Wednesday, November 22, 2017


Get a place in the wilderness, Jon. It'll be fun! You'll have a simple and carefree life.

If it wasn't so physically hard to do, I'd be kicking my own ass for suggesting that to myself.  
After three long years existing in the wilderness my life is filled with more problems and complications than a '58 Edsel Corsair, and my nerves are more shredded than the lettuce on a Taco Bell veggie salad.

I couldn't sleep all night from the scratching and scraping of the wild animals trying to nest in my roof and walls. Don't be fooled by all those cutsie wildlife documentaries on PBS and the Disney Bambi crap that we were spoon-fed as kids.
If I had a submachine gun I would have used it gleefully and without regrets.

Did you ever try to sleep on a bad mattress with a bad back and two big cats? Bosco must weigh 50 lbs. and he was dead weight on my legs like a sack of scrap metal.

When I crawled out of bed at the grim and cold crack of dawn, it took me ten minutes to get on my feet and I looked like an accordion on stilts.

Yup, I chose today (Tuesday) to drive into town - despite a warning from my cousin that there was "road work" being done.

Actually, I was fortunate to even find the road - since the weeds and "brush" on my property are now 20 feet high thanks to recent rain.
I won't mention the mud.

Driving to town wouldn't have been too bad, if a pickup truck didn't appear in front of me (seemingly out of nowhere). It was going less than 15 m.p.h.
Picture that on a narrow, winding, no passing mountain road.

Thanks to that SloMo snail, it took three times longer to get to town than usual.
I was biting my fingernails to a bloody pulp.

But luck was with me -
No road repair work was being done!

.....until I got to town.

I thought my cousin meant the mountain road was being repaired.
Instead, I discovered that she meant the roads in town were being repaired.

Every major road in the entire damn place was under "reconstruction", making it less than impossible to get anywhere.

I had to stop at the courthouse, which was located in the very midst of the road construction ( a harrowing maneuver, to say the least). My reason for going there is far too long and tedious to rely here - let's just say it had to do with the registration of some property.

 Here's the courthouse and that's exactly where I parked (I didn't take this photo - I got it from the Internet).

The lady in the clerk's office was so busy, rude, and confused that I finally left in abject frustration (to say the least) without getting anything resolved or done.

Onward to Walmart, where the holiday shoppers were out en mass.
Did I ever mention that I think all holidays should be permanently banned - and those who try to participate in them should be subjected to waterboarding torture?

I desperately needed a BIG bag of Purina Cat Chow Complete, which is the favored cuisine of my three cats. Naturally they were all out of it. So I had to settle for the small (very small) bag - and a big bag of Friskies.

I had to buy a phone card for my cell phone. The  swishy male clerk in the phone department was wearing two gigantic earrings, at least six finger rings - and he was extremely friendly.

Hey, I'm not trying to suggest anything. It's merely an innocent observation. And it's very strange for rural Tennessee. 
I haven't seen a dude look like that since I was in West Hollywood.

I bought two pumpkin pies that were on the "mark down" rack (one of my favorite Walmart haunts). More about the pies later.

The long drive home was beyond the realms of a hellish nightmare:
a huge truck hauling a load of cut lumber was going about 5 m.p.h. There were fourteen cars behind him. I was the fifteenth car.

It was like a funeral procession, only slower. I eventually started gnawing my toenails and saying profanities that would have made Satan blush.

Okay - 
what about the phone card in the freezer??

When I finally got home, I wrapped one of the pumpkin pies in a plastic bag and put it in the freezer.

Eventually I noticed that the phone card I bought was missing. I frantically searched everywhere and finally figured that I must have dropped it somewhere (like in the Walmart parking lot).

Imagine my surprise when I happened to check the pumpkin pie in the freezer. My phone card was in the bag with the pie - frozen solid!

I won't apologize for this post being long, because I condensed it. It would have been a lot longer if I told everything that happened.

Just a typical day in the life of Jon.


Sunday, November 19, 2017


Against my better judgement I'm offering an old rerun extracted from my dusty blog archives.

I wrote this post many years ago, when blogging was fun and people still had a sense of humor. In the past few years the blogging world has changed - tainted with too much sensitivity, seriousness, and malice.

I found that out about a year ago when I (mistakenly) offered my political opinions. I lost 60 per cent of my readers (no lie), received hate mail, and one death threat.

Then I lost more readers when I said something negative about transgenders. Two disgruntled bloggers actually wrote scathing posts about me - saying what an evil bigot I was.

Now I'm a good boy and only write about my cats and the weather (two reasonably "safe" subjects).

Am I bitter?
Naw, just cautious. 
Hell - despite censoring many of my thoughts, I'm still immensely entertaining.  (????)
And I'm still sarcastic. But you have to use a magnifying glass and read between lines.

Put on your Pilgrim hats and take a deep breath, boys and girls. Here's my take on Thanksgiving.

No matter what opinion you have about Thanksgiving, I think we can all agree that the concept of the holiday is based on varying degrees of legend and hokum.

When we were innocent and gullible kids in school (at least I was innocent and gullible), we were spoon-fed the sanitized Hallmark Card version:

The kind, generous, ultra-religious Pilgrims - - out of the goodness of their hearts - - spent days preparing a sumptuous Thanksgiving feast and invited the neighboring Indians over to share the unforgettable banquet. They dined on succulent turkey, sweet potatoes, French's original green bean casserole, dinner rolls with cranberry jam, and pumpkin pie topped with Cool Whip.

They exchanged gifts and recipes. The Indians taught them about the limitless wonders of maize. They prayed together and then joined hands and sang a rousing rendition of Kumbaya.

And they all lived happily ever after in absolute unity among purple mountain majesties and amber waves of grain.

In more recent years, the liberal historical revisionists have given us a grim and harrowing Thanksgiving tale of raw realism:

The Pilgrims - - an uncouth, bloodthirsty band of European white men and their skanky women - - arrived in America with ill-intent. They invaded the peaceful domain of Indian Territory - plundered the  villages, trampled the teepees, chopped down the trees, polluted the water, claimed the Indian's land, imprisoned the Indian braves, raped the squaws, and gave everyone syphilis and inferiority complexes.

Within a few short generations, the pitifully few remaining Indian tribes were confined to squalid Arizona reservations - - living in unairconditioned Airstream trailers and using their meager government subsidies to buy cheap whiskey and Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Take your pick. Believe whatever version you like. But while you're chowing down that delectable Thanksgiving meal this week, just remember that  without the white man's aggression and ingenuity - you'd be wearing buffalo robes and living in teepees. And eating maize, whatever the heck that is.

Hopefully I won't be scalped by irate readers. I meant no harm. Honest Injun.

Friday, November 17, 2017


All right, let's put aside our political differences for a minute and get down to the nitty gritty:
I couldn't imagine anything more devastatingly horrifying than getting a sloppy, unwanted, probing kiss from Al Franken.
(if you haven't been watching the news're very fortunate).
 I was trying to be funny. Shoot me.

Change of subject and depressing fact:

My blog posts with piano music are consistently my very least popular posts (see previous post)
My reason for doing them?
1. To show off.
2. To establish the fact that I once had a meaningful life, far removed from the Hillbilly Boonies.

I use Audacity to transfer my old piano tapes to computer-friendly files (Audacity isn't an attitude, it's a software program).

I've noticed that Audacity doesn't always produce a completely accurate transition of my piano recordings. The speed is often slightly faster than my original performance, and very annoying skips and jumps appear for no apparent reason. I've tried using different settings and even tried exporting to different files (like WAVE instead of mp3) but nothing works.

I made potato burritos yesterday.

Whenever I don't have the ingredients to make regular burritos, I make frugal potato burritos. The Mexicans often made them in Texas.
My recipe:
I dice some potatoes (I use four), chop up an onion, and put it in a frying pan -
season it with garlic salt, black pepper, and paprika. Then I fry it with butter until it's golden brown. Or until the house fills with smoke and stinks.

Finally I garnish it with cheese (any kind), wrap it in a large flour tortilla, and eat it with sour cream and/or salsa.
(BTW- this recipe makes more than one burrito).

Who the hell do you think you are, Jon? Martha Stewart?

Settle down, Kemosahbee. I figured if my music doesn't charm them, my cooking will.

Weeds, anyone?
I've been going out early the past few mornings to clear "weeds" from my property. They're not exactly weeds..... more like five foot monsters. 
The work is cumbersome and the results are minimal. I spent half an hour picking stickers and burrs out of my clothes and scraping mud off my boots.

Despite the fact that it's mid-November, some of the foliage is still lovely. Here are some pics taken yesterday:

The sun at noon

I saved the best for last