are missing out on. Jealousy reactions come in two flavors: 1) I want some and 2) That is wrong. As time goes on, the reactions are broadcast over whatever gossip vehicles exist in the world you are working in. Each telling of the story will distort the truth and in the end, everybody in the chain fails the test and becomes one of us. The American Political system has always been my example of this. </p><p>"Question in the back...What if the situation starts moving towards being charitable? That's where the greed and gluttony comes in. You give them an outstanding lust resolution, so good it can't be repeated, and the subject thinks <i>reality is wrong, only dreams are real.</i>" As the couple gets more frustrated, one of two things will happen. Either they will drift apart looking for their dream in someone else or they will turn against each other in wrath. Long term, we prefer the first reaction since that will pick up more souls over time since Wrath often is an end unto itself. </p><p>Remember, the goal always is to keep the target moving and unable to determine what the truth is. And if that means taking Maker's Charities and setting them on their heads, this is what needs to happen. What we need all of you to take from this lesson is flexibility. Again, no two cases are alike and it is up to the Demon Force to apply the right lie to the right situation. </p><p>You're dismissed. </p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-24403403192782651422024-03-09T16:05:00.001-05:002024-03-09T16:05:51.708-05:00Wednesday. (Blogophilia 36.15)<p><i>Rrrrrinnngg!</i></p><p>Good Day and thank you for calling Devil's Quill, your answer to all that is annoying you. My name is Atlas, how may I help? Your classmate is prettier and smells better than you? And all the good people say it is your fault? Before we start, may I ask how old you are? 13? That's not fair. Normally, I would refer you to our Mean Girls Department, but I have a program called Casseopeia that works wonders for Mother and Daughter issues like this. It is a downloadable phone app using Artificial Intelligence to create ugly selfies spread on all the Socials. You just move me to any black square. By the time they realize what has happened, they will have lost the promise of the stars. Just remember what the goal is: revenge. Will it make you popular? I'm not sure Ms. Wednesday, you are one of us, anyway. Satisfied? I'm on my way. </p><p><br /></p><p><i>Click</i></p><p><br /></p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-54966691137270810912024-03-02T15:46:00.001-05:002024-03-02T15:46:08.931-05:00Waiting (Blogophilia 35.15)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqvtz_oXV375t7q62pFklozeRnA1XbZm1pynZIrL7Q294VJf5CA09fEGAhr4dDols6rAksIwxUG8yA4xCK5gMONCUxZcQSESPwzAqYP0UZe2CHGes6tfARgqX1zDIZxasnedmgY9SRwY6DNSUgQGrw1g3hK3GAw-z5GODngbsK16q_T_EN-2OBJOUTuAo/s4032/PXL_20231027_163649893.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqvtz_oXV375t7q62pFklozeRnA1XbZm1pynZIrL7Q294VJf5CA09fEGAhr4dDols6rAksIwxUG8yA4xCK5gMONCUxZcQSESPwzAqYP0UZe2CHGes6tfARgqX1zDIZxasnedmgY9SRwY6DNSUgQGrw1g3hK3GAw-z5GODngbsK16q_T_EN-2OBJOUTuAo/s320/PXL_20231027_163649893.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">Waiting</p><p style="text-align: center;">Taming the fear </p><p style="text-align: center;">Of the call</p><p style="text-align: center;">Sure to come.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">A whole life</p><p style="text-align: center;">Dropped into the final hole.</p><p style="text-align: center;">The stop sign we all come to.</p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-52124357885485500492024-02-24T16:36:00.004-05:002024-02-24T16:36:55.343-05:00Once echoed (Blogophilia 34.15)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdOJjEkNfl34rklglVuhrtiAFucbX7PJWHxQMdsfdqEHgZH_Vv7A21zrDWhY5ZrFf05McphAUEbDx5_v5xCQe6hZ1BDL_Qo-IA7U-jU6IG8qnxlYFLwGHZDEx6Tg64OZdlB3Zbg1TagmU46SvJA4t3yWm7ecadMG1Ivh49L4oO3S6pv7j2yrcLrPtQrx4/s4032/PXL_20240218_214554629.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdOJjEkNfl34rklglVuhrtiAFucbX7PJWHxQMdsfdqEHgZH_Vv7A21zrDWhY5ZrFf05McphAUEbDx5_v5xCQe6hZ1BDL_Qo-IA7U-jU6IG8qnxlYFLwGHZDEx6Tg64OZdlB3Zbg1TagmU46SvJA4t3yWm7ecadMG1Ivh49L4oO3S6pv7j2yrcLrPtQrx4/s320/PXL_20240218_214554629.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just this once</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I want to be a winner</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just this once</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I wish for peace</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just this once</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I wonder about the handbasket</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just this once</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Over the echos</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Of just this once.</span></p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-54452084721806614492024-02-03T16:16:00.003-05:002024-02-03T16:16:16.901-05:00The Pier is Gone (Blogophilia 31.15)<p>The light show was going over the horizon. </p><p>A weekend stand</p><p>Only that. </p><p>Two people in a lost city </p><p>Caught on the rebound</p><p>Passing the time.</p><p>The sea was angry.</p><p> Earrings and things bobbed with the waves. </p><p>Secret places found</p><p>Promises denied</p><p>Lies kept</p><p>The pier was gone when he woke</p><p>Washed to sea. </p><p>And so was she</p><p>There was nothing to remember. </p><p>Not her name, anyway. </p><p>Only the voices in his head </p><p>Calling his name. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ZXx0pWpszKg" width="320" youtube-src-id="ZXx0pWpszKg"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-67614595515389876452024-01-27T16:33:00.004-05:002024-01-27T16:33:21.878-05:00The Amazing Carnac (Blogophilia 30.15)<p>This was turning out to be an interesting night. A girl from work asked if he'd like to go to a game night at a friend's house. They needed another couple. Oh, why not? She was nice enough and it was better than looking at some rerun.<br /><br />He arrived at her apartment when told. She was nicely dressed and ready to go, which was a nice change from the last date he'd been. In due time they arrived at the host's place. About 10 people he didn't know introduced themselves. He'd never been one for small talk, so outside of a quick handshake he wandered toward where the food was and just watched. </p><p>After a while, the host brought out a copy of "The Amazing Carnac", based on the old Tonight Show gag. He had played it before. A lottery draw was done and he was selected as the first contestant.</p><p>The envelope lay on the table in front of him. He was reluctant. Something told him the road of life was about to hit a curve. </p><p>"Do it. Do it." Everyone chanted.</p><p>Finally, he placed it on his forehead.</p><p>"Mud, Snow, and Sand." The words came out without thinking. </p><p>He pulled the envelope down and looked inside.</p><p>"Name three things you could get stuck in." Cheers broke out.</p><p>The girl he had come with piped up with a mischievous grin, "I've been stuck in all of them and I want to do it again with you."</p><p>He looked at her with a shocked face. They had only gone out a couple of times.</p><p>"Really?" </p><p>"Really."</p><p>The rest of the evening was just as surprising. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FMLI5qI8WU0" width="320" youtube-src-id="FMLI5qI8WU0"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-8771492237065144902024-01-20T16:01:00.003-05:002024-01-20T16:01:31.492-05:00Is It Tme? (Blogophilia 29.15)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/L6dDBEbFtqs" width="320" youtube-src-id="L6dDBEbFtqs"></iframe></div><br /><p></p><p>I am at the last verse in my life. What do you do when the dreams all go by and all you hear is the doom and gloom of the squawk box? </p><p>Do you cheer the doomers on?</p><p>Do you wish to wander far away?</p><p>Do you wonder if what you did was right?</p><p>Or did you waste your time?</p><p>The time was always right to do what was right, but was it at all?</p><p>Only time will tell.</p><p><br /></p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-15061101159205976702024-01-06T12:07:00.000-05:002024-01-06T12:07:04.427-05:00New Year's Wishes (Blogophilia 27.15)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5jp9anLvxjLLrAlxBZy6nG7mCIdyq_QBtYUuoAzZWKUfVhqeHfWZTn56xTjSbJBh1GFfRchKXsqTzaZbmyacgQ_48qgnaXjwPXDbFDfVk9SY2YO3VfxvFSZh94errpNNGsLzs0JSasVaB_VY7xyz8oxTCwaBxHMRs91Ht1QJoobkjLnS5sHt7MicIFK4/s4032/PXL_20231027_230802840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5jp9anLvxjLLrAlxBZy6nG7mCIdyq_QBtYUuoAzZWKUfVhqeHfWZTn56xTjSbJBh1GFfRchKXsqTzaZbmyacgQ_48qgnaXjwPXDbFDfVk9SY2YO3VfxvFSZh94errpNNGsLzs0JSasVaB_VY7xyz8oxTCwaBxHMRs91Ht1QJoobkjLnS5sHt7MicIFK4/s320/PXL_20231027_230802840.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">May the new year</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Be as a lark ascending</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A crescendo to a forte</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Never in a minor key</span></p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-40227546314963050492023-12-24T14:57:00.005-05:002023-12-24T14:57:47.042-05:00Apollo 8's Christmas Eve Message [HD] (Blogophilia 26.15)<div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/6vvNxhlP1jA?si=z5cWAJDHHJb0uj8z" width="480"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>How does the Spirit move you?</div><div>How do you show it?</div><div>Are the shining stars around?</div><div><br /></div><div>Are you a 10 year old boy</div><div>in front of a black-and-white TV</div><div>Way past your bedtime</div><div>In a home that is not your own?</div><div><br /></div><div>Wondering if your parents care?</div><div>Wondering if the world would stop?</div><div>And you would not ride your bicycle</div><div>Again.</div><div><br /></div><div>55 years on</div><div>The news is still about war.</div><div>Still about atrocities</div><div>Still about Man's inhumanity.</div><div><br /></div><div>And yet, it is good.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-64019084400118017112023-12-23T15:04:00.003-05:002023-12-23T15:04:28.023-05:00Dinner on the Grounds Version 2.0 (Blogophilia 25.15)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaSG7gg67vgaITO5V7gPkgn3WX9We7HUdNlWlxKKtgYuLGptmpvN_qw81mOfzmCRP9QhHL-ZheAsiUs3I5BtDng-9E5FICW6_cvWJGQ6XYUOsFUu59zfDvzaDYywyKcMvi6BWu_5F45HgMmBbZ1f3pvytDeoe6I05k3l4D3GAii0D2XwZxmA-hhbGzOIE/s3264/IMG_0580.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaSG7gg67vgaITO5V7gPkgn3WX9We7HUdNlWlxKKtgYuLGptmpvN_qw81mOfzmCRP9QhHL-ZheAsiUs3I5BtDng-9E5FICW6_cvWJGQ6XYUOsFUu59zfDvzaDYywyKcMvi6BWu_5F45HgMmBbZ1f3pvytDeoe6I05k3l4D3GAii0D2XwZxmA-hhbGzOIE/w295-h393/IMG_0580.JPG" width="295" /></a></div><br /><p></p><br /><br />He'd always been spiritual, constantly stopping to<i> </i>reflect on his life and where he was going. Twenty years in L.A. had taught him a couple of things. Controlling all the events in your life just wasn't possible and misery couldn't be wished away. It crept up when he least expected it to. The business had often made him feel alone and afraid. Every project teetered on the edge of failing and there was little he could do about it. There was no family to support or to support him and he accepted that. But he plugged on.<br /><br />He was back in the mountains he visited so often in his youth, working as a script consultant for a project. The funding had been only approved in the last week and the Production team needed someone with experience in the area to reconcile plot inconsistencies. The director put him up in a house on Lake Chatuge not a quarter mile down the road from the church. On a whim, he decided to see it. <div><div><br /></div>Memories of Homecomings past rushed forth. Stilted greetings, Praise the Lord, and too much food, all to draw the backsliders to the flock. Mom would give him a pill to keep him from getting sick on the road home to Atlanta before they left. But, the medicine never worked. Mountain twists caused cold sweat to issue out from the edges of his crew cut. He moved side to side with each twist until the puke was harder than a shaken Coke can, leaving two cussing parents holding paper sacks and wet paper towels.<br /><br />That was a long time ago. After Mom died, Dad didn't want to have anything to do with the church, mountains, or in-laws. He was happy just to drink his life away and it didn't take long.<br /><br />Crying, he left Georgia and the South after his memorial without even going back to his apartment. No more drunk misery, pining for a past that didn't exist. Skipping from Chicago to New York and then finally to Los Angeles, he managed to do well in the entertainment business. He could be<i> </i>in twenty movies and he would never be an actor<i> </i>the paparazzi cared about, but the bills stayed paid. <br /><div><br /></div><div>Driving over the mountain, his stomach was settled. No cold sweat, the road had the worst curves softened. The Devine Assembly of the Holy Lord hadn't changed much, perched over Highway 288 like a Monopoly piece. The white picket fence shone with its annual paint job. The only difference he could see was the banner out front proclaiming "Willkommen, Bienvenue, and Welcome". A concession to the wealthy "cabin" owners that dotted the hills. If it had been accurate, "Bienvenidos" would have been included. It was proof that some things hadn't changed. </div><div><br /></div><div>Portable gazebos donated by the local funeral home dotted the lawn, protecting the food underneath. Without even realizing it, he made the turn up the steep slope into the parking lot. Trays of potato salad and sliced ham sat next to the yeast rolls. Green beans that were picked this morning waited their turn to be eaten. The ice cream station was at the far end of the row next to the cobblers. </div><div><br /></div><div>A sea of permed white curls and stooped shoulders turned in unison to look at him as he got out of the car. A flicker of recognition came to a set of eyes.<br /><br />"Ain't you Agnes Hutson's boy?" <br /><br />"I'm her Grandson, Ma'am," He said smiling."Teeny was my Mom."<br /><br />"Oh, yeah. That wild one did have a passel of kids. Y'all get in here and eat." The old lady then turned to the crowd. Hey, Y'all. We got a Prodigal here Let's give him a proper homecoming."<br /><br />"All the Glory to God, Sister Hazel." The Pastor said, handing him a plate of food. "Welcome home, Son."<br /><br />The other event could wait. He took the food and prayed with Congregation for the acceptance. He really was home.<br /></div></div>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-45496655947673776402023-12-16T13:48:00.004-05:002023-12-16T13:48:56.853-05:00Are You Mad for Plaid? (Blogophilia 24.15)<p> I have to admit, I was struggling this week. Mad for Plaid is not a fashion statement I have always followed. But when I started Googling, the Artificial Intelligence Gods brought me this:</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MrmQuGnRfek" width="320" youtube-src-id="MrmQuGnRfek"></iframe></div><br /><p>It makes you think of Balmoral Castle and how much of a marketing ploy the "culture" became. </p><p>Dressing up is still fun. </p><p>It's better than any of the "Pity is treason" themes I was working on. </p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-9075970521247339482023-12-09T11:41:00.002-05:002023-12-09T11:41:35.265-05:00Home Projects (Blogophilia 27.15)<p>A couple of months ago, I went into my spare bedroom to get something out of the closet and I noticed a small brown spot on the baseboard molding. I reached down and everything along the floor was wet. On, no. It turned out I had a pinhole leak in a pipe going to my front outdoor spigot. I may have caused this problem because for the longest time, there was a hose that had seized to the threads and I tied (and failed) to use force to get it loose. </p><p>On inspection, the water was dripping from underneath the siding and flowing down toward the street. </p><p>I <i>quickly</i> called a plumber. Being the good company they are, they had a truck nearby and he was at the house in a couple of hours. </p><p>The hurry-up part? The pipe was fixed in about an hour.</p><p>The slow-down part? I had water damage over a 4'X5' section of the wall and an unknown amount of the floor. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrgCPTmTCtV-eM73cr4zyIdnauzhefZfcyUxbfCiTj_ZcYO9adpzyCE8VgLgmVwlvTTnBbm-_-3DGlUr1JYtL8YhaJ869AnUQNyeVZMAKCapWqWgMyMtsHjY5mog39gQF-Jzkbu39TBaxp7SCTwa4bLBJYnl_CjlUKAdLRJMokIQjK0YthR1MDF83AfKc/s4032/PXL_20231009_143756205.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrgCPTmTCtV-eM73cr4zyIdnauzhefZfcyUxbfCiTj_ZcYO9adpzyCE8VgLgmVwlvTTnBbm-_-3DGlUr1JYtL8YhaJ869AnUQNyeVZMAKCapWqWgMyMtsHjY5mog39gQF-Jzkbu39TBaxp7SCTwa4bLBJYnl_CjlUKAdLRJMokIQjK0YthR1MDF83AfKc/s320/PXL_20231009_143756205.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p>I received a referral to a company that could estimate the damage. I called and the representative came the next day. I got bad vibes during the process about how the company does business. Since this was a large job, I decided I needed to: a) vet the company and b) get a second opinion. </p><p>Twenty minutes of Google later, I found out Bad Vibe Dude's company had ten Better Business Bureau complaints within the last year with only a couple being resolved. I proceeded to step b.</p><p>After a few referrals from Angie's List, I began the vet process again. It turned out I had to split the project into two parts: Water Mitigation and Reconstruction. The Mitigation folks were good, expensive, and worth it. It took a full three days to get everything dry and mold-free. This is what it looked like when we went on vacation.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKurIBY2TOO_bAzf2ujAfco0j1EjdjaE7ntdzcybZwZVAC0niNydDuMY8V6gp00Y1DPY2IDlXSt_I2NzABrALwVYt9vDe38qd21tIbjhZ02XDw7gbVgUvTsQGHYYs8CkoNmUGKsUxPLNBsBW6rSFp7Cu1Dj0DJlFVkDWpr36r76bHUV1uz_idyPt9h76w/s4032/PXL_20231018_181642852.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKurIBY2TOO_bAzf2ujAfco0j1EjdjaE7ntdzcybZwZVAC0niNydDuMY8V6gp00Y1DPY2IDlXSt_I2NzABrALwVYt9vDe38qd21tIbjhZ02XDw7gbVgUvTsQGHYYs8CkoNmUGKsUxPLNBsBW6rSFp7Cu1Dj0DJlFVkDWpr36r76bHUV1uz_idyPt9h76w/s320/PXL_20231018_181642852.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When I returned, I started vetting handyman companies using the same process. After several bids, I chose one that was able to start the next week. They came with decent recommendations. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The first part of the job was the wall reconstruction. The guy showed up on time and went to work. It took a few hours, but he had the sheetrock fully installed and painted. It looked great. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3drcXspnU5pJw9jN-DX-IuFzeaiHDQ-_SLxVAX01_VQlCba0NnIQaB95I2Ubwzkh4AoVTsBeOr-hl0rYPMK-qkL1LKC3I3ZLmPWvQnSRYzRfIWJC7PCGXk613saBbyxq3f90PswmgKJQuxPJR3IMyVw5V1z6P1WaamQ0e2XPZU08pomF6AarvZDIzWU/s4032/PXL_20231123_151359913.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3drcXspnU5pJw9jN-DX-IuFzeaiHDQ-_SLxVAX01_VQlCba0NnIQaB95I2Ubwzkh4AoVTsBeOr-hl0rYPMK-qkL1LKC3I3ZLmPWvQnSRYzRfIWJC7PCGXk613saBbyxq3f90PswmgKJQuxPJR3IMyVw5V1z6P1WaamQ0e2XPZU08pomF6AarvZDIzWU/s320/PXL_20231123_151359913.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then he started working on the floor. Whoever did the remodeling of my house (at least two owners ago) had left a box of flooring in my garage. I made sure it was available. But there was a problem. It wasn't the same width as the damaged floor and most of it had been cut into smaller lengths, which would make the transition to the old flooring a problem. Thus began the <i>quest</i> to obtain the correct product for the job. After a few days, it was determined it had been discontinued. However several boxes of the cut-up width floor were found and a plan was made. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The next week, a new guy came to do the floor (the original guy was tied up in another job). He was younger and less experienced and that proved to be a problem when it was found the old floor was glued down with some kind of epoxy rather than standard floor glue. He was singing a<i> song sung blue. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqqE9FynqneCyRDjXMdefXzrHKVbr23YAjaHA3-Mv1gmJF0S6Zv1Z1kLUcQ478REqANgikoXEPEzlhC8HaNNemhDVd5RuX103Jd0hg9MQo1mgp4XRZQ-bAufI_4ejd605zKeEOSbKDqtqMVYJKe_5SUYSwhfyyxpI3bL3jwRHTBCk6JQNyCi1j19aRTA8/s4032/PXL_20231123_151321907.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqqE9FynqneCyRDjXMdefXzrHKVbr23YAjaHA3-Mv1gmJF0S6Zv1Z1kLUcQ478REqANgikoXEPEzlhC8HaNNemhDVd5RuX103Jd0hg9MQo1mgp4XRZQ-bAufI_4ejd605zKeEOSbKDqtqMVYJKe_5SUYSwhfyyxpI3bL3jwRHTBCk6JQNyCi1j19aRTA8/s320/PXL_20231123_151321907.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It took several tries over three weeks to get the floor up. Crowbars and jackhammers ended up being used over several days. The surface was sort of ready. and the first attempt to lay the new floor happened. The final product was sloppy and failed <i>quality</i> control. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Handyman company replaced the young guy and brought in an experienced one. It still took him the better part of a day to get everything back together. To the company's credit, they offered a discount on the job without me even asking. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GUEknlN-goB0sGPzQuQI6jc56OWOnh8SkvU8E1OOdXW-Cn-MSAmYGRVICQV0z0aSFSH2mcR3HfuhODGDaJ5Pm2e7bhH7m1Lo4HeLwmMKwb7y9LT7_I0J5ICeBvET_mmszWwBU83K9-_Bu8S9r_E6BqFDs2qe9VY3xYe8J97kXYQBvBImlSLmB8-1pG0/s4032/PXL_20231208_221236974.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GUEknlN-goB0sGPzQuQI6jc56OWOnh8SkvU8E1OOdXW-Cn-MSAmYGRVICQV0z0aSFSH2mcR3HfuhODGDaJ5Pm2e7bhH7m1Lo4HeLwmMKwb7y9LT7_I0J5ICeBvET_mmszWwBU83K9-_Bu8S9r_E6BqFDs2qe9VY3xYe8J97kXYQBvBImlSLmB8-1pG0/s320/PXL_20231208_221236974.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was an adventure, to say the least. Hopefully, I won't have to deal with anything like this for a while. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-82208883379888997542023-11-29T17:16:00.002-05:002023-11-29T17:16:25.057-05:00The Letter (Blogophilia 22.15)<p>Walk down the driveway</p><p>Usual bills and ads</p><p>Except</p><p>A small envelope</p><p>FPO Eisenhower CV69 </p><p>Inside</p><p>Feminine scipt</p><p>Standing watch on a dark sea</p><p>Raging in the gentle night</p><p>Scope and purpose</p><p>Misinformation and no information</p><p>Can she come home?</p><p>Soon, Sweetheart</p><p>Soon.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/VMtQQ1EfcPQ" width="320" youtube-src-id="VMtQQ1EfcPQ"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-52404711639981390122023-11-25T16:25:00.002-05:002023-11-25T16:25:59.636-05:00A Post Holiday Call (Blogpophilia 21.15)<p><i> </i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglM7dKLKyGvgxNzlx07XUmCcwXmcolmSJTNt2HsIC5QT65XI4u2CXj-3zzWEM2dUkSJgsQeOVTP7_RxPjwth-GR6HFXYQmb9sJfMB_sTzA51uLYSLOL_raGX9J35-fohVvXdDSQxQk9NPUYVtqu4MdddXuxypPh15pxFihcmLX-3JhlVUIoHkdiZpU7tk/s400/zeebo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglM7dKLKyGvgxNzlx07XUmCcwXmcolmSJTNt2HsIC5QT65XI4u2CXj-3zzWEM2dUkSJgsQeOVTP7_RxPjwth-GR6HFXYQmb9sJfMB_sTzA51uLYSLOL_raGX9J35-fohVvXdDSQxQk9NPUYVtqu4MdddXuxypPh15pxFihcmLX-3JhlVUIoHkdiZpU7tk/s320/zeebo.jpg" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /></i><p></p><p><i>In the call center outside Dallas TX...</i></p><p>Rrring!</p><p>Good Day to you and thank you for calling Devil's Quill, Gluttony Central. My name is Big Bertha. How may I help you? You want to gift your skinny sister a new body? Are you sure you don't want the Petty Jealousy division? You say she force fed you stuffing and cranberry sauce and kept all the pumpkin pie for herself? Let me patch in a couple of people. Hold, Please.</p><p>Rring...</p><p>"Wrath Division, Sandy speaking."</p><p>"I've got a suc...er... client on the phone where we can get a two-fer. You have time to sit in?</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>"Hello. Thank you for holding. I have Sandy from our Wrath division and he's going be able to help your issue. </p><p>"Bertha tells me you were stuffed with stuffing and cranberry sauce and you want revenge how? To stuff her? Hmmm... Let me pull the records....Oh, my. Lot's of lust and envy there. It looks like she did this to snag your husband. Oh, you say they have been having an affair? Let me update the fine."</p><p>"Sandy, I think this calls for our 'Dessert Package."</p><p>"Yes, indeed it does. This entails a trip to a candy factory where they get molded for all time. We'll get you set up right away and thank you for thinking of Devil's Quill."</p><p>[Click]</p><p>"Bertha, are you still on line."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"That package is for all three of them. Our caller lied about knowing about the affair."</p><p>"Got it. I have the table for three all ready."</p><p><br /></p><p>Topic-Holiday Jealousy</p><p>Hard Prompt:Include a candy factory</p><p>Easy Prompt: Stuffing</p><p><br /></p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-15226734669796673742023-11-18T06:52:00.002-05:002023-11-18T06:52:45.391-05:00Supper Conversation (Blogophilia 20.15)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PW5jUgxvNP2lfw8VktznbgfPIjECS_B_59Dkv4Bgi3BV-3HHc_nk4im83752wlzx3JXy0UVlE-vulaG5oPJ2an9_M4R68dGvnAShJKjpkdXR2n7jkyt1w7E6BrrqcyZglM6PPntx7JJmEDgib_a94j022nOsNvAdFfHEdyI3dRkMxjZeLRs2ilfwpBc/s4032/PXL_20231027_234139027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PW5jUgxvNP2lfw8VktznbgfPIjECS_B_59Dkv4Bgi3BV-3HHc_nk4im83752wlzx3JXy0UVlE-vulaG5oPJ2an9_M4R68dGvnAShJKjpkdXR2n7jkyt1w7E6BrrqcyZglM6PPntx7JJmEDgib_a94j022nOsNvAdFfHEdyI3dRkMxjZeLRs2ilfwpBc/s320/PXL_20231027_234139027.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p>"<i>You better wise up</i>."</p><p>"What are you talking about?"</p><p>"That 'girl' on Facebook. She isn't real."</p><p>"How do you know?"</p><p>"She says she's gluten-free."</p><p>"No, she's Celiac. There's a difference."</p><p>"How so?"</p><p>"She can't eat gluten. Not she isn't made from gluten."</p><p>"Oh, what was I thinking. You never listen."</p><p>"Maybe I should invite her to the Disney trip."</p><p>"Are you trying to bait me?"</p><p>"No. It's just she likes Minnie Mouse."</p><p>"Boy, you are losing it."</p><p>"Just kidding. She's half my age."</p><p>"Oh, just eat your supper. I've got a headache."</p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-70096408326574738552023-11-05T13:59:00.004-05:002023-11-05T13:59:59.307-05:00Something Off the Cuff (Blogophilia 19.15)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplHsFvyJo8-xc1UinyqurftZNzwWhYs9P0c-aNfC24zbVfm3iYf1e7apyqIU64UZbknv17ccegk8aY0LmuUxxbvN36BUtDZGLnrhelFiUyxxTVtfVmU5hDZvxUmCMaxt7ptkvZZzemXpkw4nKJ61oSDY2JaLsAin3FYf1miQ_i5LtxtK0t8TX1dONZj0/s4032/PXL_20231026_190842416.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplHsFvyJo8-xc1UinyqurftZNzwWhYs9P0c-aNfC24zbVfm3iYf1e7apyqIU64UZbknv17ccegk8aY0LmuUxxbvN36BUtDZGLnrhelFiUyxxTVtfVmU5hDZvxUmCMaxt7ptkvZZzemXpkw4nKJ61oSDY2JaLsAin3FYf1miQ_i5LtxtK0t8TX1dONZj0/s320/PXL_20231026_190842416.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><p><i>Meeemmmmmorrryyy....</i></p><p><br /></p><p>Nah, not that one.</p><p><br /></p><p><i>What's the buzz, tell me what is happening. </i></p><p><br /></p><p>Better, but try again.</p><p><br /></p><p><i>Far, far away, someone was weeping.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p>That one, albeit no one will listen to it. It's politically incorrect in the modern world. Everyone takes the opportunity to tear down rather than build up. </p><p>Maybe things will change. </p><p>We'll see. </p><p><br /></p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-89731112697440233122023-11-03T17:00:00.004-04:002023-11-03T17:00:46.567-04:00Writing Advice (Blogophillia 18.15)<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="background-color: #111111; color: white; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 30px; font-weight: 700; text-align: center;">Do not ignore the opportunity to write something...anything!</span></p><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s" style="background-color: #111111; color: white; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 30px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: center;">If it is; then it will be</div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s" style="background-color: #111111; color: white; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 30px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: center;">This is the Ancestral Wisdom</div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s" style="background-color: #111111; color: white; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 30px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: center;">Under the Amber Moon</div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s" style="background-color: #111111; color: white; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 30px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: center;">It's scary.</div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s" style="background-color: #111111; color: white; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 30px; font-weight: 700; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: center;">Thanks, Dave Coon.</div>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-80062263945695069272023-11-02T16:05:00.003-04:002023-11-02T16:05:41.863-04:00Silent Noon - Vaughan Williams<div>A very pretty voice. </div><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/-SDZkSmUvSY?si=pffe5kmLY05_YJpE" width="480"></iframe>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-53822950709012235352023-10-21T17:27:00.000-04:002023-10-21T17:27:15.641-04:00Little 5 Points (Blogophilia 16.15)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Ox7ixXZPzrHj5JwzbSQshw9IWVpW_eP3HyHcb9nWwrhvZxZjl4JGHxuLKhyr5g1rjYGB9oKMohF_N2xY-Q2Vs1cvzEjaQ1msaEjlH0KbDEUGzkY7qLlcCneVG9shk_yEEWgMnUInfjuU98wDM4xP4VGm_bI2V88H_r54RqdF2zbvSOvE3rvzBGnDjjw/s4032/PXL_20231015_190644365.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Ox7ixXZPzrHj5JwzbSQshw9IWVpW_eP3HyHcb9nWwrhvZxZjl4JGHxuLKhyr5g1rjYGB9oKMohF_N2xY-Q2Vs1cvzEjaQ1msaEjlH0KbDEUGzkY7qLlcCneVG9shk_yEEWgMnUInfjuU98wDM4xP4VGm_bI2V88H_r54RqdF2zbvSOvE3rvzBGnDjjw/w347-h462/PXL_20231015_190644365.jpg" width="347" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Do you realize</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">You don't have a story</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Even though you thought you did</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">You went on a road trip</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">To find a busker</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">To find </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">When the music hit you</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">You found</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">No old guitars</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Only cheap jewelry</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thrift store clothes</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">And distant memories.</span></p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-57372145845758516062023-10-14T16:57:00.002-04:002023-10-14T16:57:08.287-04:00In the Student Center on a Wednesday (Blogophilia 15.15)<p> Chinka...chinka....chinka....chinka</p><p>The two guys were really into the ping-pong battle. </p><p>I'm still trying to come up with a logline, much less a premise, for a story.</p><p>Am I missing something? </p><p>WHACK!!</p><p>The short guy finally got one by his opponent. </p><p>I see the thread about the House Speaker</p><p>I don't get political, usually.</p><p>It's a dead end street. </p><p>Maybe I'll go to Starbucks.</p><p>It will be quieter. </p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-2007692678246048662023-10-07T12:27:00.000-04:002023-10-07T12:27:03.009-04:00Batwing Buick (Blogophilia 14.15)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8jgOvHt14Kk_MxGLfW1DueeO1zCj6KSdbeNoZLrJzEBfR4_44AmuvNmJSwMB3fptduGRhPPIpSaSygeMZrRYcjVu77vpydKGMB2_FI9Vqcs9pDo3aq3B5edWW842nNfSUpSwm3vE9H3KJyNeyEt40Mdq7iD2GoNYUGDF1q_pjfWnwsQ0ju4P9rNxAvm4/s1000/Batwing%20Buick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8jgOvHt14Kk_MxGLfW1DueeO1zCj6KSdbeNoZLrJzEBfR4_44AmuvNmJSwMB3fptduGRhPPIpSaSygeMZrRYcjVu77vpydKGMB2_FI9Vqcs9pDo3aq3B5edWW842nNfSUpSwm3vE9H3KJyNeyEt40Mdq7iD2GoNYUGDF1q_pjfWnwsQ0ju4P9rNxAvm4/w379-h285/Batwing%20Buick.jpg" width="379" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The phone chirped. Daddy was drunk. Could she crash at his place? It had happened before. He replied without thinking. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-72be58a1-7fff-5ced-d0e4-25fd79d997bc"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">A modern version of Belinda Carlisle, she was pleasingly thick, bleach blonde hair restrained with a butterfly barrette. The nose ring was an afterthought of rebellion. A monstrosity of a purse was slung over her shoulder. It could pack enough stuff to keep her for days. Tonight was going to be different. It would be a vacation of a different sort and he’d hang for it. The remark came out almost involuntarily.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">All his life, he had gone by the mantra "I can't fix that".It allowed him to miss more than one female trainwreck. He could never figure out why she was different. The bio-units were not deserving of the title parents. On the surface, it looked like a typical upper middle class family, nice house in a pretentious subdivision, nice cars in the garage. Dad, when he was around, was drunk or high. Mom lived in her own little world, denying her precious husband could be so cruel. Most of his time in the last month had been stepping over their drama. It was a losing proposition. But something kept him around, the mutual comfort for stability in the game of life.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">A hole opened up in the right lane and he exited toward the park. The bat winged Buick Convertible It had been his dream to own one since he saw the Go Go’s video. The only difference was his was white rather than red. It was the ultimate midlife crisis car. And he certainly was in one.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">He wondered what she would think of it.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The sky was a deep purple with yellow streaks, humidity was high. A pale dog limned the edge of the rising moon. A blink on the horizon, thunder a long way off. A lineman was working on a cellphone "pine tree" across the parking lot. The neighbors demanded the disguise of the gray monstrosity. Planting dead trees for the living.That’s cute. Would they plant a living one when they were dead? She waved from the sidewalk. The door rattled a little as it shut. she leaned in close enough to smell the perfume off her neck. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Pulling into his driveway, lightning flashed over the house.They got inside just as the rain began to fall. The coat landed on the couch as she slithered around the room. He made Sunrises and handed her one. She was a bird at tea, chittering away about her Dad being on a business trip and mom being delusional about finding her a boyfriend. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“The story about Daddy wasn’t true, was it?”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“No.” She said with a smile.“I was lonely and just wanted a touch of gray.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Lying to me to get your way, huh.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“I WAS trying to be sincere.”</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Sure, you were.” He snorted. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The liquor did its job. They kissed cruelly, intently. She tugged the shirt over his head. A squeeze of wings freed her hair. Playfully, he clipped the barrette on the string at her neck and pulled. The cloth fluttered silently to the floor. There was nothing underneath. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">She took his hands and began to dance. She turned and his hands went around the pale body from the back just above her waist. The skin was smooth and sweet.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">When it was over, a warm washcloth blotted away the evidence. But the warmth wasn’t as good as hers.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">An Uber was at the curb.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Three brush strokes and a flick put the hair back under the butterfly. The girly gear went back into the big bag. He always wondered why she took so much stuff. As she picked up the bag, she blew him a kiss.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Don’t lose your sparkle, Baby.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">And she was gone. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></span>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-6325419662354872992023-09-30T15:51:00.005-04:002023-09-30T15:51:38.567-04:00Corn Mazes (Blogophilia 13.15)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwbB3qaedwIZYUwyfIAbfZG0nMn72QELY00seY3eg4cdJ8yl-2B4V_wFl5h0AjAXt3ysNMEw_fIXFCtG4Fi451u0Vy7nYM0VH-u1mfO4H7UWBRc5MyHLRI1fzkeEEK6Gg2q_gc_WFVmU35VIkhrRyhyphenhyphen0Jz8UNhDjGhpnEF0mGBU4bLixTDS3aYyFKYztk/s4032/PXL_20230920_210806506.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwbB3qaedwIZYUwyfIAbfZG0nMn72QELY00seY3eg4cdJ8yl-2B4V_wFl5h0AjAXt3ysNMEw_fIXFCtG4Fi451u0Vy7nYM0VH-u1mfO4H7UWBRc5MyHLRI1fzkeEEK6Gg2q_gc_WFVmU35VIkhrRyhyphenhyphen0Jz8UNhDjGhpnEF0mGBU4bLixTDS3aYyFKYztk/s320/PXL_20230920_210806506.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p>It's Fall and everything is coming up pumpkins and spice. I'm ambivalent. Like many, I am frightened by what I don't understand, And the fascination with allspice, cinnamon, and clove is one of those things. I'll eat pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving and the week after. But the overflow of everything pumpkin for weeks at a time is beyond the pale. </p><p>Another thing I never quite got was corn mazes, such as this one outside <a href="https://www.mlive.com/news/kalamazoo/2023/09/new-corn-mazes-revealed-and-a-new-farm-as-2023-season-kicks-off.html?utm_source=fark&utm_medium=website&utm_content=link&ICID=ref_fark" target="_blank">Kalamazoo, MI</a>. I have a friend in Grand Rapids who swears by the experience. I just get bored. </p><p>I guess I'm just old and want to play with frogs, instead. </p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-59879160823451966302023-09-24T07:46:00.000-04:002023-09-24T07:46:25.984-04:00The Millhouse Suite (Blogophilia 12.15)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk0_X8E4rwQ4mDp-ns2TNDfz2hYmrg0XDepMGxN_MLP7f8fCEs0rOZFMeY12ENjfNqfA0oKkCehdge340HMORbChKDCTrxpOi4V9K4WaWJjcvUC4cR56M3vSLlxwdtm6NFwf1Nn7JNVcR7pA1pKyyi1kNA0MB7GInERz9hDaHx1PFMaA4RcLpaAnrJasc/s4032/PXL_20230420_170558806.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="527" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk0_X8E4rwQ4mDp-ns2TNDfz2hYmrg0XDepMGxN_MLP7f8fCEs0rOZFMeY12ENjfNqfA0oKkCehdge340HMORbChKDCTrxpOi4V9K4WaWJjcvUC4cR56M3vSLlxwdtm6NFwf1Nn7JNVcR7pA1pKyyi1kNA0MB7GInERz9hDaHx1PFMaA4RcLpaAnrJasc/w396-h527/PXL_20230420_170558806.jpg" width="396" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><br /></p><p>The trip was her idea, a way to get some "we time" between work and kids' stuff. Jimmy's mom not only offered to take the kids, but she had paid for the reservation. Everything was going to be perfect. Kathy had found the perfect place in the mountains where they didn't have to worry about being quiet. </p><p>The drive up had been easy, with no traffic on the way in. The only problem was missing the turn to the Inn. But that was quickly fixed and they turned off the small sidestreet. The driveway was lined with wildflowers and the turning trees indicated summer's end. </p><p>They got out of the car and looked at the building. They knew it was going to be special. </p><p>Behind the desk was a small, blonde woman. <br /><br />"You must be the Morris', we've been expecting you." She handed them the key and pointed toward the stairs. "The Millhouse Suite is at the top of the stairs. Enjoy your stay." </p><p>Running up like a couple of kids, they started laughing when they got to the top. It was like they had gotten away with something. Jimmy opened the door, showing a cozy main room with a kitchen, s fireplace, and a second set of stairs heading up to the bedroom loft. Just the quiet getaway to have some fun. </p><p>Jimmy swooped her up in his arms and carried her, screeching and laughing, over the threshold.</p><p>"Aren't you a little late for that, Cowboy?" Old Spice filled her nose, something she could never get enough of.</p><p>"Better late than never, Miss Kathy Simpson." With a kiss, he set her down in front of the fireplace and looked around. "Can you believe it's been 20 years since we..."</p><p>"...had the picnic on the mountain?" Kathy finished the sentence as they walked around the main floor. "I'm surprised your Mom is even still speaking to us."</p><p>"Yeah, she wasn't too happy." </p><p>"I know my Mom wanted to slap me for being careless. And they were both dubious we could make it work."</p><p>"We were too stubborn to think we would fail." He slipped his arm around her hips. "I think they are both happy with where we are now."</p><p>"I know I am." She smiled. Changing the subject, she said. "Let's get everything thing out of the car." </p><p>It took two trips. Kathy took the suitcase and carried it upstairs into the loft while Jimmy got the rest of the stuff. There was an ottoman at the foot of the four-poster bed, along with floral lamps on nightstands on each side. She didn't bother putting anything in the dresser. They were only going to be there for a couple of days.</p><p>She took the personal bag into the bathroom and set it on the toilet. The tub wasn't big enough to share, but they had long gotten away from that. As she turned to leave, the image in the mirror caught her eye. 50 lbs heavier and had some wrinkles from where it all began, but it didn't matter. To him, she had always been beautiful. And so had he to her. </p><p>Before going downstairs, she turned down the bed and turned on the lamp. Everything was ready.</p><p>Jimmy came in with the picnic basket and cooler, the same ones they had taken on the birthday trip so long ago. He set it on the dining room table. Inside the basket were ham sandwiches, chips, and a bottle of Chianti with an anniversary card signed by the kids tied to the neck. </p><p>"They love us, don't they?" Jimmy remarked. </p><p>"Yes, and I love you more" </p><p>He opened the bottle while she laid the sandwiches out with napkins underneath them. It had been a long trip. The rest of the meal was small talk about Charlie's Kindergarten teacher and the jump to Middle School for Emmy. All the while, they fed each other sandwiches. It wasn't long before they were gone and the best part came up, a box of four chocolate cherries. Attached it was a heart-shaped note saying "Get Mushy, Mommy" in Emily's sloppy cursive. </p><p>Kathy laughed, showing the note, "I love that girl."</p><p>"I don't think she should worry about that."</p><p>"No," Kathy said. "She knows more about Mommy and Daddy stuff than an eleven-year-old should, but at least she isn't squeamish about it like her brother."</p><p>"Apples don't fall far from trees, you know."</p><p>"Ooh, Cowboy."She batted her eyes. "Are you saying she's my child?"</p><p>"I know so." Jimmy grinned. "And that kind of worries me."</p><p>"Hush." Kathy knew what he was saying. Emily was headstrong and they were starting to bump heads a little. However, she was still the most loving child she knew. And the man in front of her had given her life.</p><p>Kathy picked up a cherry, leaned over, and kissed her husband. It was a recreation of their first one so long ago. They savored each other until the cherry stem was perfectly tied. </p><p>"We haven't lost our touch." She brought him to his feet, slipping the t-shirt over his head. As she kissed down his hairy chest, she said."Happy Birthday, Sweetheart." </p><p>He kissed the top of her head, taking in the lavender scent. "It's funny how all the stuff, good and bad, happens on my birthday." </p><p>"Because you are worth it. You were always there and I would do everything all over again." </p><p>They went up the stairs and saw the full moon in the window. The rest of the clothes pooled on the floor, as they danced to an unheard tune. Her voice was barely a whisper.</p><p>"I want to ride my Cowboy into the sunrise."</p><p>"Miss Kathy Simpson, it would be my pleasure."</p><p>Jimmy laid her gently on the sheets. The bed was more comfortable than the rocks, but they were still the King and Queen of the Mountain. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-34467938489459586102023-09-16T15:30:00.003-04:002023-09-16T15:30:33.905-04:00What I should have done. (Blogophilia 15.11)<p> I missed my calling in life. I should have been a <a href="https://www.heraldnet.com/news/a-695k-salary-overtime-pay-at-the-snohomish-county-pud-has-soared/?utm_source=fark&utm_medium=website&utm_content=link&ICID=ref_fark">Lineman</a>. I could be outside all day and make like a pirate in the Carribean. Instead, I sit in front of my screen with the Muzak in the background. </p><p><br /></p><p>Oh, well. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_YSigW4DzEk" width="320" youtube-src-id="_YSigW4DzEk"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7401650282965570676.post-36449320196381441732023-09-09T17:26:00.005-04:002023-09-09T17:26:54.634-04:00The Broken Faerie (Blogophilia 15.10)<p>Cuddled together in a garden</p><p>Sun reflected off their skin</p><p>A broken faerie</p><p>And her mate</p><p>Resting, breeze flowing</p><p>"Could I be straight?"</p><p>She mused, adjusting a wing</p><p>"You need not.."</p><p>He said</p><p>"You are my September Dream</p><p>I don't want to stop believing."</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Another Government Employeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11736588211704245188noreply@blogger.com6