831. space invaders and penny slot machines

it was the annual pilgrimage to atlantic city this past saturday.
bob, bobbie, bob and son packed into a honda accord, wild with anticipation of great jackpots.
the three bobs are all penny slot machine junkies.
son, a statistical nut job on texas hold'em and seven card stud.

now if you are any kind of penny slot player, you know the tune you can't hear enough.
it's that popcorny ditty that plays repeatedly when your 40 penny bet hits for something big, like $7.35.
i love it.
i sing along while it plays background to the machine adding every individual penny to my total.
oh baby!
and when i hit for over ten dollars, i invite others to join in.
and soon there is merriment and wild dancing as the popcorn ditty plays on and on while the pennies are tallied.

next to a six pack of white castle hamburgers, it is truly one of the great joys in my life.

which leads me to those so called "humans" sitting on either side of me who bet 20 pennies on five thousand lines, hit for huge winnings, and then do something i never understand.
they whack a button to skip the jackpot jingle festivities.
it's as if they can't press the "max bet" feature for their next spin soon enough.

now don't get me wrong.
as much as i love to hear that song on my slot machine, i equally disdain it when played on the machines next to me, which is almost always the case.
so i appreciate their neighborliness.
but i still don't get it.
where is the carrying on?
the merriment?
the dancing?
and that human hooting and hollering?

it just isn't normal i tell ya.

and i think i know why.

because they're not from this great planet of ours.
they are aliens from outer space doing a rather terrible job of blending into the general population.
could it be they just don't want to draw attention to their cheatin', payout-controlin' ways.
saucering in here from god knows where for some easy pickin's.
always winning at the expense of lowly earthlings like me.
then leaving for places unknown to spend our dollars in other galactic places.

and we wonder why our economy is in a shambles.

why, i even bet they hold their forks wrong too.

damn solar system shysters.

where's the outrage i ask you?

where is it?!?

(okay, so i didn't fare so well. that has nothing to do with this theory of mine.)

(from the files) 281. the titanium evening

upon returning from a trip to scotland, i got all medievally and started having big man ideas.

i proclaimed, if i were a knight, i’d pound my armor out of titanium. it would make me more light of weight, more fleet of foot, and more swift of sword.
my claim rang empty.
keaton contested, but it would make you a lesser knight as well. actually not really a knight at all. more like an evening. yes, you would be an evening.

i pondered her words for a moment.
my face creased in concentration.

then i spoke most wisely, hmm … an evening. yes, an evening. i would like to be your evening in shining titanium.
to which keaton mused, alas, and a shimmering, short one it would be. such is my fate.

and i thought, ha! just the pedestrian thought of a peasant girl!

830. is it just me or ...

is it just me or does tim geithner's hairline move up and down depending on the stock market?

(from the files) 279. a day trip to atlantic city

so i was escorting my folks and son to atlantic city, "america's playground", one sunny day.

ma (a high school degree in cash registering and marriaging) said, so i play ‘50 lions’. i get 50 lines for 25 cents. i play one credit per line. and when the lions show up, i make a killing. why, it’s almost criminal.
my son (a masters degree in stats) said, grandma you need to play texas hold’em. it’s not really gambling. it’s skill.
ma said, so are the slots, if you know what you’re doing.
then i thought, what am i doing driving these insane people to the mecca of lost earnings. anyone worth their wagering salt knows roulette is the way to go.

i looked into the rearview mirror for an indication that dad might be in lock step with my line of thinking.
if he was, he disguised it by silently pointing at a low flying plane passing over the car.

we were three generations, contained in a honda accord, anticipating the great wins that were certain to come our way at the cost of the others' losses.
each with our own little story.

and for my son and me, it was as good as it would get.
the zenith of the day.
the night before christmas.
the last school bell before summer vacation.
the friday night drive home from work.

a world of wild, delusional optimism, when pecuniary practicality was what was called for.
because at the end of the day, there was only one smiling face.
ma and her penny system reaped $295.

she was right, it was criminal.

828. bob's version of 24

it's been 24 hours and i haven't done anything even remotely wrong.
nor has anything funny occurred.
i feel like jack bauer—albeit without all torture and stuff.

this is not good for business.
i better do something dumb and do it quickly or it could be curtains for this whole operation.

hmm ...
where does keaton hide the matches?
those usually lead to something unsavory.

(from the files) 268. the bad hearing solution

i've noticed that my hearing isn't quite what it used to be, which has become the source of a recurring problem.
i don't always comprehend what folks say to me, resulting in my embarrassment of repeated pleas to restate what they said.
but i have discovered a rather creative solution that seems to work quite effectively in most cases.

it goes something like this:

person: whe mah do blah sobmody?
me: i'm sorry, didn't quite catch that.
person: whe mah do blah sobmody?.
me: uh ha, what was the last part again?
person: blah sobmody?
rather than continue the madness, i simply smile and say "maybe", give them the time, point up the street and say, "turn right at the burger king and go a half mile. it's on the left."

that usually covers it.

827. green with envy

my son is fifty percent irish.

on most days, i am zero percent, making today the day i am green with envy!

and ten hours from now ...

when asked if i am irish, i'll be answering, "i wish!", except it might be slurred a wee bit!

(from the files) 534. work-life balancing dilemma

well i'm on blood pressure medication these days, thanks to dr. 'crazy eyz' riddlin.
that's a first.
never been on medication for anything before.
not sure what to think of it, except that i don't much care for it.

anyway, as the good doctor wrote the prescription out, he said, you'll be on it until you do a better job of balancing work and life.
i said, but that's like having rosie o'donnell on one side of the scale and ashley judd on the other. it's mission impossible.
dr. crazy eyz said, oh ... that ashley judd is a wild cat.
i said, that's not the point. think of rosie as 'work' and ashley as 'life'. ya can't balance them.
he said, i don't follow. you mean like one's gay and the other is a minx?
i said, no. no. no. one is so much more heavy than the other. they can't balance.
he said, hmm.

so i studied him for a moment, which is tough because his eyes are, you know, crazy.
then i asked, i hate to be a pain, but can i check your doctorin' certificates again.
he said, no problem. let me boot up my pc and hop over to phoenix university. my diploma is what they call, paperless. that's high tech speak for no paper.

dr. crazy eyz started typing away. then stopped.
he mumbled, this might take a while. a lot of traffic on my 51K dial up line.
i said, ya mean 56K.
he said, what?
i answered, i said i have time.

A Reading from "Cranelegs Pond the blook"!

What is a blook, you wonder? A blook is a book based on a blog. for example, like this blog, Cranelegs Pond. It is that simple.

So what's in a blook, you ask? Good question. And I have an answer. Listen to a reading (by yours truly) of the first post in the collection of 150 posts that comprise Cranelegs Pond the blook. It is entitled, "A Failed Feat of Certainty", about a rather delusional period in my early years when I was certain I could fly like superman.

It's a chance to hear first hand what all the commotion is about. Who knows? You might be pleasantly surprised, especially if a little down home humor and thoughtful speak is your cup of tea.

Just click on the title of this post "A Reading from Cranelegs Pond the blook" above to listen.

I really appreciate your taking the time to listen, and should you have interest, please click on the Amazon or Target links over on the right side over there to get your copy.

Enjoy!

826. shoes and frozen porkchops

i said, hey did you hear? that iraqi guy who threw his shoes at president bush got three years in prison.
keaton said, he should have gotten life for missing.
i said, now. now. that's not necessary.
then she said, well ten anyway.
i said, that'll be enough.
then i said, i wonder what he might have gotten if threw a frozen porkchop.
keaton reached into her holster and whipped a boneless chop right past my ear.
then she said, i'm sorry. what did you say?
i said, oh nothing. just thinking out loud.
she said, you know i can knock that loud real silent if you'd like.
i thought for a moment as she reached into her holster and pulled out a boned half pounder.
i said, nah, that won't be necessary. come to think of it, shoes and pork chops are like apples and oranges.
she said, now that's some good, clear thinking partner.
then she did that fancy dan pork chop twirling around her trigger hand before putting it back in her holster.

now i'm not complainin' or nothin', but it's always a little intimidating when she pulls that annie porkchop oakley showboat routine.
i'm just sayin', witness tampering in a way.

825. what?!?!

we have a small bathroom on the first floor.
lately it's been filled with the smell of a dead mouse, annoying all of us to no end.

i was in there the other evening, minding my own business, reading utne magazine (don't ask).
a tap at the door.
keaton yelled, hey don't take too long, we have to get going soon.

always with the interruptions.
never any peace.
stopping my natural flow.
oh well.

as i was washing up, the dead mouse smell was getting to me.
so i searched again for the source.
this time getting on all fours.
then bingo!
i found it!
finally!
a one inch hole under the baseboard heating unit.
probably for some pipe that has long been removed.
most likely the dead mouse is in the basement ceiling just below.
a little plug and that would be that.
another job well done.
i couldn't wait to tell keaton and alix, who by now were pacing anxiously in the hallway.

so i came bolting out the bathroom door, stepped into the hallway and announced, hey i think i found the hole where the smell comes from.

they both looked at me like i had a third eye in the middle of my head.
then i said something that i seem to be saying a lot these days.
i said, what?!?!

keaton just shook her head and said, wonder of wonders.
then alix turned to her and said, tell me again! where exactly did you find him?

then it hit me.
i said, i'm talking about the mouse stink!
apparently there was some confusion about the stink source in question.

(from the files) 40. unintelligent design

the first sign that maybe this design isn’t so intelligent is that pale male earthlings were selected to carry out the message.
a better choice certainly would have been labrador retrievers, of either sex or color.

842. the day after a bob day (read 841 first)

if you think i'm kidding about the day after a bob day being a return to the misery, this might convince you.
took the dog to the vet yesterday.
yada yada yada.
blah blah blah.

i have to apply ointment to her vulva and anal rim twice a day for two weeks!

why?
why me?
just because i indulged in my once a year bob day?

vulva!
anal rim!
i'm not talking about a car and a geological wonder here.

i'm talking about some serious private parts.
i mean i hate to admit this but i've always been a little sketchy on just what the vulva is (or is it "vulva are"?).
see?
and i prefer it that way quite honestly.
but i guess that's all gonna change!

why oh why oh why?
and the dog isn't even officially mine!
she is keaton's by law.
but nooooooo ...
keaton has long finger nails.
they might hurt the dog or even worse ... break!
so it's yours truly.
because such is my life.
a dog's master baster.

i can't get senile fast enough.

841. things happen in threes on a bob day

today is turning into some sort of bob day:

1. i received the first proof copy of cranelegs pond the blook, coming to a bookstore soon (that's singular, as in bernie's books and what-not here in town, he owes me a favor).
2. i will be graced by unique pond visitor 10,000 sometime today (since i've been keeping track).
3. it's pseudo step daughter alix's 22nd b-day, and i remembered to prepare for the special occasion.

so i'm pretty much sitting on top of the world, just singin' a song, leaving tomorrow to return to the miserable state i so love to splash about in.

(from the files) 346. guy priorities

i asked benny, when are you going to get that big lump on your neck checked out? it's the size of a small hedge hog.
benny said, eventually. first i have to get the dent on my car hood fixed. then i gotta change the oil in my chain saw. and then i have to make cement, and then i have to—
i interrupted and said, yeah, i understand.

838. a win-wine proposition

i was thinking with the price of wine these days that when the militant powerful get that urge to run about crushing other people, if they'd just crush grapes instead, it might be a win-wine for all concerned.

(from the files) 489. hound, terrier and retriever

i have been master to a beagle, a cairn terrier and a labrador retriever.
parker, the beagle, was a selective listener, and a prolific food burglar.
comet, the cairn, was a defiant defender of mail truck attacks, and storm cloud coward.
currently, annabel, the labrador, is ... well ... a labrador.

their only common denominators were love of walks, car rides, treats and tug of war.
oh yeah ... and that i was really master of none.

837. turn down the noise

there isn't a front on which heavy clouds and cold winds are not gathering.
and all we can do is argue about how much snow we will receive.
bickering about inches when yard sticks will be called for.
where am i in all this?
i just have to look as far at the previous post to see that i am as caught up in it as the next person.

this is unsettling.
soul draining—in an unrecyclable way.

i need to quiet the restless roar.
i need to turn down the noise.
it won't be easy.
i'm not even sure where the knobs are.
but i need to.

i guess digging out of the near foot of snow dumped overnight is as appropriate a quiet start as will come my way anytime soon.
we'll see.