It's Official

 

I'm changing my name to Lucky.

There's a reason...

 

I feel at home with a bunch of antiques.

Perchance to Dream

 

For a brief moment

I got to imagine all the things I'd do 

with 1.1 Billion Dollars.

I thought of all the Rice-a-Roni I could buy.

Maybe go to Vegas and put the whole thing

on Red.  (Not really)

Maybe buy an old car, you know -

one that doesn't have computers, and

doesn't do your thinking for you.

I like the old crank windows, and to

actually need a key to start it.

Just maybe, what I'm looking for is

a time machine.

OK, so I just got a quote on a time

machine.

  I won't have enough money.

Darn. 😒

Maybe it's a good thing I didn't win.

No Feminine Voice Yet

 

    I first noticed it sitting on a very high branch.  Initially, it was its wingspan that had caught my attention.  The bird was quite large.  There were some folks walking towards me along the road, they had their son with them, but he seemed preoccupied with some contraption he was carrying.  I doubt any of them had noticed the bird.

    When they were close enough, I pointed and suggested they look up.  “Just there, on that upper branch.”  None of them looked up.  The husband said, “We’ve seen it.”  The wife didn’t respond at all and the kid, apparently oblivious to everything around him, just kept walking.

    As the parents walked past me, following the child, I was thinking I hadn’t recognized any of them.  They must be new to the neighborhood, but if that were the case, her behavior was rather rude.  No greeting at all, and no response to me whatsoever.  I wanted to turn around and watch to see which house they were going to, but instead I kept my eye on that bird.  I wanted to know what kind it was.

    Now a pick-up truck was coming along and as it got close to me it slowed to a stop.  The driver rolled his window down and asked me if I had seen them.  “Seen who?”  I asked.  The three people walking.  They weren’t too far ahead of me.  “Yes, I saw them, but I don’t know who they are.”

    “Did you notice anything strange about them, anything at all?”

    “I found her to be a little rude, but other than that…”

    “Did you notice the box the boy was playing with?”

    “I didn’t really pay any attention to it or him.  I was watching a rather large bird at the time.”

    “Forget about the bird.  The bird is nothing.  It’s remote controlled.  It’s the parents we’re interested in.  He built them too.  He’s controlling everything from that box."

    I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  Was that true?  Did I just speak to a robot and not know it?

zc

 

This Blog

 

is one of the few things left 

that doesn't contain advertising.

                                    

     

You're welcome

In Review

 

I’m glad I wasn’t born a barnacle who doesn’t like salt water, or who couldn’t hold their breath very long.  I’m happy not to be a railroad spike who’s on the wrong track.  There are so many things I’m glad I’m not or didn’t become.

My choices were very limited, based on my skill and ability.  I couldn’t dunk a basketball or a doughnut.  I couldn’t carry a gun or a tune.  I wasn’t born into royalty or have a trust-fund or mattress to fall back on.   I have a face for radio and a build that couldn’t cast a shadow.

Technology and time has passed me by.  I find the glamor of Hollywood to be quite tarnished, and television to be ruined by greed.  It is a very rare occasion I find a book worth reading.  In fact, the more I look around, the more I believe I have become that unfortunate barnacle struggling to hold its breath in a sea of saltwater.

Z. Corwin

 

Incoming

 

There was a crow sitting on my mailbox this morning.  She was squawking quite loudly.  Apparently very proud of having such a fancy perch.

Other crows were doing fly-bys, but none dared to challenge her for her spot. 

I wondered if it were a sign, maybe an omen of something coming in the day’s mail that I should be concerned about.

Then again, maybe it was the crow herself that someone had sent me.  I didn’t already have one. But it isn’t my birthday.

Who would be sending me a crow?  I should go out and check it for postage.

That’s silly.  The postman didn’t deliver it.  She simply landed on the box.

Oh well, something new for me to ponder.

I guess I’ll know if the postman comes by and takes her away, thinking she is an out-going crow.

 

Hello

        I thought I’d search for you out here in cyber space.  You see, I have this new phone now and it has everything possible packed inside of it.  Really.  All the words in the dictionary are in here.  There are pictures, movies, news events and some stuff I never even thought of.  Yes, it is a little heavier than my last phone, but then it would have to be, wouldn’t it?

        Anyway, I haven’t been able to find you anywhere, so I thought maybe cyber space is where you went.  I used up my old phone looking for you, which is why I had to get this new one.  I had high hopes you’d be here, but so far there’s been no calls, no emails or text messages.  I know because I keep checking.  

        I’m thinking it must have been nanotechnology that shrunk everything so small in order to fit it all inside this thing.  It has tons of gadgets, including a flashlight, so if need be, I can signal you with it.  You know – old school.  I am, however, running out of ideas and places to look.  I must admit, every now and then I find myself looking at those silly cat videos, kittens afraid of their own shadow.

        You’d think that with all the stuff in this phone it wouldn’t feel so empty.  I am starting to lose hope.  

    Where are you?

OH,  this is me -

  Zobostic

Evening Walkers

 

I see them at dusk with their canes and their walkers,

Others with friends who are obvious talkers –

The young in a hurry, taking much larger strides,

There’s the one with a hat, who so tries to hide.

She wears glasses for Sun, too big for her face –

With the neighborhood walkers - she seems out of place.

I know a few names, of the ones who dare talk,

Though it isn’t that often - I get out for a walk.

When the sun finally sets, the forest is dark,

With eyes that don’t blink, its no walk in the park.

There are noises and rustles just off of the road

don’t be out after dark, at least so I’m told.

No Whiskers in Heaven

 

Annoying little whiskers

Back again today,

I wish they’d stop –

I hate them all,

I wish they’d go away.

Sprouting on the right side

Poking from my chin –

Growing on the left side

It seems I’ll never win.

Little hairs protruding

Why anyone would need,

Something poking from their face

Growing like a weed.

I like to think in Heaven

No need for shaving cream

Nothing there that’s razor sharp

or causing me to bleed.

Made in China

 

OK, so it turns out this cream does nothing it is supposed to do.  I go to Amazon and request a refund.

I click where it says to click in order to print a return label.

Then I get a message saying that in order to get a refund on this product, China has to be the one to authorize a return.

Fine.  I wait.

A week goes by.  I get nervous. I contact Amazon again and say, “What’s the deal?”

Amazon contacts China, and through their interpreter says, “What’s the deal?” (Only they say it in Chinese).

China, not wanting to annoy Amazon says, “Fine, here’s your pesky refund.”

Amazon contacts me and says, “We have refunded your account, but do not return the cream.”  Instead, they forward the instructions from China to me for its disposal.

Keep in mind, this is a face cream, and there is a long list of things to avoid when disposing of this stuff.

Keep it out of direct sunlight.
Do not put it into a landfill.
Avoid open flames.
Keep dry.
Avoid wrapping it in aluminum foil.
Direct contact with the skin should be avoided.
(Are you kidding me people?  Its a face cream)
Make no loud noises when around it.
Safety equipment must be worn.

So you don't think I'm making this stuff up, I will scan their actual list and add it to this post.

zc

FedEx

 

    I wrote this while waiting for a FedEx delivery.  Their first estimate said I would receive the package by 1:20 PM.  I was very hopeful.

    At 1:15 PM they changed their delivery estimate to 3 PM.  I was beginning to have some concern.  This was not a holiday, it was not raining or snowing.  There was no traffic to speak of and all their website said was, out for delivery.

    As I sit typing this, I can see out of the front window.  I will see them coming down the road and hopefully see them turn into my driveway.  I hate waiting.

    At the time of this writing, the 1:20 PM as well as the 3 PM deadline has long past.  My refreshing beverage is now a memory, the little snack bowl on my desk is empty and the clock is still ticking.

    I checked their website again and it still said, out for delivery.  Nothing about how far away, or when a new delivery time would be set.  Just, out for delivery.

    Not my idea of customer service.  Don’t they realize how much stress would be relieved simply by keeping the customer informed?  How difficult would that be? 

    “Hey Customer, sorry, but we’re running late.  There was an accident on Main Street and our driver stopped to provide first aid.  There were smashed and twisted cars everywhere.  Fire had broken out and people were screaming, but your package is important to us, so as soon as we can get a replacement driver out to the crash site, and relocate all of the packages to a fresh vehicle, we’ll be on our way.  Your original driver, unfortunately suffered 3^rd degree burns and minor lacerations when he threw himself on your package in order to protect it."

 

Thank You

 

FedEx

 

Family Tree

 

"I thought he was related to Aunt Liz."

But it says here he's one of the Scooter
twins.

"Is that Nelson Scooter, or the New Hampshire
side of things?"

Who's Nelson Scooter?

"Let's not get sidetracked.
We're supposed to be looking for Waldo?"

 

Part of the Problem

 

    Charlie, a guy from our lawn service, said we need to water the granules he spread on the lawn in order to activate them.  "They will fertilize and reduce the weed population."

    We tried to explain to Charlie that the chemicals leach into the soil and eventually work their way down into the water table, and then into our drinking water.  Not good for the environment or us.

    Charlie then asked me to lift my arms so my hands are level with my shoulders.  When I did, he walked around me, visually inspecting me.  When he was once again in front he said, “Not a single weed.  The stuff works.”

    Well, I couldn’t argue with that logic.  The man was right.  I have been drinking this tap water for years now, and I’ve never had a single weed grow on me.

    Apparently my thinking has been the problem all along.

Odd but True

 

If a Cell Phone Rings in the Forest,

and there is no one there to answer it…

 

            Saturday morning we were on our way to West Bloomfield to shop at Hillers, a store that through great effort and determination on our part we eventually discovered sells Armenian bread.  I had been searching for this bread for some time only to keep getting lead to Arabic or Greek stores carrying a feeble facsimile. 

 

        Claudia was driving in order to avoid an incessant number of questions. “Which way now?  Do I turn here?  What do I do when we get to the light?”  Those of you who know me understand that I was born without a North arrow.  I have absolutely no sense of direction.  But that isn’t what I came to talk to you about today.  On our way down the road I noticed a vehicle I hadn’t seen before.  This being Detroit, I wasn’t surprised, but this vehicle caught my attention.  I even said to Claudia at the time, “Look at this, it’s a Bandwagon.”   Made by Chrysler, and truly a rushed-to-market vehicle, for it was touted as a Low-Carb Van.  The Bandwagon seemed to satisfy all of America’s needs.  There was room enough for the 2.3 children, the 73 cu. ft. of cargo space, and the flip-down, surround sound Panavision, Technicolor wide screen, with the dual cup-holder back seat.  But of course, it was the low carb that was key.

        It was somewhere in West Bloomfield, close to the border of Farmington Hills, we happened to notice yet another marvel.  (I feel at this point that I should mention, for those readers of these posts not living here in Michigan, that even though these communities call themselves, “The Hills,” Michigan hasn’t a single goose bump.  A person could, if fit enough, and lacking the propensity for hooks, hurl a bowling ball across the entire state without a problem. And, if not passing through Detroit, wouldn’t hit a single gutter).

        No, the marvel I wish to tell you about is the Redwood.  Yes, you heard me right.  There, in the midst of West Bloomfield, Michigan stands an extremely tall Redwood tree.

      We did a double take, and then another.  Which I guess would be a quadruple take.  We were flummoxed.  Here was a tree that towered way beyond the mighty Oak.  It reached far beyond the Elm or Ash.  In fact, this tree had no equal.  I believe it was this particular attribute that caused us to consider this to be a freak of nature.  Its trunk was smooth as concrete, and its branches as uniform and symmetrical as a twin in front of a mirror.

        OK, I can tell you are getting antsy. This is way too much to read, and you want me to cut to the chase.  Here it is.  We walked into Trader Joes, a Cool-Dude Market, specializing in quality foods and unique items.  Customer service is a priority with Trader Joe’s, and so every employee we encountered asked how we were doing?  Were we finding everything OK?  Were we happy?  Were we having a nice day, and had we seen the new Bandwagon by Chrysler? 

        Well, one employee who tossed one of these questions at us found himself being hit with a question in return.  “What the Hell is that thing outside?  Is it a tree?  Is it an apparition?   Just what were we looking at?

        The one person in the entire world we chose to ask was the father of the little girl who thought of the idea.  This guy’s kid had an idea that the cell phone company who needed to put up a tower in the community should be made to make it look like a tree. She wrote to the mayor, who then called her at home, and eventually the mayor got it done. And so that was what we were seeing.  It was a cell phone tower, made to look like a tree.  An incredibly large tree, but nonetheless, a tree. 

    No, I’m not giving you some pep talk about how the power of one can accomplish the impossible, I’m just letting you know that yes, we found the Armenian bread.

 

See?

 

I knew you’d be excited.

 

 

 

Who designed these birds anyway?

 

The Big Picture

 

     

    The trend today seems to require a bigger flat screen television than the one you already have.

    My issue isn’t with the size of the picture, but rather with the amount of commercials in it.  So I set out on a journey to find a commercial free television set.

    My first stop was at an appliance store in our hometown that has been there as long as I can remember, Home Town Appliance.  Ned Hamilton was the first salesman to approach me as I entered.

    I explained to Ned that I wanted a new TV, I didn’t care what size it was, but it mustn’t contain any advertising.  Ned’s first reaction was to laugh.  He apparently thought I was kidding.  I calmly explained to him that I was serious and to please check his inventory to see if he had one.

    Ned returned with Wally, the store manager.  Wally told me they didn’t have any control over television programming, commercials, or content of any kind.  All they had were standard television sets, just as they come from the factory.  I thanked them for their time and said I would try a different store.

    Baker’s Kitchen & Appliance was my next stop.  Susan was the saleslady and her reaction to my request was to reach out and pinch my arm, saying I was one funny guy.

    Again, I ended up speaking with the store manager, and again I heard the same excuses.  They didn’t have any control over what was being broadcast.  Susan then interrupted the manager to tell me that she attended community college in the evenings, and that her instructor would be a good person for me to talk to.  She seemed to think that he was well versed in the world of broadcasting and may have a solution to my problem.

    As it turned out, Professor Dannels liked to hear himself talk.  He went on and on about the free enterprise system, America’s marketplace and greed.  Greed being his primary focus.  “That sir, is the bigger picture.”

 

I’m just going to try a different store but thank you anyway.

Note:
It's been said that a ship without a rutter
will hit stuff.  Without adult supervision
free enterprise will eventually implode.
American goods and services will morph 
into that which China has already become.
Quality will be reduced to the lowest level,
while consumers will continue to accept less.

The best we can hope for is to not become cynical. 

😏

 

 

 

 

What a way to wake up

 

   My cell phone dinged

I reached over and turned it on,

I knew the bright light was going to be harsh.

It was a message from my friend.

He said he was going to start a chicken club.

Not full time,  just enough to make hens meet.

I need different friends.  😒

Steven C. Burroughs

 

Farewell Dear Friend

You will be Missed

Happy Hour will never be the same

Dust Bunnies

 

They don’t eat

they don’t poop

To capture them

one needs to stoop.

 

Under couches

beneath the bed

Move close up

stand on your head.

 

They haven’t ears

or twitchy nose

When they see you

it’s just your toes.

Greetings to everyone in

Hong Kong

First Responders

 

    I enjoy meeting new people.  There is always the possibility of them becoming new friends. 

    I don't, however, care to meet first responders.  That would suggest my day had gotten off to a rocky start.  Even now, I hear the disturbing wail of a firetruck siren and the whooping police sirens rushing across town to someone's Tuesday.  I expect they are not having a good start to their day.

    If the first responders are fireman, then it is very possible the pictures on your walls are hanging scorched and askew.  If they are police, it's altogether likely you'll spend the next few days in some dismal cell with no artwork at all.

    With them, it's all about the artwork.   Much like the post office, hanging pictures of various people on their walls, they rank them in popularity, from wanted to most wanted, and so on.  I guess I never really thought much about ranking the pictures on my walls.  I think if they were pictures of my kids, I'd rank them from liked to most liked.  Changing the order, depending on who is visiting me at the time. 

Stupidity reigns over Weather Channel

 

 

    Years of education, specialized training and still they are not smart enough to come in out of the rain.

    Yesterday we watched the people on the Weather channel standing in hurricane force winds, yelling into their microphones, warning viewers to stay indoors.

    One weather person had his camera person zoom in on a puddle along the curb, raindrops still falling as the view backs up showing the weather personality getting pelted by the rain.  This was a report that could have easily been done from behind a desk in the studio.   “Hey folks, it’s raining outside.”

 

    If they only knew how stupid they looked.

 

Frigidaire

 

    They put it right in the manual.  “The refrigerator will make noise.”

 

    We bought it new.  We had not yet read the manual and so were very surprised at the amount of noise coming from this thing.  I’m not talking about a little noise from the cooling fan in the back, or a slight hum from the motor.  We were hearing screams and moans.  There were sounds like it was about to lift off and head for the moon.

 

    It has been three years now and it still surprises us at the variety of disturbing sounds coming from this refrigerator.  Anyone over here visiting us thinks we have squirrels trapped inside of it.  Yet another handy sound is the icemaker.  It clunks quite loudly around the clock.  Fortunately, and for some unknown reason, we are able to sleep through the clunking.

 

    I expect it was much cheaper to simply add a sentence into the manual than to design and build a quiet system.

    I'm just saying...

One

 

The difference between a baker’s dozen and a podiatrist’s dozen is always going to be one.  Just as in any jury, there is always going to be one.  Some believe it is that one which makes the system work.  Others, of course, disagree.  But then, there’s always one.

 

It isn’t so much a math issue as it is an arbitrary collision of opinions.   Into the mix we find various levels of strength, power – if you will.  Some opinions are quite strong and delivered in a forceful manner, while others come across as weak, and consequently ineffectual.

 

By now, at least one of you will be wondering what any of this has to do with a baker’s dozen.  The answer to that is, of course, thirteen.  That’s one more than twelve.

 

It’s always one.

 

By the way, this is what happens when I feel like writing but haven’t any idea what to write about.  Well… apparently I had one idea.

Blanket of Sand

 

My first instinct would be to pick it up by the edge and shake it out.  Upon closer scrutiny the grains of sand are actually a mixture of general beach debris, small and large particles of seaweed, ocean creatures, bird droppings, feathers, fleas, dead plant and animal parts, as well as smells beyond description.

Sand temperatures range from burning the bottom of your feet to cool, freshly ocean-washed, tightly packed sand at the water’s edge.  It is alive with minute insects, flies and wild-looking creatures that walk sideways, or blow bubbles from just below.  Small stones, and sea shell bits and pieces stretch along it's length.

Dig a hole in it and it will quickly repair itself.  Construct a sandcastle and the wind and water will soon dismantle it.  The beach is a living part of the earth, with ever changing expressions, and emotions.  It is just as inviting as it is not to be trusted.

Take a nap on it and the tide will give you a harsh and startling wake-up call.  It is then, on your way home, you'll discover a portion of the beach has attached itself to you and your car, as well as that disturbing fragrance we spoke of earlier.

 

zc

Comfort Zone

 

Building a paragraph of well-constructed sentences is where I live.  It is fun, challenging and did I mention fun?

Becoming published requires a completely different set of skills.  It requires being a salesman, an administrator and evolving into someone who can toot their own horn.

I’m very content sitting at the far end of the bleachers, with my brown bag lunch, watching the game.  That’s my comfort zone.  Sure, there may be a small bottle of hooch in with my lunch, but that’s just my Southern Comfort.

 

Shhhhh !

 

I wish that when I entered grade school someone had asked me what was on my bucket list.

I’m sure that question would have led to an exhaustive conversation about life, growing up as a human being, and all the various choices that would be made along the way.

I believe that conversation would have better prepared me for life than eventually being forced to memorize the names of presidents, the dates of various wars or the correct spelling of whatever it was.

I had the misfortune of attending a public school system run by well intentioned morons.   It was indeed a rare occasion when an instructor stepped beyond the prescribed curriculum.

  Why was it, the book assigned for the class to read was almost always one written by the instructor?

Fortunately, my quest for knowledge extended far beyond the locker-lined walls of the institution.  I stumbled upon the public library.  An amazing collection of facts, opinions, truths, and all for the low, low price of free.

I strongly recommend to all grade-school teachers, they take their class on a field trip to the public library.

zc

 

They really are the longest

 

She said it was the tallest tree ever.  I, of course, said it certainly would seem like it if we were ants and had to walk its length.  She just gave me one of those looks and said I was being difficult.

Driving home later that day, I pointed to the car radio and asked her why all the bad songs seemed the longest.  She didn’t answer right away but then turned down the volume and asked me why I would ever think of us as ants.

My first thought was wow!  She’s spent a lot of time thinking about my ant comment. 

I tried to explain that I wasn’t thinking of us as ants, but of just how long the walk would be to get to the top of the tree, if we were ants.

She didn’t respond, so I added that the danger of being seen by some ant-eating bird would increase the higher up the tree we got.  She just looked at me and then turned the radio volume back up.

The bad song was still on.

Rechargeable

 

I have these batteries that, once they run out of juice, you just plug them into your house, and they fill back up again.

Not that I understand where batteries get their power to begin with, but just how much power must be stored inside the walls of your house to be able to refill any number of batteries at any time?

It boggles the mind.  Then again, that must be why sleeping indoors recharges our own energy.  I get up in the morning and I’m ready to spring into action.  No matter how worn out I get during the day, a good sleep inside these walls seems to do the trick.

There is a construction site two streets over.  I should wander over there and watch as the builders put up the walls of the house.  I’d like to see what they fill them with.

  The funny part - my walls have never run out of power.  My house is no bigger than anyone else’s, yet I’ve heard my neighbors complain of feeling run down.  It could be they have too much insulation in their walls and the power isn’t getting through it all.  

I have heard it said that insulation has an R rating.  That must stand for rundown.  And I have no proof of this, but I think they always put too much insulation in retirement and assisted living establishments.  Those people always appear to be rundown, tired and otherwise exhausted.

Think about it.

 

 

 

 

Hawk Airlines

 

    At dusk yesterday, while sitting at my desk, I noticed a small field mouse fly across a back-lit sky.

    It wasn't exactly flying but was being carried in the clutches of a hawk.  It didn't look comfortable so I'm guessing it was flying coach.

    Squished into it's seat with not so much as a peanut to munch on.  I could tell it wasn't enjoying the view.  Not being accustomed to that altitude  it's little eyes were closed and it's legs and tail were just drooping in the breeze.

    The sight of this reminded me of Simon & Garfunkel singing that they would rather be a hammer than a nail.  Or given the choice, they'd rather be a forest than a street.  

    What about the choices of the field mouse?  Was he to stand still, not move and hopefully go undetected, or to scurry beneath a bush and hope for the best?  Did he even know he needed to make a quick decision, or suffer the plight of an airline, with their cramped seating, confining seatbelts and turbulence?   Not to mention their sharp, greedy claws digging into the soft underbelly of your wallet. 

    And what's this deal with no peanuts?  Now what's that all about?  Just because some rat from Ashtray, Wisconsin has an allergy...  Hey, don't get me going.