WINDING DOWN

 

 

 

Lazy, yawning August is winding down with only a few days left. The sultry summer days have tumbled away so quickly that I hardly had time to notice them.

August, September, October. These have always been my favorite months, my favorite time of year.
Perhaps I like August because I have many good memories associated with it. But there are also other reasons:
It is a languid, indifferent month -  seemingly tired of summer and waiting in anticipation of an inevitable change. Almost imperceptibly the days are slightly shorter, the light is subtly changing, shadows are growing longer. The weather is still hot but listless, shrugging with the knowledge that autumn waits on the horizon.

As I drink soothing glasses of amber iced tea, while reading old books of ghost stories - the distant rumble of thunder assures an awaiting bout of rain will eventually arrive. An unexpected breath of welcomed air rushes through the open window with a hint of life and a soothing scent of moisture. And I'm suddenly thinking of ripe pumpkins, intoxicating displays of autumn leaves, and spirits wandering in October realms.

Excuse me. I'm in a poetic mode. My sweet, romantic side is showing.

You didn't think I had one, did you?

I drove to town a few days ago. Wednesday? I can't remember. Had to buy an enormous supply of stuff, but didn't get nearly everything.

Cat complications.

I always feed my cats dry food, but also frequently give them canned food for variety and sort of a "snack". Bosco likes Friskies and Kitzee will only eat Meow Mix.
So I stock up on the canned cat food at Walmart. I bought a lot of it this time.
And......
when I got home the canned cat food wasn't in the car. It vanished. Must have been left at Walmart - thanks to the flustered, slightly confused female cashier wearing the frumpy plague mask.

This has happened to me at Walmart at least half a dozen times.

Why didn't you drive back and get the cat food, Jon?

Listen, comrade - the drive to town is so traumatic that it always takes two weeks for me to recover.
I wouldn't drive twice in one day if Jesus was in the Walmart parking lot handing out free tickets to heaven.

You gotta admit -
I'm dang funny even when I'm angry and frustrated. It's a gift.

Maybe I'll go again next week. If I drink enough homemade wine.

Photos, anyone?
Summer is a very boring time to take photos on my property. There's absolutely nothing interesting to see, especially when I only take pictures from the porch.

These pics taken yesterday and today.

Front "yard"

Weird -  spider hanging from a very thin web on the front porch. 

The goldenrods are everywhere, but they don't look very bright or robust this year.

That one tree (near my garage) seems to have lost its leaves permanently. 

A flurry of clouds
I knew that would impress you.

This is the kind of crap I have to start cutting down. It will take years........
(photo from back "yard")
 

I have separate food and water dishes for Kitzee (left) and Bosco (right), which I keep in different rooms.
Years ago, Kitzee used to get furious if Bosco came anywhere near her food. Now, she lets him eat out of her dish!
(that thing in back of them is a bookcase).

  

PRO WINE, ANTI WALMART

I successfully made my second batch of wine - - but must admit that white grape isn't nearly as good as concord grape.

My first wine was sweet, flavorful, and fragrant. 
The white wine is acrid, alarmingly UNsweet, and extremely potent.
Two glasses will knock your bloomers off and you'll be hanging naked from the rafters (trust me - I speak from experience).

Despite the fact that I filtered the wine, it still looks cloudy.
Ideally you're supposed to let it ferment for two to four weeks and it improves with age. Eleven days is my absolute limit. It's ready to drink and will get you seriously soused.
I'm far too impatient to wait for weeks....

 I tried to take an "artistic" picture of the wine but it turned out crappy. Looks like somebody peed in the glass.....

Incidentally, I accidentally broke this glass yesterday.

Change of subject:

I was HORRIFIED to hear that - starting Monday, July 20th - Walmart is making it mandatory to wear masks!!!

Holy crap, that place is spooky enough the way it was. 

It's no secret that I have been adamantly opposed to masks from the very beginning of this  Plague Pandemonium.

They look absolutely ridiculous

There's no tangible evidence that they save lives

and

they are  EXTREMELY unsanitary and unhealthy.

But, Jon, I wash my mask every day!

Here's a flash, Kemosabe:

You can wash your mask from now until katydids sing Pagliacci and they're STILL unsanitary.

(I love the katydid analogy - - sometimes my brilliance scares me) 

I drove to town yesterday (Friday) so I could shop at Walmart mask-free - - but I was in a hurry and forgot to buy some things, so I might go again tomorrow (Sunday). 

Also, when I was in the supermarket yesterday, the cashier forgot to pack two of the items I purchased: Swiss cheese and cottage cheese. 

This happens annoyingly often.......

Here are some masks I devised to wear at Walmart:

 I hope this scares the hell out of all of you

The plague was made in China....

and ALL the items in Walmart are made in China

 I should probably charge for the kisses....

but I'm easy.

 Note:
a special thanks to the four kind and courageous people who commented on my previous post and liked the video.
You have exquisite taste and made my efforts worthwhile.

STRANGE DAYS

I'm much more concerned about this insane mass hysteria than about the virus itself......but I've always been a lone voice crying out in the wilderness.


These are strange days. Very strange.

I decided to go to town last Saturday. Saturday is always the worst possible day to go shopping - even under the best conditions - but I knew that Monday was going to be busy with a visitation from the computer technician (see my previous post).

So I got up extremely early on Saturday and embarked entirely against my will. 

When it comes to shopping, this minuscule Tennessee town has few choices: Walmart, a supermarket, and a Dollar Store. There's also a Walgreen's but they're expensive and basically have nothing. 

My first stop is always Walmart.  
Cat food. They carry the favorite food of my feisty, finicky felines.

I always park near the garden shop because access is easy through the side door. Walking long distances is absolute agony with my bad back.

Imagine my dismay when I staggered to the garden shop entrance and found the gate locked. 

This means that I'd have to walk six miles (very slight exaggeration) to the front entrance. 

I'd never make it. Considering my ravaged back and the fact that I didn't get any sleep, I'd undoubtedly perish long before I got there.

I grabbed a random shopping cart and used it solely for physical support as I laboriously inched my way toward the main entrance.

By the time the front door was in sight I was out of breath, sweating profusely, in intense pain, and ready to pass out.  

My heart was beating 100 times a minute - like a bunny in heat.

Imagine my unmitigated SHOCK when I discovered the front entrance was blocked off with ropes and long strands of yellow crime scene tape (I'm not kidding). I had to walk another mile  (tiny exaggeration) to go around and get through it.
I don't know what "unmitigated" means, but it sounds good for dramatic effect.  

Along this new, improvised crime scene entrance were several grim-faced Walmart employees - holding clipboards and scrutinizing those of us who were daring to enter the store.

My first thought was that they were checking to see if we looked sick - kind of like the elimination process at Auschwitz:

You, to the right! Work duty!
You, to the left! Gas Chamber! 

I later surmised that they were probably counting  customers - keeping the influx to a minimal.

Once inside, I saw a huge sign that warned customers to KEEP SIX FEET AWAY FROM EACH OTHER.

Hell, I should have been warned to do that when I was nineteen and got a nasty case of the clap........
........but that's another story for another time.  

The process of shopping in Walmart is always excruciating - - but this time it was like a surrealistic Twilight Zone episode.

Frantic people wearing makeshift surgical masks, trying to avoid one another while filling their shopping carts with anything they can find.

I feel naked without a mask. Masked women are suspiciously glaring at me as if I were the Angel of Death.  


When I get to the toilet paper aisle there are only a few packages left. I grab one quickly and also greedily grab two rolls of paper towels.....while breathing a sigh of relief at my fortuitous acquisitions.

The Easter candy aisle is deserted - - I suppose no one is in an Easter mood. I wanted a chocolate rabbit, but I'm not about to pay a high price for a 2 ounce rabbit packed in a fancy 64 ounce box.
Instead, I settled for jelly beans....and those ubiquitous marshmallow peeps.

I also get a pound of prima della hard salami at the deli and a loaf of Italian bread. To me, this is absolute heaven. I might as well die happy....

The entire concept of the  STAY SIX FEET AWAY sign was thwarted in the long checkout line - - where scuzzy-looking customers were sandwiched together two feet apart.
I tried to hold my breath.....and hoped for the best.

I was stunned when I finally got to the cashier and she started taking inventory of my items.
"We're rationing items, starting today", she told me.

I could only have one roll of paper towels, one loaf of bread.....
There was a long list of items, most of which I can't even remember.

The annoying part is that I only shop once or twice a month. I'm not hoarding things. I buy them out of sheer necessity.

This blog post is definitely too long and probably uninteresting.
Wait - - how could I ever possibly be uninteresting??

At this point, my only hope is that these unnervingly strange days will end. Soon.

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE RANCH

I'm interrupting my saccharine Hollywood posts to inject a toxic dose of my present reality.

So, how are things going in the wilderness, Jon?

Well,
The clothes dryer is still kaput,
the microwave still isn't working,
the animals in the roof are managing to rip out some of the insulation,
and as of yesterday the furnace isn't working properly.

My water bill TRIPLED because I had to keep the faucets running so the pipes wouldn't freeze.
My heating bill is so high that I almost went into cardiac arrest when I saw it (and I'm extremely frugal about using the heat) 

I put several important letters in the mailbox over a week ago and was horrified to see (yesterday) that the mail carrier never picked them up!
One of them was the payment for my property taxes.

The only good news is that it finally stopped raining for a day.

I would do an interpretative Dance of Joy, but my back hurts too damn much.

I had to drive to town yesterday. The only good news is that I DIDN'T get a migraine headache this time (like I did the last two times).

BUT I forgot to buy trash bags (AGAIN!) and toilet paper (AGAIN!!) and brackets for some shelves that I'm putting up.

Aside:
Awhile ago, one irate blogger chastised me for mentioning toilet paper. "It's impolite" she said.

Relax, sweetheart. We ALL use it. Even the Pope.

I had a problem buying cat food in Walmart (again!!). They are all out of Purina Complete (again) - which is my cat's favorite food.

Then - - -
way, way, way back on a top shelf, I saw a bag of Purina Complete......but it was so FAR back that I couldn't reach it.

I stood on the lowest shelf, but still couldn't reach it.

I tried various other methods of attempting to grasp the bag but failed every time.

I'm 6 foot 1 inch tall and have long arms, but the bag of Purina was unreachable.
I scanned the store for an employee but none were around.

It's ironic that Walmart employees are constantly in your way - but when you need one, they all disappear.

Finally, I saw an employee - but she was about 89 years old and four feet tall.

Shit. I went home Purina-less.

I have a lot more to bitch about - but I'll spare you.

I haven't been reading blogs lately, and I haven't been responding to your comments on my blog - but I love all of you (except the trolls, of course).
Don't abandon me. 




 

JON GOES TO TOWN

 St. Paddy's Day:

somber, gray, wet, damp, windy

On St. Patrick's Day I summoned the courage to drive into town. Actually, I was compelled to go because I wanted to personally get an erroneous bill straightened out (from my Internet provider/phone company).

They were extremely nice about the error, and now I'm straight.
So to speak.

After getting gas, going to the bank, and hauling my trash to the dump, I was ready to call it a day - but I had to go grocery shopping.

There are three shopping choices in this minuscule town: Walmart, the supermarket, and the Dollar Store. If you really want to  spice up your mundane existence and live dangerously you can always visit the Tractor Supply Company. 

Walmart is inevitably my first stop. That's the only place that has decent cat food and tolerable bread.

Bread?
Let me explain something: I've always enjoyed a wide variety of breads - rye, pumpernickel, sourdough, cheese bread, black bread, herbal bread, etc.

Rural Tennessee has white bread. That's it. Rye isn't in their vocabulary.  Either is hard Italian salami. Or wine. Or fine cheese or pastries. Or all the other things I crave and would actually kill for.

The local Walmart at least has some mediocre Italian bread and smoked ham - so that's what I always buy.

I'm also able to get Viennese coffee and Earl Grey tea - thank God. One of the very few pleasures I have left.

So, I'm in the coffee aisle at Walmart. The Viennese coffee that I always buy is on the very lowest shelf. In fact, it's actually level with the ground. I have to crawl to get it.

There's an extremely attractive young Amish woman looking at the coffee. Hey, Amish women turn me on. It has something to do with the way they dress.
Anyway, this chick is carefully reading every coffee label on the shelf - - and she's standing directly in front of the Viennese coffee that I desperately want.
She won't move. She just keeps reading.

I linger near her, trying not to look suspicious or perverted, trying to pretend I'm looking at other things. And I'm thinking:
How the hell am I going to get the damn Viennese coffee? I don't want to crawl around the hem of her dress.

She finally moves just enough for me to quickly dive and snatch the coffee - - -and believe me, diving and snatching is not an easy feat with my notoriously bad back.

Did I ever mention how much I hate store employees who are constantly in the way so you can't look at things?
Walmart wins First Prize for annoying employees....
...but....
it also happens here at the local supermarket.  

I'm trying to look at donuts and an extremely annoying but cutsie-looking male employee is blocking the entire area with a large cart while he carefully puts out loaves of bread. White bread.

I make a few strategic maneuvers around him to get to the donuts. While trying to grab one damn box of donuts, I inadvertently start an avalanche. At least half a dozen boxes tumble to the floor.

Holy shit!! (I think I said that out loud).
I quickly scramble to retrieve the errant donut boxes while hoping my ravaged spine won't snap in the process. I'm trying to look cool and nimble in the wake of profound embarrassment.

My life is like a Woody Allen movie. 

Did I mention the two employees blocking the frozen food aisle? They have a gigantic food cart in the middle of the aisle while they slowly and carefully stock the shelves. 

I stall around, hoping they'll eventually leave but they don't. Can't these Bozos stock shelves after hours??

I eventually have to force my way around them to get the damn frozen things that I desperately need.
I drove a hundred freaking miles (slight exaggeration) on perilous mountain roads to get to this raunchy supermarket and I'm not about to leave without my French fries and fish sticks.

As I was driving home on the narrow, winding, dangerous, slick - not to mention perilous - mountain roads, loose rocks started falling from the cliffs above. One of them bounced off my car but fortunately didn't do damage.

Five minutes after I got home it started pouring rain. I got drenched as I hauled the heavy stash of groceries up the muddy, slippery, annoyingly steep bank to my back door. 

As if on cue, my cat Scratch showed up out of nowhere and dropped a dead mouse directly in front of the back door.
I kid you not. A gift from a grateful feline.  
  

BRATS, BOOKS, AND BOOGERS

Note:
After editing this post several times, I still hate it. It's far too long and not nearly as funny as I initially thought. Against my better judgement, I won't delete it.

I finally finished the children's book that I was writing. After I breathed multiple sighs of relief and satisfaction, I suddenly decided that I want to add a few more things to it. So, my writing continues.....

What's the title of the book, Jon?

I'm not at liberty to reveal that. Besides, I haven't yet come up with a title.

It's no secret that you hate children, Jon. So why write a book for them?

A clarification is in order. I don't exactly hate children. I intensely dislike them.
This is a new and exciting genre for me. It tests my limits and challenges what's left of my mind. Besides, I was surprised to discover that writing for kids is a lot of fun. 
Which just goes to show how desperately boring and unfulfilling my pathetic life has become. 

So, tell us what the book is about?

The book is a delicious collection of scary poems that encompass the mystery, danger, and perils of the night. 

Perils?

Yea, it's a word. Spellcheck assured me.

Do you think scary poems will be suitable for young readers, Jonathan?

Here's a flash, Kemo Sabe: 
kids don't scare easily nowadays. Gone is the sanitized era of Leave It to Beaver and Mouseketeers. Today's little buckaroos have iPads when they're three, cell phones when they're six, and raw sex when they're ten.

My intention is to instill some good old-fashioned imagination into them. And hopefully scare the jeeters out of the little boogers.

End of imaginary interview.

I'm actually already almost considering a second book. Even more morbid than the first. In truth, I'm still a child at heart - which, in itself is a rather frightening thought.

Anyone who loves kids will probably change their mind after a trip to Walmart. Ear-piercing juvenile screams penetrate every corner of the store, completely ignored by the accompanying parents. Are these parents simply so used to the screams that they've become immuned to them? Or do they sadistically enjoy sharing their misery with others?

Even kids who don't scream have a tendency to be annoying.

Recent Example:
I'm in Walmart, standing in the 20 Item or Less checkout line. The woman ahead of me has at least three hundred items in her shopping cart. I didn't see it at first because her ample ass was blocking the view.

Actually her ass is beyond ample.
Let me put it this way: half a dozen Cub Scouts could easily jump on the back of her ass and hitch a ride home and she'd never know it.

The woman is not only ample. She's also dirty. The sweat shirt she's wearing looks like it hasn't been washed since Peter, Paul, and Mary were singing Blowin' in the Wind.

As she mambos her way through the two-foot-wide aisle, I notice that - -besides the 300 items - - there's a child sitting in the shopping cart.

The grimy, chocolate-covered kid is sucking on a rapidly melting Hershey Bar, while greenish shades of snot dribble from his nose into the chocolate.
And he's staring at me. 

That's one of the unnerving things about kids and cats: when they stare  you never know what the hell they're thinking. 

Most unnerving of all is that the kid doesn't blink. I've been standing in this frickin' line for twenty minutes and the kid has been staring at me totally blinkless all the while.
He's like a Stepford kid or maybe a Children of the Corn offspring.

I'm beginning to feel a little uncomfortable and my emotions get the better of me.
Is there something wrong with the way I look?
Naw. An impossibility.

Does he think I resemble his father? Or grandfather? (heck, he's probably never seen his father).

My thoughts start screaming in my head.
What's the matter, you miniature booger despenser - - Haven't you ever seen an aging faux cowboy before?
And while you're at it, get Mambo Mama to wipe your nose.

Then it hits me: I realize it's probably my cowboy hat. A left-over token from Texas. You don't see many cowboy hats here in the Tennessee boonies.
The kid thinks I'm a cool hombre.

Heartwarming incidents like this always inspire me to write for children.

But why the heck doesn't he ever blink??