Notes, ponderances, and just general bullshit from my somewhat petulant mind……..
They announced the 2011 inductees for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame recently. Once again the HOF proves that it truly isn’t a HOF by selecting Bon Jovi and Neil Diamond, while once again forgetting about Rush, Kansas, and several other worthy nominees I could think of. While music, like all art, is subjective, to once again forget about one of the greatest rock bands ever to walk the planet and induct lightweight hair-metal idiots like Bon Jovi just proves that the HOF is no longer relevant and no longer about the rock. Becoming a member has no real meaning whatsoever.
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I had what could charitably be called an “anger management episode” a few days ago. That’s a nice way of saying I exploded, completely losing control of my temper, requiring me to walk circles around the building I work in while chain-smoking Marlboro Reds one right after another for about half an hour. I haven’t been that mad in years, which is something considering all of the shit I went through with my divorce a few years back. I mean I was smoking pissed off. That’s what happens when you play email tag with an idiot who happens to be a micromanager and one of your bosses. It was a good thing he was off island; otherwise I would probably be in jail right now or at least looking for another job, while he would either be in the hospital or the morgue. Yup yup, I was that mad.
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You know that you work too damn hard and are getting older when you and your wife would both rather sleep than get romantic (meaning sex). My poor lovely bride comes home from work so tired that staying awake past 9 PM is nearly impossible, just physically exhausted. I get home and I’m usually dragging ass so badly that all I want to do is plop in front of the TV or lay down beside the bride and read myself to sleep. While we are both very passionate people when it comes to romance and know how to make each other feel really good, sometimes sleep wins easily over sex. Either that, or we’re both getting old.
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Buying another lottery ticket for tomorrow night, just in case. Haven’t played in a while, but think I’ll invest the $8 and see what happens. Ya can’t win if you don’t play, and winning the lottery is about the only chance I have of becoming Oprah Rich anytime soon. I’m not greedy; $2 million would be enough so that I would never have to work again and live in comfort in the Philippines for the rest of my life. I would also be able to take care of the people I love and go visit some people I haven’t seen in a while (my daughter) and people I’ve never met (my grand-daughter and son-in-law).
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One advantage to the wife working where she works is all the leftovers she gets to bring home. Since they are not allowed to store leftovers to reserve to the kidlings at her school, we get a lot of the leftovers. The wife calls the stuff “hospital food” because it’s pretty bland, but you’d be amazed what you can do with a few spices, some butter, and a little imagination. Last night it was mac & cheese, which tasted pretty good after dumping enough salt and pepper on it. The little milks are also great, and saves us a ton of money. Milk is $7 a gallon here, and I have no problem rocking the little 8 ounce cartons she brings home with her.
That is all ye know and all ye need to know, at least for now.
They announced the 2011 inductees for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame recently. Once again the HOF proves that it truly isn’t a HOF by selecting Bon Jovi and Neil Diamond, while once again forgetting about Rush, Kansas, and several other worthy nominees I could think of. While music, like all art, is subjective, to once again forget about one of the greatest rock bands ever to walk the planet and induct lightweight hair-metal idiots like Bon Jovi just proves that the HOF is no longer relevant and no longer about the rock. Becoming a member has no real meaning whatsoever.
+ + + + + +
I had what could charitably be called an “anger management episode” a few days ago. That’s a nice way of saying I exploded, completely losing control of my temper, requiring me to walk circles around the building I work in while chain-smoking Marlboro Reds one right after another for about half an hour. I haven’t been that mad in years, which is something considering all of the shit I went through with my divorce a few years back. I mean I was smoking pissed off. That’s what happens when you play email tag with an idiot who happens to be a micromanager and one of your bosses. It was a good thing he was off island; otherwise I would probably be in jail right now or at least looking for another job, while he would either be in the hospital or the morgue. Yup yup, I was that mad.
+ + + + + +
You know that you work too damn hard and are getting older when you and your wife would both rather sleep than get romantic (meaning sex). My poor lovely bride comes home from work so tired that staying awake past 9 PM is nearly impossible, just physically exhausted. I get home and I’m usually dragging ass so badly that all I want to do is plop in front of the TV or lay down beside the bride and read myself to sleep. While we are both very passionate people when it comes to romance and know how to make each other feel really good, sometimes sleep wins easily over sex. Either that, or we’re both getting old.
+ + + + + +
Buying another lottery ticket for tomorrow night, just in case. Haven’t played in a while, but think I’ll invest the $8 and see what happens. Ya can’t win if you don’t play, and winning the lottery is about the only chance I have of becoming Oprah Rich anytime soon. I’m not greedy; $2 million would be enough so that I would never have to work again and live in comfort in the Philippines for the rest of my life. I would also be able to take care of the people I love and go visit some people I haven’t seen in a while (my daughter) and people I’ve never met (my grand-daughter and son-in-law).
+ + + + + +
One advantage to the wife working where she works is all the leftovers she gets to bring home. Since they are not allowed to store leftovers to reserve to the kidlings at her school, we get a lot of the leftovers. The wife calls the stuff “hospital food” because it’s pretty bland, but you’d be amazed what you can do with a few spices, some butter, and a little imagination. Last night it was mac & cheese, which tasted pretty good after dumping enough salt and pepper on it. The little milks are also great, and saves us a ton of money. Milk is $7 a gallon here, and I have no problem rocking the little 8 ounce cartons she brings home with her.
That is all ye know and all ye need to know, at least for now.
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