Batman lives in Pottstown

My brothers and I, when growing up, would regularly watch the TV version of "Batman" (c. 1966) and when the show opened, we would pose in front of the picture tube and swing our arms to match the "pow!" "bif!" "blap!" and other "sock it to them" that sent the villains flying.

My older brother, it seems, spoke of watching the show while at school, and somehow, got the impression that Batman, lived in a town called Pottstown, PA - about 20 miles up the road from us.

One day, while we lined up in front of the TV to do our "pows!" he proudly announced to my younger brother and I, that "Batman lives in Pottstown!" I don't recall our response at the time, but today, we still greet each other with "Hey! Batman lives in Pottstown!"

Imagine our surprise, when after Thanksgiving dinner, we decided to ask Mr. Google where Batman lived.

In just milliseconds, Mr. Google replied, "380 South San Rafael Avenue, Pasadena, California." And sure enough, appraised at $11,377,778 - Stately Wayne Manor with its 10 bedrooms, 6 baths and 16,599 sq ft space (which may or may not count the Batcave) appeared.

My older brother searched the "backyard" for signs of the Batcave exit - and is not convinced that "this is the place." Nor does he believe that the Gotham City Police Headquarters is in the Warner Brother's Studio back lot.

In the pink...

On the way home from the houseboat this weekend, I stopped long enough to take a photograph of a... a... um... eyeful? that I have been seeing the past month or so. I ran the photograph past my brother and ask, "What the heck?" and he answered, "Perhaps the latest Mary Kay Cosmetics top sales winner didn't want a Cadillac?"

That worked for me!

The real story (found here) is nearly as bizarre. Meet “Smoke on the Water,” The Grill Meister’s floating BBQ restaurant.

As the story relates, in October of 2012 the houseboat was purchased from the nearby Worton Creek Marina. The interior was gutted, and painted inside and out. In went 3 refrigerators, a freezer, gas stove, and custom-made grill on the deck.

As soon as possible, I'll try to sample some of the cooking!  Meantime, I have to find my sunglasses!

Another Useless...

Umm... What's the point of the toilet then?

Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!

No, this is not a report of a first Red-breasted Robin of the spring sighting. Oh, how I wish!

And while I did see some Buttercups and Crocuses (Croci?) in bloom early this week (before it snowed) I think that rascally Ground Pig named Punky Phil might be right... Darn it.

I've been alone in the office this week as the other "inmates" are at a conference and/or out of town for other sundry and various reasons. This past Monday morning, I sat at my desk with hot cup of coffee in hand and whilst still in the process of trying to boot my brain after a weekend shut down, I heard a "CHIRP!"

I opened a bleary, sleep-filled eye and thought, "What was that?" Looking around, I saw nothing. Thinking I had imagined it, I turned to my desk and started to shuffle the papers I found thereon in faint (and feeble too) hopes of jump starting my work week. The cars and trucks rumbled outside on the Main Street of town, and the radiator beside me popped loudly once or twice... but all seemed normal.

"Chhh-HIRP!"

No, I hadn't imagined it... there was something definitely chirping. The room has a number of Uninterrupted Power Supplies (UPS) under the desks to provide power to a desktop computer should the electric be interrupted for any reason. They normally chirp when the electric goes off. But no, the lights were on. And believe me, I had to check to see if that was the case.

"Chhh-HIRP!"

Since I am hearing impaired, localizing the source of this annoyance wasn't going to be easy. I started by looking at each UPS in case one was complaining (or had accidentally gotten unplugged) and did not find one. According to my count, there are 11 of them on the first floor and 8 on the second floor.

"Chhh-HIRP!" "Chhh-HIRP!"

By now my tinnitus was in full flare. Every other "Chhh-HIRP!" was only the sound in my head. Growing desperate, I "Chhh-HIRP!" actually sat down to think... what else could it "Chhh-HIRP!" be?

It sounded like a smoke "Chhh-HIRP!" detector that had a dying battery "Chhh-HIRP!".

But the ones in my office are all "wired" in to the electric main. "Chhh-HIRP!" They shouldn't have batteries in them... "Chhh-HIRP!" should they?

I forced myself to tune out the noise and get to work. I emailed a couple friends saying I was being driven "Chhh-HIRP!" batty. One of them, suggested that perhaps one of my co-workers had played a prank on me. Perhaps they had gotten a "ThinkGeek Annoy-a-tron"?

I sighed, well, a couple of them would! So I looked around some more. Hmmm...


The illuminated emergency Exit Signs have batteries in them. The sign is always lit, and when the power goes out, it stays lit, and the floods turn on. Could a battery be dying in one of these? I went around and tested all three of them.

Front door.. "Chhh-HIRP!" No, it lights up and it's not making any noise that I can hear. The back door? "Chhh-HIRP!" ... Nope. Same story. It's working fine.


Ut oh. The Exit Sign at the top of the stairs?

I got a ladder out, climbed up, and hanging onto it over the stairway (it's a long long way down), push the test button, and nothing happens. The Exit Sign is not lit. How long has that been the case? "Chhh-HIRP!" Oh my, I am close(r)! The flood lights next to the Exit Sign? No, those work fine.

Hmm.. is it the Exit Sign? I'm going to have to fix that immediately anyway. I've not seen a building inspector in 12 years, but with the gosh by golly sign out and my usual horrid luck, they'll be knocking on the door in within an hour!

But something's "Chhh-HIRP!" not right... It's not the Exit Sign that is "Chhh-HIRP!" making the noise. It seems to be behind me in the hallway... "Chhh-HIRP!"

What could it be? The only culprit left is a smoke detector.


Well, I'll be, wired in or not, it has a battery in it, and it finally failed after 12 years.

I got 4 new batteries and replaced each and every one of them. There is one on each floor (basement, 1st, 2nd, and attic), wired together so that when one goes off, they all go off.

I then replaced the entire Exit Sign since I couldn't get parts for the old one anymore, with a new (much "greener") LED version.

...and the silence was blissful.

...or it will be until my coworkers come back and fall prey to my hiding a "ThinkGeek Annoy-a-tron" where they'll never find it....

Eh, eh, eh.... :)

Angry Enough to See Red

The Fourth Amendment (Amendment IV) to the United States Constitution is the part of the Bill of Rights which guards against unreasonable searches and seizures, along with requiring any warrant to be judicially sanctioned and supported by probable cause.

"The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized."

Well, it seems that my local government, the Lower Providence Township of Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, feels like this does not apply to them. A while ago, they mailed a letter to local area residents stating that the recipients HAD to call them at a given phone number and schedule an inspection (i.e., search) of their house by not one, but two people in order to see if there was an "illegal" hookup between a sump pump and the sewers.

I was miffed that the letter didn't say, "please" or contain any common, ordinary courtesies and furthered miffed by their highhandedness in not only breaking a constitutionally guaranteed right to "feel secure in my own house." The letter insisted I had to call them, for a hearing impaired person, this is a huge imposition and propbably violates the Americans with Disabilities Act, and they couldn't even be nice about it.

Yesterday, they sent a letter saying they would add a $50 a month "punishment" charge to my sewer bill. What happen to that right to "Due Process"? I guess if you can ignore the fouth amendment, what the hell, you might as well ignore the fifth one as well.

My sewer bill is already WAY too high - as a single guy living in alone in a house, I get a flat rate bill - based on a family of four - so it's four (4) times too high to start with...

And to add insult to injury, the folks that were living in this township BEFORE they built the brand new sewer plant to handle the ADDITIONAL load brought on by ill-planned, anything for a tax dollar, new housing developments.... folks like ME are also paying for a recent 38 million dollar (by God, they must use gold plated fixtures) expansion of a poorly run sewer plant!

Furthermore, they could perform this inspection only during working hours - which means a loss of a day's pay to boot...

I'm steaming mad... and I am not at all proud of my government right now.

P.s., I don't even HAVE a sump pump. They could have pretended to be public servants and just asked the timely tax and ratepayer. Politely. But no....

Kind of MIA

In response to my last entry, where you may recall, a rare Socky Head, possibly in the menancing presence of two Orange Traffic Safety Cones was "safely" standing on shore when we last saw him/her/it.


A Corgi in Southern California asked "How would we know if they were wearing life vests if the life vests were orange?" and that is a durn good question!

I thought about what I've seen in my many walks amongst the "orange folks" and could not distinctly recall a case where I ever saw an orange traffic safety cone actually swimming - wearing a lifevest or otherwise.

I recalled a case where I had seen some orange barrels "swimming with the fishes" (you can read about them here) but I did not know (and still do not know) if they were swimming, dead, or doing something else altogether.

And then, just as I was about to go outside and toss an orange cone into a large puddle (in the interest of furthering my knowledge and science in general, of course), I got this fabulous photograph in an e-mail from photojournalist Farside of Fifty who reports seeing this talented Socky Head taking a swim!


P.s., I'm still tempted to toss a cone - stay tuned. :)

I've leave you with this - something I saw/heard by accident, a song from "How I Met Your Mother" (video) that has been stuck in my head - yes... I think the noise in my head has gone from bad to worse...

Hey, Beaver come on
When you feel alone
Just pick up that phone
And I’ll be there to share my ice cream cone
We’ll lick it side by side
And deep inside you’ll know
Before the day is done

Two beavers are better than one
Da da da da da da da da da da da da
Two beavers are better than one
They’re twice the fun
Ask anyone
A second beaver can be
Second to none
Two beavers are better than one!

Da da da da da (You’re my favorite beaver)
Da da da da da (Space Teens are forever)
Da da da da da (Don’t forget to do your homework)
‘Cuz math’s cool!

We’ll share a root beer float
And learn aboot how friendship weighs
A metric ton

Two beavers are better than one
Da da da da da da da da da da da da
Two beavers are better than one
They’re twice the fun
Ask anyone
A second beaver can be
Second to none
Two beavers are better than one!

Two beavers are better than one!
Two beavers are better than one!
Two beavers are better than one! (Beautiful, beautiful beavers!)

GO2MOES

This morning, on my way to work, I (somehow) spotted this license plate through a window simply covered with pollen and other spring time airborne stuff.

The plate reads, "GO2MOES"... Go to Moe's. So I've spent the morning wondering just where I am to go... to see Moe.

Locally, there is a sporting goods store known as Modell's. They used to have an ad they played a gazillion times on the radio and TV that said, "Gotta to Go to Moes!"

But this car wasn't heading the right way to go to Modell's. So I pondered some more while drinking some coffee. Could they have meant the bar run by this man... Morris "Moe" Szyslak?

...who has this place?

...on the Simpsons, a TV cartoon series? Gosh. If that is the Moe to go to, I need to find Springfield, umm... whoa... what state is it in? Racking my brains as hard as I can, I can only recall this, "Krusty the Clown started out as a street mime in Tupelo, Mississippi," which doesn't help any but confirms I know a lot of useless stuff...

(Just for fun Where is Springfield?)

Totally, stymied, I type "Moe" in Google and wowsers! I get 6,070,000 results (in 0.14 seconds, no less) Drats! That does not help me much either! I do, however, see that there are some Moe's nearby...

Moe's Market Grocery
779 Kohn St
Norristown, PA 19401

Moe's Springfield Grille
121 South State Road
Springfield, PA 19064

Moe's Deli Restaurant
7360 Frankford Avenue
Philadelphia, PA

Who would have thought there were so many Moe's to go to?

Suddenly, I'm inspired! I type in www.moes.com and see what happens! And I gasp in delight when I see, in the upper right-hand corner, an icon that says "Find Moe"!! "Pay dirt!" I think to myself...

Moe's Southwest Grill
1460 Bethlehem Pike
North Wales, PA 19454
(215) 793-4605

Well... the car was heading that way... Maybe I'll check it out someday, maybe right after I clean my windshield.

Groundhog Tails

"Peabody, here," with another episode of Peabody's Improbable History. It is time to use the WABAC (pronounced "wayback") machine and learn more about yet another one of history's fateful moments.

Our story takes place in the once lonely "hills" of upstate Pennsylvania, where once men were men and women liked them that way.

Under the shadow of a lump called Kellogg's Mountain there once lived an unassuming, slightly-built woman that had only a few passions in life to distract her from the day-to-day passing of the clouds overhead, an occasional rainbow and the wildlife meandering through the nearby woods and fields. Those passions included listening to music, taking photographs of icicles by the thousands and sharing both the music and photos on the Internet with her friends.

She was a demure, thoughtful and caring person. Standing up for her friends against any slight and letting them know she had them on her mind when they were ill or not feeling well. Her biggest trips away from that pastoral little corner in the shadows of Kellogg's Mountain included trips to the beach to the southeast, the lakes further north, and a singular frightful trip to a ladies room in Wichita Falls, Texas. But we will speak no more about that - this is the story about that woman's passions and how the Internet brought the great world beyond the hills into her trailer...

Now, this seemingly harmless, caring, loving woman, who doted on her daughter and grandson, lived her life somewhat vicariously, connected to her friends by the slenderest bit of twisted wire. A wire that allowed her to share and find the music that she loved as well as the photos and videos she took - with the world. And when that wire failed... Oh heavens! Pity the poor soul that failed to fix it quickly and efficiently! Time after time, "The" cable guy came to her door with feeble words of how that little twisted wire wasn't going to be fixed quickly...and time after time, the sounds of the shovel grating through the red shale rock could be heard, most often on darkest nights of the new moon.

There grew up a local legend of around the missing cable guys...guys that would ride out to the isolated glens and vales in plain colored panel vans and never return. If one were to believe the legends, it tells of a cable guy graveyard - tucked into the mists found in the deep shadows of Kellogg's Mountain, out yonder, past the unassuming, slightly-built woman's trailer...

But surely that is all but silly piffle. Or so this historian thought, until he found, deep in the archives, a yellowed poster...


"Hmmm..." he thought to himself, "The legendary winter of twenty-eleven... I wonder?," as he dug through the papers in moldy boxes until he found a few photographs, stuck together in an old-style, USB memory stick...


After carefully activating the memory stick, he found photos of a dead groundhog, without any sign of what had killed it...and looking more closely, the historian noticed ligature marks around the poor creature's neck...his eyebrows crinkled as they did when he knew he was looking at something seriously mysterious.


"These seem to be old crime scene photos... and I do believe that's Punxsutawney Phil...and that mountain in the background! That could be none other than Kellogg's Mountain..." Looking through the photo's more rapidly, with steadily growing horror...


"What's this? ... Oh my dear heavens! Irrefutable evidence of the cable guy graveyard!" "And what's this?"



"Oh, Mister Peabody!!"

:)

Iggy's World

Today, I got a picture from my mom and dad who are vacationing in the Florida Keys this year without me, since I messed up my "blankety blank" shoulder.


My dad poses with a 25-30 pound Snook. He's been trying to catch one for a dozen or so years and now he was bubbling over when he talked about this one. It was released back into the water as it's a protected game fish. Apparently it's about 75-80 degrees and sunny down there and my folks have had sun and pleasant breezes for over a month.


This was my view this cold, 24 degrees F, morning on my way to work. Nah...I'm not going to let this bother me. I'm just going to enjoy my mom's pictures.

:)

I Can Fly! I Can Fly!

One summer, shortly before I turned into a very randy teenager, I attended a week long 4-H camp with my younger brother. The camp was a couple hours drive from home and in the foothills of the Pocono mountains. When all the campers arrived the first day of camp, we were divided into small groups and assigned camp counselors. The camp counselors were older teenagers - and they all wore light tan slacks and brilliant canary yellow shirts.

I was assigned a young Nordic goddess for a counselor - her blond hair shimmered in the sunlight, her clear complexion glowed, and her gleaming white teeth shined like a lighthouse beacon in the darkest of hours of the night. She also had perky twin protrusions under her shirt and long, slender legs that yanked all the red-blooded boy's heads around when she walked by.

Little did I know what fate had in store for me that first day of camp - for coming like a on-rushing freight train without brakes were two events - one was hurricane Agnes - one of the largest June hurricanes on record - which would bring nearly 19 inches of rain and massive flooding which threatened to extend our stay at camp as roads across the entire state were flooded and some bridges were even washed away.

The other event would bring unforeseen grief and embarrassment to a young, impressionable camper. I'm not sure which event I remember with more clarity - they both seem like they occurred just yesterday.

I, of course, do not remember the name of the Nordic goddess that showed my small group of fellow campers to our cabin and then around the campground. Each day she would lead us to our next activity and watch over us and our efforts to sing songs, swim laps, weave baskets, paint watercolors, and perform campfire skits. As the hurricane quickly approached, the days turned into hours of unending rain and activities became less and less varied and more confined to those held within shelters.

One mid-week day, during a very brief respite from the rain, my soggy group found itself outside at a picnic table under gray skies waiting for our turn at the next activity. Just as most of the group had left to go on inside, I suddenly was seized by the idea of impressing the goddess, who was briefly watching me as I dawdled at the table. With a vision of Peter Pan flying through the air in my head, I climbed on top of the table and said, "I can fly! I can fly!" - for surely if I truly believed that I could, I would...

I leapt from the top of the table - and soared through the air - for all of the time it took to crash into the ground... I landed on the side of my face and my right shoulder, bruising my chin and dislocating my shoulder. In my embarrassment, I turned away from the camp counselor and murmured, "I was ok." I was somehow able to push my arm back into the socket myself and once I had done that - most of the pain went away. The flexibility of youth - I guess.

Little did I know that I had hairline fractures in several of the shoulder bones and torn several muscles and ligaments - and that later they would find a way to "complain" about my rough treatment. For the remaining days of summer camp, I sat quietly, protecting my arm and told anyone that asked, that I was quiet because of endless rains and from being soggy all the time.

A little more than two years ago - my shoulder decided it was time to tell me it didn't appreciate what I had done to it, so it gave me an early Christmas present that I wrote about (here and here)

After some surgery and more than six months of physical therapy, it was feeling much better and I had hopes that the worse of the discomfort and its lack of motion were behind me. And then about two weeks ago, I had my handful of things in my arms and I missed a step...and fell half a flight of stairs and landed on my shoulder. This time my shoulder did not wait years before complaining. I've been off-line until the last couple days because I've not been able to "reach the keyboard". I hope to catch up with all of you soon - the current prognosis from the less than reassuring doctor is that more surgery "probably wouldn't help" and that three to six more months of physical therapy are in order.

I sit here thinking, what if?... what if I had been able to fly?... what if the Nordic goddess had been favorably impressed? ...or failing that, what if she was the physical therapist? ...instead of the wrinkled old dude that greeted me yesterday with "Oh, its you again. Well...you know what to do, get going."

A Night at the Oscars!

Everyone is getting excited about the upcoming 83rd annual Academy Awards ceremony to take place on February 27, 2011! I know because I've spotted a number of invitations for my cone buddies come in the mail lately.


With the lovely Anne Hathaway hosting this year's show - I know I can watch it for hours and hours and hours... and root for my buddies to win!

Best Actor in a Leading Role: Mr. OCHA Sex

Best Actress in a Leading Role: Mrs. OCHA Sex

Best Animated Feature: OCHA Man

Best Animated Short Film: Cappy Says Hello!

Best Costume Design: There She Is, Miss America!

Best Foreign Language Film: Introducing Multo-Cone

Best Makeup: Kiss Cone Gene Simmons

Best Original Song: Cones, Glorious Cones!

Best Picture: The Birth of Little Iggy

Best Sound Mixing: Fat Bottomed Cones

Best Visual Effects: Cappy Says Hello!


Everybody is all abuzz about who will win an OsCHA award!

When People Get Bored...

A northern Michigan woman put a novel touch on Leonardo da Vinci's The Last Supper by making a replica out of laundry lint. (Anthony Scipio/Ripley Entertainment Inc.)

Laura Bell of Roscommon collected lint from her dryer and fashioned it into a 4.3-metre-by-1.2-metre (14 feet by 4 feet) reproduction of the Italian Renaissance painter's masterpiece.

Bell says she needed about 800 hours to do enough laundry to get the lint, and 200 hours to recreate the mural. Her artwork has caught the eye of Ripley's Believe It or Not! The company plans to put it on display at one of its museums.

“For some people, it’s a very spiritual experience,” said Bell. “Others are simply amazed at what someone could do with basic laundry lint.” Ripley's said it also has Last Supper replicas on a grain of rice, a dime and burned toast.

- Source -

Hmm... What great masterpiece can I make from bits of Orange Cones? I've got time on my hands with the Stupor Bowl weekend coming up.

Nyquil Knee Moan Jah...

After being sick for 11-12 days, I'm sick of being sick! I woke up this morning feeling a wee bit better than I have in a while - and was greeted with 5 or 6 inches of snow to shovel. Oh well... I'm going to shovel... some... in a bit... (hopefully).

I'm sorry I missed saying Happy Birthday to Jeannie and to Dorkys Ramos - a belated "happy! happy!" to you both.

I got a nice card in the mail today - definitely worth climbing over snow drifts in to get to the mail box. Thank you!


While I was under the weather, there were periods of semi-lucidness, where I could do simple things if I tried and focused. That meant staying away from the yummy goodness of the Nyquil bottle.

And when the runny nose and the cold-then-hot flush of fever got tied in with the hacking, raspy cough, I knew it was time to take a sip of the "good stuff" and ease down into the land of the surreal dreams. Pablo Picasso painted Orange cones... Salvidor Dali melted watches hanging on bare tree branches.... seeing talking heads on the television but not comprehending the sounds, endless daytime television repeated over and over... I nodded off once, watching a snow pattern because I had fat fingered the remote and selected a channel that was off the air and dreamt how marvelous that last show had been with the remarkable "hissing noise" sound effects.... and I was rudely awakened when the channel came back to life with the theme from the Three Stooges filling the room... You know the one - the 3 blind mice song... the words go... Larry, Curly, MOE! Larry, Curly, MOE! Nyuck nyuck, nyuck... I saw them hit each other with pies and just rolled over... when I came too once more... hours later, I saw Jack Tripper saying something to Chrissie and Janet about a Roper... groaning... I shut the box off.

I remember vaguely having gone to see Longwood Gardens in a huge crowd one of those days early on... and going to the post office...

I hope to catch up with a lot of reading soon...

Thanksgiving, Turkey and what's in the water?

As many of you know, I was "home alone" for Thanksgiving day. I wasn't feeling well and the rest of family was out of town - some as far as Florida and some in South Carolina. Unperturbed, as the date of the holiday is far less important to me than the actual celebrating it - I waited til they came home and suggested we go down the shore like we usually do, the weekend following Thanksgiving.

Well, that weekend didn't work out but I did see my younger brother play one of his annual "Old People's Home" gigs with the three guys he plays guitar with... and I saw my niece play some hoity toity tunes with her High School orchestra chamber music set - Haydn and Bach (ugh!) but they woke up the crowd with some Leroy Anderson tunes like Sleigh Bells and Syncopated Clock.

So it came to pass, that this weekend was "Thanksgiving Day" down the New Jersey shore with my folks. The weekend adventure actually started last Tuesday, when my mom called and said, "Can you buy a 15 pound turkey right after work today and start thawing it? My grocery store is all out of them!" Always willing to oblige, and knowing my folks live about 20 miles from the nearest other grocery store, I acquired a 17 pound "bird" and put in my refrigerator so it would be thawed by the weekend.

Wednesday I gave the bird a poke and it was still a solid chunk. Thursday morning it was slightly more yielding, and by Friday morning it was "well on its way to thawsville".

I have been very behind in my blog reading, and had only recently read Matty Thoughts where he tells us of his recent memory problems. He's a good sport and is able to poke fun at his own follies.

Matty's entry reminded me of my own father, who has on more than one occasion when leaving the houseboat to head for home, has forgotten his car keys, gone back down the dock and gotten them, forgotten his cellphone, gone back and got it, left the car keys on the counter on the boat when he picked up his cell phone and had to go back and get them, forgotten his medicine and gone back and gotten the pill bottles - and on one occasion, making no less that 7 trips up and down the dock! I sat there in the car rolling my eyes while waiting for him to get his act together and slowly started to seethe.

And then I encountered my other neighbor Martha's blog entry (both Matty and Martha live nearby) where she writes her horror tale about remembering concert tickets (or rather, not remembering them!) over at The Daily Grind I was sitting smug and thinking to myself, "Sheesh, I would never do that!"

Last Friday was one where the minutes felt like hours as I looked at the clock hundreds of times, eager to get home, packed, and on my way down to the seashore. It has been a long time since I've last been down there! Once home, I threw some clothes in a bag, grabbed my briefcase with a bunch of Christmas Cards I wanted to address, grabbed my camera, and checked my email when I found one from a dear friend asking me to keep a close family member in thoughts and prayer... and deep in thought, I got into the car and headed to the seashore - in the dark.

About 85 miles down the road and within 20 minutes of getting to the beach, I suddenly realized I had left the turkey in the refrigerator...



Martha, Matty, Dad... I hope you will forgive me for silently snickering at your memory woes. Maybe it's something in the local water?

P.s., I'm going to meet my mom tomorrow to give her the turkey - she plans to cook it and give my grandfather some when she and my dad meet him for lunch sometime this upcoming week.

P.s.s., My mom got an oven-stuffer chicken when I called her to tell her I screwed up and forgot the turkey. We all had a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner.

Instant Broadway Classics...

Joan, over at Teaching isn't for wimps, and Alice Kay's daughter, Karen have both gotten a bad case of the orange cone shutterbugitis. It's like the common cold... there is no cure for it (yet) ... but after making you miserable for a little while, it goes away, maybe, well, sometimes...

Today, I was walking around Lake Nockamixon on some muddy trails in the warm, sticky humidity (I'm building up to "I was feverish") when an old memory came to my mind.

My older brother was in a school production of Oliver Twist when he was a youngster. Each day, he would rehearse his song as one of the poor orphans starving away in the sweatshop in the opening scene. Just before dinner time, he would bring the serving bowls with food to the table singing, "Food! Glorious Food!" I remember the school production was a smash hit, it was so well done, people talked about it for weeks and both my brothers and I sang it at dinner time for months. Someday, I'll ask my Mom what she thought of that.

Anyway, I started humming the song...thinking about Karen's pictures...


The main and nearly only road Karen's neighborhood is being widened - causing 20 minute trips to take 40 or more minutes.

Is it worth the waiting for?
If we live 'til eighty four
All we ever get are bar...rels!
Ev'ry day we say our prayer --
Will they change the orange glare?
Still we get the same old bar...rels!
There is not a stripe, not a rim can we find,
Can we beg, can we borrow, or cadge,
But there's nothing to stop us from getting a thrill
When we all close our eyes and imag...ine...

Karen tells me she thinks this orange cone dude is off the side of the road urinating. I think she has a workable hypothesis. :)

Cones, glorious cones!
Hot asphalt and road blocks!
While we're full of moans
Cold, smelly old sweatsocks!
Deep holes and rough pavement joys!
What next is the question?
Highway drivers have it, boys --
Road con-gestion!

Cones, glorious cones!
We're anxious to film them.
Three snapshots a day --
Our favorite mayhem!

Sleeping on the job? Falling over drunk? A workcone's compensation case? We will never know...

Just picture a great tall stack --
Green, blackened or orange
Oh, cones,
Wonderful cones,
Marvelous cones,
Glorious cones...

Cones, glorious cones!
What is there more handsome?
Scraped, mangled or flattened --
Still worth a king's ransom
What is it we dream about?
What brings on a sigh?
Piled conies with stripes, about
Six feet high!

Karen thinks this cone got a lawnmower haircut. I hated to tell her it was a conetip lobotomy.

Cones, glorious cones!
Neat stripes glow from headlights…
Just set up your flash
Do take pictures at nights
Strengthen the shutter finger!
In this interlude --
The cones,
Once again, cones
Fabulous cones,
Glorious cones...

Cones, glorious cones!
Don't care what they look like --
Burned!
Bent over!
Faded!
Get out the motor bike…
Just seeing our conic tat --
Our senses go reeling
One moment of knowing that
Or-ange feeling!


Karen says these dudes were waiting for a basketball - and that she should have got the backboard and net in the shot. I had to forgive her. As a newbie cone photographer, I'm sure she was simply too excited to properly frame the shot.

Cones, glorious cones!
What wouldn't we give for
That extra bit more --
That's all that we live for
Why should we be fated to
Do nothing but drone
On cones,
Magical cones,
Wonderful cones!
Marvelous cones!
Fabulous cones!
Beautiful cones,
Glor-reee-ous… cones!
Thank you, photojournalist Karen for all of these pictures!

The Things People Do...

On the third flight of the U.S. Air Force's "Project Excelsior", USAF Colonel Joe Kittinger (ret.) jumped into the record books.


On August 16, 1960, a helium ballon, The Excelsior III climbed to 102,800 feet (19.5 miles or 31,333 meters) over New Mexico, and Joe Kittinger leaped out.

On his descent, Kittinger freefell at speeds up to 614 miles per hour, approaching the speed of sound without the protection of an aircraft or space vehicle and experiencing temperatures as low as minus 94 degrees Fahrenheit (minus 70 degrees Celsius). He was in freefall for 4.5 minutes before he opened his parachute at 18,000 feet.

Those handy with a calculator will note he travelled an average of 214.13 mph as he fell through the (lack of) Earth's atmosphere.


Sometime this year (2010), Felix Baumgartner, an Austrian skydiver and stuntman, with help from Joe Kittinger, will attempt a freefall from 120,000 feet (more than 22.7 miles) as part of Red Bull's Stratos program.

He aims to break four world records:

1) Speed record as the first human to break the speed of sound in free fall.

2) Attitude record for free fall (120,000 feet)

3) Time record for the longest free fall (approximately five to six minutes, landing about 13 minutes after pulling the rip cord)

4) Attitude record for highest manned ballon flight (120,000 feet)

Joe Kittinger's records have lasted nearly 50 years so far. His record is very safe as far as me breaking it. :)

My Sexual Fantasy

Recently, Dorkys Ramos, over at Dry As Toast had an intriguing post on "Tips for Sharing Your Sexual Fantasies."


That's my car under that lump of snow. I think we got about 16-18 inches of new snow. Now, being snowed in gives me time to fantasize. Of course, as some of you know, I struggle mightily to keep this blog rated PG, so this will be a little ... different.

Without further ado, here you go, Dorkys! :)

A big glamorous motor coach pulls down the street and silently glides to a stop by the curb near my mailbox. The door opens and a beautiful blonde woman steps out followed by about fifteen strapping, muscular guys with snow shovels. The guys quickly get to work and soon clear a narrow path through the deep snow to my front door – where the blonde rings my door bell. I open the door to see Heather Locklear smiling at me and asking if she might come in.

I stammer and gulp, and nod my head affirmative, and she strides in closing the door behind her while sensuously unzipping her arctic parka to reveal a lacy white nightie. She softly whispers into my ear, “I’m yours, do what you want with me.” I stare at her, absorbing her loveliness, inhaling her sweet scent, and run my fingers through her silky hair. I suggest a small glass of wine and she agrees, so I go to the kitchen and fumble about with the bottle and corkscrew.

It takes my trembling fingers five minutes to get the cork out of the wine bottle, and then I need to wash, rinse and dry the glasses as they haven’t used in to long as to be covered in a thick coat of dust. Finally, the bottle and glasses are ready and I take them to bedroom where Heather waits impatiently. She smiles up at me from the bed as I pour the wine. I nervously hand her a glass and make a quick toast, “Salute!” and we sip the bargain basement special that cost less than seven dollars a bottle. I think I see her wince but she quickly covers it with a brilliant smile that melts everything inside me.

Just then, there is a loud knock on the door, the fifteen strapping muscular guys have finished shoveling my driveway and its time for Heather to leave – so she quickly dons her arctic parka, the fur-lined hood framing her beautiful face, and she says, “Good bye, Iggy,” as she enters the motor coach and it speeds away trailing a small cloud of diesel smoke.

I sigh in satiated pleasure, my driveway is clear of snow.

Cappy Got A Bath!

As you may recall, I recently adopted a most forlorn looking orange traffic cone named Cappy. He came to me from Yaya in a huge box packed with Styrofoam peanuts. I am happy to report that Cappy is not allergic to syrofoam nor does he have a peanut allergy, either of which would have made my life a lot harder.

Yaya sent a note saying Cappy ought to "clean right up" so I decided to give him a nice hot, sudsy bath and see if I could take some of the filth off of him.


Here is a picture of both of Cappy's parts before he got his bath. I have to wince at those open sores. I told Cappy I would look into what his tattooed EVM stood for - I really hope he wasn't involved in any gang activity.

Thanks to Mr. Google, I now know that EVM stands for "Earned Value Management" which is some sort of fancy-smancy accounting thingy and that the construction industry was an early commercial adopter of it, whatever it is...

The tattoo, however, might stand for Motorized Venting Model which has something to do with automatic skylights but for the life of me - I don't understand how it applies to orange cones...

Ever the optimist, I am hoping EVM is basically harmless but I would really love to know what it means for sure.


Another "before the bath" picture. Judging by the tire tread marks, Cappy was cleanly run over at least three times.

Who could do such a thing? And was it a case of hit and run? Will there ever be a CSI/IggyLand television episode that explains all?


After his long, hot, soaking bath, Cappy stood a little taller and seemed to regain a bit of his dignity and a slight, ever so soft, orange glow.

Not having any dignity of my own, I spent 20 minutes washing the bathtub out afterwards and while I was at, I pondered whether or not orange traffic safety cones were "Dishwasher Safe".

Now before you yell and scream at me for contemplating stuffing Cappy into a tight, confined box with what would be dreadfully noisy, scalding hot jets of water blasting at him, be assured I would sit (stand?) him down and carefully and calmly explain what was going to happen beforehand so he won't panic - and I will be very, very certain to use the "No Heat" dry option.


He really needs another go in the tub with something a little stronger than Johnson and Johnson's baby shampoo. I was fearful of getting caustic soap in his eyes and adding to all that he's suffered already.

Does anyone of you have suggestions for a good powerful, but gentle, cleansing (and most importantly, cheap) soap?

After writing this - I found a can of heavy duty rug spot cleaner. I tried it out and it seems to have worked pretty well - now all I have to do is come down from the high the fumes gave me.


Here is a close-up of Cappy's head before he got his bath.

He seemed to be in good spirits even after soaking in the bathroom sink for nearly 3 hours. In fact, I think I heard him singing that "Mr. Bubbles" song but that made me a little mad since the slogan goes, "Mr. Bubble gets you so clean your mother won't know you" and poor Cappy doesn't have a mother.


A close up of Cappy's head after he got his bath. I spent extra time scrubbing behind his ears (please don't ask).

The Doctor says Cappy's headreattacholectomy (can you say "headreattacholectomy" kids?) should take place really soon, perhaps even during this weekend! Oh, I do hope it all goes well.

-Cappy's proud but nervous Daddy

Goofy Thing to Do

While I was in Connecticut, I spotted this little sign over the light switch in my bedroom.


To melt chocolate, a temperature of 90°F (about 32.2°C) is required, though the temperature can be allowed to rise between 104 and 113°F (about 40 and 45°C)...

Hmm... I'm thinking hot tub full of chocolate with lots and lots of whipped cream...

Why "My" Government(s) Disgust Me (R/WP)

(Part 1 of what could be 1,000s)

Yes, I wrote governments plural. During my normal work day, I am affected by Lower Providence Township, Whitpain Township, Upper Gwynedd Township, The Methacton School Board, the Borough of Lansdale, Montgomery County, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and the Federal governments. I'm convinced we can survive without at least half of these...

Thank gosh I don't commute to New Jersey or Delaware like many of the residents in my area do, to further compound the ... disgust.

Today, after spending the entire day dealing with various (I counted 14) business taxes, permits, and other "required" items necessary to try to run a business in this state - and not actually getting around to doing anything productive in terms of our economy, I decided to get some fresh air and try to clear my head of the gov-babble-speak by taking a walk.

Not having even driven into the parking lot, I encounter a "Speed Limit - 10 MPH" sign that was never enforced and people ignored it.

The fix?

A couple speed bumps which people now drive in the grass to get around instead of slowing down. Enforcement of the speed limit? Still nil or at least never witnessed in hundreds of hours of walking there. The reason this is even noteworthy is that the Township Police are headquartered in the building adjacent to this parking lot.

I start to walk around the park, noticing the usual amounts of trash, that I pick up along the way, when I encounter this gem denoting the "Ball Park Rules":


Let see now, this is a township sign listing "rules". I see a couple things that are not rules at all, a couple of these so-called "rules" actually contradict each other - and some more unenforced (but refreshingly polite) "rules" which are actually unenforced laws and one is ambiguous to the point of causing headache.

Let's give it a run down. "Ball Park Permit Holders Have Priority" contradicts "Share Field with Others."

I'm sorry but "Players must supply their own bases" and "Sliding into bases may cause injury" are not "rules" at all.

Unenforced are "No spectators in playing area"; I'm not even sure this is a "rule" or if it is really just a suggestion, and the same with "No climbing on backstop or fence". As an aside, there are no fences to be found here.

"Please put trash in receptacles" is an unenforced law.

I've called the Township to no avail to get clarification on "Fields open from dawn to dusk"; my troubles with this are two-fold. When is "dawn" and "dusk"? Did you know there were at least 4 legal definitions of dusk? And more importantly to me, does this mean the entire park is closed, or just the ball field?

No one that actually answers the phone at the Township seems to know - and there is no mention of it at all on the township's "for the public information" website. The only information that seems to be available on-line is how to pay (and how much) to get a largely unnecessary ball field permit.

I have to wonder how these people actually graduated from High School.

Shaking my head, trying unsuccessfully to get the governmental crappola out of it, I continue my walk. A while later I encounter a woman walking the other way in the far field (so named because they are the farthest away from the parking lot) and she is pulling leaves off the trees. I raise an eyebrow, and she laughs and smiles and says, "My little boy needs these for a school project!"

So much for "preserving the green spaces" and the little boy actually maybe even learning something about (I presume) leaves. I won't even go into the fact that 'harming the plants in the park' is against the law. Fifteen minutes later I walk up to the end of the soccer field and see this:


Yes, "No Parking", and four cars very much parked there. While I pause to take this picture, a man in one of the cars in this picture, presumably watching his child learn to play soccer, sees me taking this picture and what does he do?

If you guessed "turn on the parking blinkers", you guessed right! Yes! Those wonderful blinkers make it legal to park anywhere you durn well feel like! Don't they?

Uh...no, I'm sorry I have to be the first to tell you that they don't.

I take a picture of all four "scofflaws" and would call this the "Hall of Shame" except they don't have any shame.



I then head back down the trail to return to my car when the lady with the leaves, remember her? is on her cell phone talking to (I found out a short moment later) the man in one of the illegally parked car. She runs over and yells, "Did you just take a picture of MY car?!?"

I replied, "Yes, I did".

She demands to know why. I begin to tell her, "It is a no parking zone, clearly marked with a sign. I'm going to e-mail it to the Township Police..." I didn't get to finish with "in order to ask why they aren't enforcing a law being broken no more than hundred yards away, right outside their window. And to ask that they remove the signs if they aren't going to bother with enforcing things. I'm especially concerned because it's a situation where 'young impressionable' children are witnessing the blatant disrespect for the law."

No I didn't get anything but "It is a no parking zone, clearly marked with a sign. I'm going to e-mail it to the Township Police..." before I was told:

1) "My husband is sitting in that car!"

To which I said, "And that makes no difference. The car is PARKED."

(Obviously so, since she was wandering around in the woods a half mile away at the time.)

2) "You are an asshole! I'm calling the Police!"

To which I said, "Oh, alright. I'll wait. I won't mind sitting around in the unsupervised Roper Room that calls itself a Traffic Court all day waiting for the case to be heard if you won't mind either."

She (mercifully) was so livid and tongue-tied at this point she stopped calling me an asshole.

I turned my back and walked off. Twenty minutes later I drove out the parking lot and the woman's car was still in the no parking zone.

What I expect will happen with the Township?

Absolutely nothing at all, or perhaps a pile of b*llsh*t that boils down to, "We won't (but phrased "can't") do anything" but it will take them at least 400 words and about 45 minutes of their (taxpayer paid for) time in order to so.

What I expect at least one child will grow up to do?

Park illegally and think that the no parking signs are either meaningless, a foreign language, and/or only apply to someone else, and that putting the parking blinkers means it's okay to park anywhere you want. Not to mention that it's okay, when you get called on it, to call that person an asshole.

Yes, both my school district and local government disgust me.