Here’s what I mean.

~~~

The Sign

As you have noticed, I’m not political on this blog.

Nationally, it seems politicians everywhere are taking a pure beating.  I tell you, there is something in the air. Something I have never witnessed in my 237 years on Planet America.  There is a revolution between far extreme government and everyday Americans.

This reminds me of the 1976 film Network.  The film where a newscaster goes nuts and asks everyone to stick their head out of the window and yell, “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!”  By the way, there are striking similarities between the issues in the movie Network made in 1976 and today’s events.

All I can deduce duck fans – Americans are attracted to revolution like bugs to a porch light.  Americans like a good street fight.  And a street fight we have.  I drove up I59 freeway today and over the weekend some group plastered this sign on the Interstate.

It reads: “You can’t fix stupid, but you can vote them out.”

Für meine deutschen Freunde das Schild liest:  Du kannst Dumme nicht ändern, aber Du kannst sie abwählen. [Correct]

~~~

Alien Attack or Thunderstorms I can’t tell which.

These past several nights we have been hit by one lightning storm after another.  Last night the lightning struck very close to my house.  I felt like we were under attack by alien spacecraft.  Shock and awe and scared my mule. Most unusual weather.

~~~

The Honeymoon is Over

The below is a pic of the recently built duck pen to replace the old rotten one.  See also Ron 1000.

These things have to be raccoon and possum proof.  This is where the ducks sleep at night.  For some reason one of the hens has been beating up the drake and running him out.  I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a hen whip-up on a drake.  Unusual.  He must have said something.

~~~

Sleeping on Graves

A Celtic ritual thought to inspire divination or of the saints of old waiting for bodies to rise or of crazy weirdoes like me who have such dreams.

Last night I had an elaborate dream of walking into one of several catacombs complete with vending machines, just in case anyone needed a cold refreshment.  The floors of the catacombs had graves lined in perfect order, side-by-each and row-by-row.  Each grave had a real live dog sleeping on it.  I had to choose a grave top to sleep on.   So I set up my army cot and a blanket and got all comfy.  Then a 17 year-old nymph wanted to sleep at my feet like Ruth did with Boaz to attract his attention and symbolically throw herself at his feet.  Now, hold it! I know what you’re thinking.  I never touched her.  It’s symbolic.

Anyone care to take a shot at what this unusual dream means?

]]> http://ducksmahal.com/2010/07/27/anything-but-usual/feed/ 21 Audubon Ron IMAG0052-1-1 100_4164 http://ducksmahal.com/2010/07/22/in-which-we-receive-a-gps-in-the-mail-from-my-mil%e2%80%a6/ http://ducksmahal.com/2010/07/22/in-which-we-receive-a-gps-in-the-mail-from-my-mil%e2%80%a6/#comments Thu, 22 Jul 2010 16:56:29 +0000 Audubon Ron http://ducksmahal.com/?p=1705 ]]> …and it isn’t even anywhere near our birthday.

…and here I thought my mailbox existed exclusively as a receptacle for AARP. I’m not ready for my own postal code just yet. But it is rather exciting to actually get something worth the time spent opening the mailbox door.

Everyday, it’s the same question. “Did ya check the mail?”
The answer is always a pitiful “Yeahuuussss.”
“Did we get anything?” “Noooooo, just junk.”

Well low-and-behind my mother-in-law (MIL) sends us a GPS device made by Garmin. I’ve never owned one so it was great for me. The Little Woman had a fit.

LW: What in the world was on my mother’s mind?

Me: I think it’s rather obvious don’t you?

LW: If I thought it was obvious I wouldn’t have asked the question.

Me: Yes dear, well when did you tell your mom you would drive out to visit her?

LW: I haven’t said exactly.

Me: Well, when you say “exactly” you will have a GPS device to lead the way. And BTW, you can program those devices with a man’s voice sporting a sexy French accent you know. “Mon Cher, you must turns on zee next right, you fine sexy thang, you luv’sly mama you. I luv’s what you do to your hair.”

LW: [Laserbeam]

Me: And for educational listening during your seven hour drive I’ve also thrown in an Audio CD set on Cognitive Behavioral Approaches to Treating Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. You are a therapist right?

LW: [Laserbeam]

Me: [Boyish smile]

LW: Why don’t you visit my mother since you like the GPS so much?

Me: Ooooh noooo ma’am. I’m going to San Francisco to see friends and you know someone has to stay home to take care of the flock of very expensive walking lawn ornaments and petting zoo farm.

Me again:  Mon Cher, I luvs what you do to your hair. Come and gibes me da hugs.

You ring me up at Tech Department (TD). I answer:

TD: Hello, Tech Department
You: Is this the Tech Department?
TD: Yes, this is the Tech Department.
You: Good, I wanted to speak to someone in the Tech Department who can tell me why I keep getting SPAM in my blog comments? Why are they written in Chinese? And what can I do to prevent it?
TD: Good questions. Well this is how it can occur:

Pretend you were typing The Great Novel That Everyone Will Surely Read on your laptop and you hear a knock at the door. There standing in the doorway is an Asian man nicely dressed in a linen suit, of no particular Asian origin for the purposes of this story – okay he’s Chinese. So this man makes his way into your home. Aghast, you inquire as to the meaning for this intrusion. “What is the meaning for this intrusion?” you ask. In a second he snatches your laptop and runs for the door. Thereby, you also are nimble on foot and swift in pace and since your legs are much longer than his anyway you catch him at the door. You yell, “Give me my laptop!” He replies, “Madam, if you do not let me go I will fling your laptop down and dance upon it.” To which you respond, “You know what? Thieves should neither quote Mark Twain nor speak like a literary professor during the commission of a laptop-napping. Is there no sacred ground on which a man can stand?” The Asian man successfully snatches the laptop and heads for town.

Two days later you spot the Asian man slipping into a back alley. Why a back alley? Naturally, b/c all good cloak and dagger stories have a back alley. You slip into the back alley in pursuit with the dance-like sure footedness of a prowling cat. You make your way into a dank, dimly-lit, smoke-filled warehouse and spot your laptop tied to a desk. A woman is sitting at the keyboard smoking a cigarette and coughing all over your laptop keys. We will call her a woman but she clearly has defects, so we will say, a woman out of respect but really this person, sheez, get a lung. You confront the person (woman with defects) and glance into the screen of your laptop. You see this woman is using your URL blog site address to lure unsuspecting commentors. The woman (with defects) types their blog addresses into a data base that will be sold to the highest bidder on the Black Market. As you are reading you can’t believe your eyes but Audubon Ron appears in your comments and you yell, “NO! You will not steal Audubon Ron!” You reach into your purse and open your Swiss Army knife and cut your laptop from the table and run for the police.

After several hours telling your story to the police, you return home. Satisfied that you have saved Audubon Ron and the world from yet another series of Viagra assaults – in Chinese, you open your laptop. Your laptop has been so violated you realize the only solution is to change its identity. You call your therapist and she recommends WordPress.  You are Audubon Ron’s hero for life for he owes you a debt of gratitude for which he could never repay.

As you sit and reflect on these past events your fingers magically reach for the keys and you begin to type:

“In a world where nothing is as it seems, and none are as he or she appears…”

It kinda happens like that. As far as how to prevent it – I wouldn’t know. I’m not a techy. I’m just the janitor.  Everyone is out to lunch.

But thanks for calling and sharing. Is there anything more I can do for you?

You: Yes, would you transfer me to someone in India whom I can barely understand.

~~~

As for the PCH envelope, still not opened. What to do?

The lady addressed on the above envelope once owned my house.  She died exactly where I sit this minute writing this post.  Fear not for me, I don’t sense her spiritual presence anywhere.  In fact, there is little in the way of paranormal activity around here.  If any, it is mostly b/c my house is built on an Indian burial ground.

(Kidding – about the Indian burial ground).  But I occasion the white streak across the room from the corner of my eye.  Probably a little too much white wine.

BTW, I refuse to refer to American Indians as American Natives.  I’m an American native too, but I’m not an Indian.  Well, maybe just a little.  But, not enough to collect a stipend or enough to ride a spotted pony.

Anyway, in the mail today, I fetched an envelope from the mailbox addressed to the prior owner.  The envelope, as you can see, is from Publishers Clearing House (PCH) sweepstakes.   The envelope clearly states, “DO NOT DISREGARD”, “IMMINENT WINNER SELECTION”, “ALERT, RETURN WITHIN 12 DAYS.”

As everyone knows this is a sweepstakes where the winner receives $5,000 US Dollars per week – for life.

I have one word:  Moral Dilemma

What to do?

The deceased lady’s husband passed away last year.  Her son lives down the road.

The envelope says “Open this envelope immediately.”  What to do?

I know exactly what you’re thinking.  “Oh, I get those in the mail all the time, Ron.  It’s just a marketing ploy.”

But, I don’t know that.  I don’t get these in the mail all the time.  I’m a regular schmoe with $30 between me and starvation.  I could use the money.   What if?  How do I get my wife to pull this off?

Firstly, I think it might be a crime to open someone’s mail.  But there is no someone anymore.  I mean no disrespect.  But, what if?

Secondly, I feel like Ralph Kramden from The Honeymooners.  There has to be an angle here.  Where’s Norton when you need him?

What to do?

The fine wines department gets a little out of hand and can be expensive so I have to devise a blend.  But I tell you, to me wine is magnificent.  I always have box wine on the counter for cooking and for drinking.  I usually have a good bottle around which serves as my first glass.  Then my second glass is a blend of fine wine and box.  Then the third is the box.  The fourth is the box.  The fifth is the box.  The six is no glass at all b/c I’m usually passed out by then.

But I have to count calories nonetheless and try not to eat or drink beyond my burn rate.  Something has to give.  So I put together a daily spreadsheet and plan my meal in advance, b/c I’m like that, all technical and junk.

Here is a sample calorie counter plan to include a cabbage loaf w/ ground meat, an artichoke with dressing and something for breakfast:

1.

So I have to juggle these numbers around. A small glass of wine is 120 calories. Let’s see the revised calculations with two glasses of wine:

2.

Not quite there yet. More adjustments needed here:

3.

There, this is ideal.

4.

Six glasses of wine and an artichoke on Sunday.  Perfect.

Trans:  Baton: The man does not need!

In picking a stick and carrying it, I picked up a stick from this blog:

Skriptum

I like this blog.  Very thought provoking and on some days interactive.  The stick (Stöckchen) in this one is sort of like a Meme.  The idea is instead of sending a Meme and putting every good friend on the spot to complete the Meme, we’ve all been there, thereby possibly messing up a perfectly good friendship, the stick is thrown out for anyone to pick up and run with.  It’s actually much more civilized.  We can pick up if we choose to pick up the theme (stick) and write our own version carrying forward the elements of the assignment or the project as sometimes it is called.  Or not, it’s our choice.

IF!  I understand correctly, which is not always the case, in this theme I declare the following items in my life to be what “The Man Does Not Need” but keeps anyway b/c Sister Mary Christmas, who can get rid of these things – and be done with them – once and for all?

Since Skriptum chose 5 items, I chose 5 items, but rest assured, hoarders like me have plenty of options from which to choose.  These are the most obvious.

Item Number 1, We Examine Duck Pictures.

I have more duck pictures than I know what to do with.  I get them as gifts.  I have never bought a duck picture.  I know some of them are bought at thrift stores, some are second hand, they are someone’s junk, but bless those who bless me with them, I get them as gifts.  Why, b/c I have real ducks.  The simple truth is, I look out of my window and see – real ducks.  Why do I need a picture?  But, some of these pictures are gifts from dear friends and family and how can I hurt their feelings and return them to the thrift store from whence they came and where they belong?  I can’t.  I’m sensitive that way.

Item Number 2, or items I should say.  Wine Corks.

I hoard save wine corks.  I must have three or four large trash bags of wine corks (thousands to be precise).  Some corks must be 20 years old.  One never knows when one will need a wine cork, which is usually never.  There is a very good reason I have so many wine corks.  I drink a lot of wine.  I’m a wino.  Wino’s have corks.  If the wine industry runs out of corks, I stand ready as a supplier like a wine cork drug dealer.  Thus far, wine corks are not a scarce resource.  I may have wine corks but not much in the way of a liver.  I’m just say’in.

Item Number 3, Fishing Rods.

I have many fishing rods. Thing is, I never fish.  But I am a guy and what red blooded fully outdoors kind of guy can pass up a good deal on a fishing rod?  I once was an avid fisherman and once fished everyday. But, I now fish once, maybe twice a year.  The rods you see in this picture a very special rods.  Each one cost me $200 when I bought them years ago.  They are now worth about $400 each.  But, they are carefully placed in the corner of my bedroom to remind me that I don’t have to look far to find them – should I go fishing – which is never.

Item Number 4:  Accounting Books.

I have a degree in Accounting.  I graduated university many, many, many, many years ago.  But I still keep the books.  If anyone knows anything about accounting, the rules are always changing.  These book were obsolete the year after I took the class.  And, they are BIG books – Heavy books.  I paid good money for these books.  My wife keeps nagging me, “When are you going to throw away those books, Ron?”  I keep them for reasons I don’t know.  Guess what, I am not an accountant either.  I never became an accountant.  I learned enough about accounting to know I never want to be an accountant.  Being an accountant would make me insane.  I’m guessing about as insane as these books make my wife.

Item 5, but certainly not least, My 1995 Ford Ranger Pickup Truck.

I never drive this truck. I wash it, I change the oil, I put gas in it, I park it next to the house, I pay car insurance but I never drive it anywhere.  BTW, I took this picture this morning.  The truck is in good shape isn’t it?  I have another car, an SUV.  I should sell this truck.  But, it is MY truck.  It’s a guy thing.  What red blooded fully truck loving kind of guy can sell his truck?

My wife keeps nagging me to sell the truck and the fishing rods so she can purchase a face lift.  I’m all, NO WAY!  Why would I do that? I’m looking at the truck and the fishing rods.  That’s just silly.  Is that a bug on the windshield?  Dang, I’ve got to wash the truck this weekend.

There you have it, these things a man has but does not need.

I hope I’ve been helpful.

Ron

What is it about watching this commercial that is so appealing to me?

I can’t quite put my finger on it. Somebody help me out here.

Seriously, is this about as stupid as American advertising can get or what?

Dynamic Inertia, yeah, okay, whatever.

Der Baum in der Front hat rosa Blumen. Ich weiß nicht, was dieser Baum heißt. Dieses Bild wurde von meiner Veranda getroffen.

(Trans: The tree in the front has pink flowers. I don’t know what this tree is called. This picture was taken from my porch).

Die Zuordnung dieser Woche ist DUNKELPINK post. Post ein dunkles rosa Blume. Ich habe nicht ein dunkles rosa Blume. Das Zentrum sieht dunkelrosa.

(Trans: The assignment this week is to post DUNKELPINK. Post a dark pink flower. I don’t have a dark pink flower. The center looks dark pink).

Der Baum im Hintergrund mit weißen Blüten ist ein Trauerflormyrte. Es ist mit Bienen bedeckt. Die Bienen klingen wie ein Stadion vuvuzelas an einem Fußballturnier. Kommt Ihnen das bekannt?

(Trans: The tree in the back with white blooms is a crape myrtle. It is covered with bees. In all, the bees sound like a stadium of vuvuzelas at a soccer cup. Sound familiar?)

I don’t need a new reason to get into trouble with the Little Woman.

As it stands things have been fairly peaceful around here; and frankly, I like it that way.

I don’t need a big ole long agony-yank regards drinking too much wine in the evening, which I have been as of late, but dang, it’s wine, ya know?

I don’t need a big ole long butt-load from her about when are we going to buy new living room furniture?  I explained to the Little Woman, “Honey, when furniture is made with bulletproof Kevlar maybe then, we’ve got cats. Our sweet little cat with the big tits has turned our furniture into confetti.”

No kidding, my cat has big tits.  It’s the weirdest thing.  Really.  And when she wants something she rolls on her back.  It’s a sad day on Black Rock when your cat flashes tit to get what she wants.

I don’t need a big ole long rip-down when I put more than ten shrimp in the Fettuccini Alfredo.  Yeah, the Little Woman rips me because I dump in too much shrimp when I cook this dish.  I like shrimp.  I know, huh?

So when the Little Woman comes marching into the kitchen holding a bag of men’s socks, never been opened and a box of pecan clusters, also never been opened, it’s busted biscuits for the old Audubon Ron.

I’m guessing about two years ago in the nearly Valentine ’s Day timeframe, apparently I bought socks and while I was shopping I also bought a box of pecan clusters.  I’m guessing I tossed the bag of socks in the back of the closet not realizing the clusters were also in there and then forgot them both.

The Little Woman was cleaning the closet yesterday and found the bag with the clusters.  She was all, “Hey, why is a box of pecan clusters in the back of your closet?  Did you forget to give me something for Valentine’s Day?”

Sister Mary Christmas, how can a guy get in trouble for a Valentine’s that happened two years ago?  Isn’t there a statute of limitations on these things?  I’m sure I got her something, like maybe flowers, but I can’t remember.  Who has a way of remembering these things?  But, there was a “smoking gun” of pecan clusters in the back of the closet – so to speak.  Now I have to take her somewhere for dinner.  It’s the only way.

This is precisely why I could never be a Biblical King Solomon with 700 wives and 300 concubines.  I can’t keep up with the birthdays, anniversaries and Valentines for the one wife I have.

The noises my wife makes every morning – why?

While she’s making these noises I am asleep in a dream state I call Recreational REMs.

Recreational REMs is the place where my dreams come to finale in the glory of subduing monster dragons, the place where I magically fly – without wings, the place where all the people of the village applaud me for saving their homes and children and animals and fields of corn from peril and disaster.  The place for those 30 minutes where I am Hero.

While I’m trying to sleep and dream of slaying dragons, every morning my wife gets up and begins a boisterous clatter in the house I call The Appliance Aria from her infamous Opera, Turn-a-knob.

…Follow me…

Her aria begins in the dimly lit kitchen.  I hear dishes and forks and cooking hardware dropped and slammed into the dishwasher.  The dishwasher is then set to “maximum” and from that box I hear,

Woo-woo-woo  Woo-woo-woo

Then the washroom enters in and I hear the sound of lids opening and slamming shut and then knobs screeching to the desired setting, “maximum” and then I hear the clothes washer,

Clumpa Clumpa, Clump-a-clump

and then the clothes dryer joins in,

Wiggla, Wigg-la, Wigg-la-wigg.

I’m completely awake by now and then the stage lights are illuminated in full candela in the bathroom.

Then I hear the electric toothbrush,

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz

After about 10 minutes of that I hear the hair dryer, “maximum”

Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!!!

All these noises are joined together in a cacophony of final crescendo and sounds like this:

Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-wa-wooo

Clumpa-clump-a-clump-a-clump-a-wooo

Wiggla-woo-la-clump-la–zzzzzzzzzz

Wigg-la-woo-wiiing

La!!!

WiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiNG!!!!!!

The final verse:

“Dilegua, o notte! Tramontate, stelle! Tramontate, stelle! All’alba vincerò! Vincerò! Vincerò!”

(“Vanish, o night! Set, stars! Set, stars! At dawn, I will win! I will win! I will win! “)

The above was Arranged and Conducted courtesy of the Little Woman (my wife) who awakens me this way – every morning.

*****

From the real Nessun Dorma, which literally translated means None Shall Sleep, an aria from the final act of Giacomo Puccini’s opera Turandot below

(in case you wondered).

P.S.  Some of you might not know, I always refer to my wife in this blog as “The Little Woman.”  No, Pavarotti is not a little woman.  My apologies for the confusion Skriptum, I can see how you can misunderstand what I wrote.  Blog now corrected.