Category Archives: America

Chinese Sardines

Good morning readers. Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.

I doubt I’ve ever mentioned it, but I’ve always been a sardine lover.  Quit buying them when the price went high back there sometime and partly justified quitting because it drove the cats nuts when I opened a can.  Had to sneak around or I’d end up having to share.

So recently I was in the Dollar Tree store and noticed they had a lot of cans of sardines stacked on the shelves at a buck per can.  Big cans of a sort I haven’t seen in a number of decades, takes a can opener to get in there.

As you know, I a suspicious person, so I carefully got out my pocket magnifier and examined the label.   Well!  I’ll be damned!  Chinese!  Chin-freaking-ese sardines!

Well, heck.  What can sardine packing plants do wrong with sardines, thinks I.  You pack them in brine, or oil, or mustard sauce, or tomato sauce, put a lid and label on, and nobody’s going to know they aren’t Scandahoovian sardines.

Bought 20 cans of them, by golly, a lot just packed in brine because I thought I might use a few coaxing Tabby out of being anti-social.

Well, friends and neighbors, it’s entirely possible to screw up sardines.  I’m not sure how they did it, but they just don’t taste right.  And while the cats love the ones packed in oil or brine, they ain’t touching the ones packed in mustard nor those in tomato sauce.

I’m going to have to gut it out and eat those anyway.

How in the world can an ethnic group invent gunpowder and be the first to invent carbon steel, and not be able to can sardines worth eating?

[Hmmm.  To be fair, it’s generally believed the steel thing was an accident.  Slave either fell, or was thrown into a vat of molten iron and someone noted the quality of the product improved.  So a lot of slaves made their way into a lot of vats of molten iron before it was discovered there were other ways of getting the job done.]

But even so, sardines can’t be that tough.  The Scandahoovians don’t even have slaves, haven’t had them since, since, since, sometime back there before canning was invented.

Old Jules

Afterthought:  When you think about it, Chinese steel’s nothing to brag about these days, either.  Maybe they ought to be tossing all those sardines into vats of molten iron instead of canning them.

Speaking of KENM, 1450 on your radio dial circa 1955

This is Monet George talking to you from KENM, Portales, New Mexico.  The peanut  basin of the nation.  And we’ve got a little song here for you today.

The theme song for the station was “My Adobe Hacienda.”

Lord how I hated that song.  They played it at every opportunity.

But they also loved, “Dear Hearts and Gentle People,” which didn’t exactly describe the local population except in fantasy.

Helped them feel better about themselves than they had any business doing.

“Doing What Comes Naturally” actually fit them better and, believe it or not, they liked that one, too.

I suppose “Buttons and Bows” would have resonated with any but the most stalwart souls in Portales, New Mexico, circa 1950-60, and it sure as hell got plenty of play.

Those were the days of “Knock knock” jokes, and the favorite joke around there was, “Knockknock.”  “Who’s there?”  “Kilroy”  “Kilroy who?”  “Kill Roy Rogers!  I’m Gene Autry’s fan!”

KENM was a Gene Autry Fan.

WWII vintage folks ruled the world then.  If it hadn’t been for “Tennessee Waltz”, Bonaparte’s Retreat” and “Fraulein” I expect KENM would have had long silences trying to figure out what to play.

Old Jules

You could jitterbug to it! A weird footnote in music history

This song really pissed a lot of people off in 1958.  The local station, KENM, Portales, New Mexico  [1450 on your radio dial] refused to play it for a while. 

But KENM went off the air at 9PM and most of us first heard it on KOMA, Oklahoma City, same as all the other kids from Texas to North Dakota.  You could pick it up once the local stations shut down.  The leading edge to what was happening.  The 1958 facsimile of the Internet for youth in the Central and Southwestern US.

Rock and Roll was still trying to define itself, trying to separate itself from Rhythm and Blues, and Bop.  Adults were fairly certain it was the work of the devil, same a the Bop.  [I’ve written here somewhere how much trouble I got into doing the ‘Dirty Bop’ without even knowing I was doing it.]  It wasn’t even clear yet that Rock and Roll would be the name that stuck to it. 

So when Pat Boone mixed Rock and Roll with religion he was stepping on a lot of sober, somber toes.

But thanks to KOMA, we heard it anyway.  A kid name Chito Smith stood up on a bench in the locker room after PE class and started singing it, all of us with towels wrapped around us jumping around, snapping our fingers, defying authority, singing, “Wellawellawellawella, everybody’s gonna get religion and glory.”

KENM eventually bent enough to play it.  They were already playing such songs as “Wings of a Dove,” by Hawkshaw Hawkins, and “Sinner Man,” by Brook Benton, anyway, and I suppose they figured those might neutralize the devilish side of every body having a wonderful time up there.

Old Jules

Getting nasty old Brother Coon safely into the past

tabby asleep outdoors3

Although I don’t believe I’ve come right out and said so, I’ve been keeping a close eye on the felines since June 9th when old Brother Coon made his debut.  Even though I’m not inclined to think he was sick, it’s not easy to reconcile with my past experience with wild animals.  If it weren’t for the single episode a year or two ago when Hydrox and I stood off a somewhat aggressive coon [described somewhere on this blog] I’d be more concerned.

But even so, I don’t trust this last one.  In 70 years of being around wild critters this qualifies as the first time I’ve ever been attacked by one, even though I’ve been in close woods-proximity to a lot of them including bears and cougars.  Always was able to stand off the bears without any increase in heartbeat rates and the cougars never had much interest in me.

But when I consider how big I must have looked to old Brother Coon I can’t help thinking this incident might involve something wrong with his thinker.

And as I’ve describe on some other recent posts, Tabby’s been acting uncharacteristally stand-offish, paranoid, etc.  Usually I wouldn’t be much bothered by that, because Tabby’s a cat with a long history of behavioral changes, more-or-less when the wind changes.

She seems healthy enough even though she barely comes to the porch for food and definitely doesn’t want any attention, affection, etc.  This morning she only spent a few minutes up here eating dry cat food then headed off across the meadow to sit staring back.  I took some canned food out there and she devoured it, but didn’t encourage me to scratch her behind the ears or stroke her.

I gave her what she wanted without any arguments.

Today’s June 21 and the Great Coon Incident happened June 9.  I’ll return to being insistent with Tabby when two weeks have passed, assuming she’s not foaming at the mouth or wobbling on her hind legs.

Old Jules

The Centralist Texasist RV Magnate

Good morning readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.

Feeling a bit blundery here.  Got involved in a book around 10pm and around 3am discovered it was 3am and I still had 75 pages demanding my immediate attention.  Decided what the hell.  Storm came around 70 pages later so I was up scurrying closing everything open to rain on both vehicles.

The attempts by modern civilization to snag me into negativity and stall the process of my registering the 1978 wossname, Holiday Rambler, failed and I dotted all the necessary eyes, paid out a few hundred bucks, only had to be the tiniest bit of an ooocher of legalities.  That Ford RV is now legally a resident of Texas, standing up on its hind wheels and whinnying.  Next it will be wanting to vote.

This staying up all night reading without intending to is something the law ought to insist younger men do.  Screws up all manner of habitual behaviors for cats and men my vintage.

Anyway, nice little rain last night.

The financial drain of all this has me thinking I’ll be online a lot today chasing through the available gate guard and pipeline guard for oilfield jobs.  I need a spurt of wealth to undo what’s been done to my wallet with all this.

My friend Eddie keeps track of such things as this and tells me the gate guard think is doable, sent me some links, and when I mentioned it in town to a couple of people a couple of them gave me some email links.

A few months of that would provide the friends I owe money to a relief of the burden of me owing them money [Keith and Rich, I love you as brothers and am eternally grateful for being there when I needed you].   And the weight of not being financially solvent robbing my macho, mainly, because neither of them’s hectoring me with anything but positivist enthusiasm.

Jules

Distractions

powerline helper

I’d have gotten more done Friday if I hadn’t come across this on the way into town.  I’d seen them doing the same thing the previous day, but didn’t have the camera.

powerline helper3

Can’t help wondering what the dingle dangler and helicopter pilot do for excitement on their days off.

powerline helper4

“So, how was your day, honey?”

“Same old same old.  Boss looking over my shoulder all the time.”

Various stuff

Good morning readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.

Jeanne called yesterday and said she’d fallen and broken her arm in a parking lot.  Drove to a clinic somewhere and got a temporary cast put on.  Afterward she  said she’s having to type with one hand, so she mightn’t be doing much online work for a while.

I’m fairly concerned about this cat, Tabby.  She’s 10-11 years old ….. seems to have a propensity for skin conditions summers, doesn’t get along well with the two long hairs, goes through phases of beating up Niaid, or being so stand offish the older cats gang up on her and drive her away from the food.  All of them have too many scratches on their faces for my tastes.

Sometimes I’ll go a couple of days without seeing her, and when I do, about half the time she pretends I might hit her, cringes away.  I’m keeping as close an eye on her as I’m able until two weeks passes since the agressive coon incident, because I have the impression she ain’t feeling well at all.

One of the possible jobs I’m looking at is in Arizona, a couple has a self-styled animal rescue setup, would like someone to help out feeding and taking care of the animalcules on their four-acres of land.  In exchange for a site with utilities.  Might be fun to do for a while, and if Tabby did well there I think I might persuade myself she’d be happier there permanently than voyaging around with the two older cats and me.

Spent all day in town Friday trying to get everything done transferring title, insurance etc on the new RV, but the day wasn’t long enough.  Complications with undotted Tees and uncrossed eyes had me scurrying around back and forth up and down a lot of the day.

Back tomorrow to hopefully get it all finalized.

Escape Route V 2.5 – Done deal

Went out to look it over with Gale.  Nosing around inside I saw a strange looking  monitor on a swing-arm.  No computer I could see anywhere.  Turned to the guy selling it:
 
What’s that thing”
“A television and DVD player.”  He pushed a button and the screen lit up, another button and a DVD popped out.  “It works.”
“THAT’S a television?”
 The guy looks at me like I’m crazy.  Gale intervenes.
“Televisions have changed a lot since you saw one, Jack.”
 
Spang Rip Van Winkled again.
 
Paid an RV repair sales place to go over it with a fine toothed comb.  Everything wrong with it at least I know.  Looks better than I’d dared hope.  The RV guy who checked it also thought it was impressive. 
 
Fridge, heater, shower, sinks, water heater, generator, AC all work.  Roof is steel, more akin to a school bus than an RV, coach structure is aluminum, not wood.
 
Got transport again and ready to rock and roll.
 
It was last registered in Arizona, so today it’s off to get insurance on it, then get tags.  It already has a valid TX inspection sticker.
 
 
 
Life begins again.
 
Jack

Now realllllly – Some things might be worse than dying

Mary Jane and Sniffles

They know Mary Jane ain’t going to kill them.  Lying about it, pretending it might just proves to them you’re a liar or a fool and that nothing you say is worth taking seriously.

Wouldn’t it be better to just tell the truth?

Ah baby! Yes.  Yes. YES!

Ah baby! Yes. Yes. YES!

“What will your mother say when you get out of the slammer and she discovers you’ve been anally raped by every ethnic prison gang ranging from the White Brotherhood to the Crips, the Bloods, to La Raza Unita? 

“That you were forced to perform oral sex every night for the  guy  in the top bunk?”

Mommy wants that to happen to OTHER peoples’ kids and doesn’t want you to know she wants it for them, but she sure as hell doesn’t want it to happen to hers.  So she tells you the next best thing.  A lie.

A couple more thoughts about that pledge

the forbidden door

Okay.  A pledge is a pledge is a pledge.  An oath.  A promise to be taken seriously by the person pledging.  If the person making the pledge doesn’t understand what he’s pledging the ultimate result is that he/she won’t take it seriously, won’t even know what he/she pledged to do.  And by extension, won’t take any other pledge, oath, or promise he/she makes seriously, either.

And yet, that pledge is being made by rote in schools all over the country every day by kids who have no inkling what they’re pledging.  They probably have no idea what some of the words mean, even.

First off, they’re pledging allegiance to a FLAG.  A symbol.  And that flag is being waved around constantly by people assigning a meaning to it pushing every imaginable agenda and activity from selling furniture to conducting a military adventure. 

So how the hell are those kids supposed to conclude there’s something specific to what they’re promising?  Ahhhh… “of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands.”  Well that narrows things down a lot.  Cuts out the riffraff.  They’re not obliging themselves to any allegiance to the state or region they live in, nor to the hood.  They’re not promising to be loyal to Australia nor Austria.

Welllllll, then comes the clincher.  “One [count’em] 1 each, nation.”  Skip the ‘under God’ distraction and read what it said before 1954.  “One nation, INDIVISIBLE”.

And there, my friends, you have the crux of the whole matter.  The US Constitution failed to say that once a geographic entity got its foot into the door it was stuck there permanently.  It caused a lot of confusion back in the 1860s because it was assumed when the Constitution said everything not specifically forbidden by itself was okay.  States believed they could withdraw because the Constitution didn’t say they were in for the duration.

So the obvious solution is to make kids say it’s indivisible before they know the meaning of the word.  Hammer it to hell into their heads and make them promise every day they won’t try to divide this country again.  And keep them doing it all their lives.

Otherwise they might grow up to be Democrats or Republicans and spend every waking moment being as divisive as they can manage about every facet of existence here, driving wedges, over every nuance they can think of.  Whining constantly over breadcrumbs sifted from the US Constitution concerning countless other things it doesn’t say.

And never getting around to listening to the last words they utter after they get the one republics, under Gods, and indivisibles out of the way.

“With liberty and justice for all.”  That would just really be too big a pill to swallow.