Here's the Thing...

Many people never bother to look up.

Hide it in plain sight.

Use a Chicken - Go to Jail

            Last Tuesday the Supreme Court met to once again interpret the constitutional issue of our right to keep and bear arms.   No offense to Humanity but from what I’ve seen - we as a species shouldn’t be allowed to handle potato peelers and should never, under any circumstance, be allowed to conceal them.

            The evolution of our governing laws, in an attempt to keep up with the ever-changing needs of society is being forced and that forced change is the problem.  By that I mean technological advancements with respect to the information age, aerospace, and medical improvements should be and are stand-alone disciplines from human development.   With that in mind, developmental boundaries must be attached to issues of significance, such as gun control.

            Although the World around us is rapidly changing, we humans, with our petty jealousies, road rage, and our blatant lack of respect for our fellow man have not changed.   We surround ourselves with electronic gadgets, we sit and blink curiously at big screen televisions, while we cling relentlessly to our cell phones but the basic individual remains just that, a raw, very basic reproduction of what has always been - complete with standard frailties, insecurities and neuroses.

            Last Tuesday nine of our most learned and wise leaders met to discuss an issue that has been debated for the last 200 years.   This, in my opinion, is not a complex issue.  The chicken or the egg, now that is a complex issue for which a life-long debate is understandable.  But the right to keep and bear arms….  I’m thinking - not so much.

            We know at the onset that chickens come from eggs.  That statement, one would think, should end any and all confusion.  However, we also know the reverse to be true, that being – eggs come from chickens, - thus the conundrum.   As you can see, this is an issue that the Supreme Court could easily spend years debating.   

(Not to be confused with the Chicken Supreme, $3.48 at Taco Bell).

            These judges spend an eternity trying to interpret laws, written by someone else, from a different set of circumstances, in an all-together different time period.   Then they attempt to apply their interpretation justly to a current situation.  Perhaps a good example of this might be the following scenario, which was taken from an actual Supreme Court case.

~

            Late one night a farmer heard a strange noise out by the hen house.   He put on his farmer robe and slippers, grabbed a lantern and quietly walked out to see what was going on.

            Unaware of the approaching farmer, due to farmer slippers being very quiet and also because the farmer never bothered to light the lantern, the farmer’s Italian neighbor, Bess Scotti, was caught stealing chicken eggs. 

            Outraged at this, the farmer picked up a hen and threw it at Bess.   Although not very aerodynamic, the now airborne chicken struck the intended target.  The pointy chicken beak hit Bess in the temple, causing her to not only drop her apron full of stolen eggs but to also fall to the ground dead.

            As it came out in court, Bess Scotti had been adding Puerto Rican Rum to the chicken’s meal, believing it aided in egg production.  When the outraged farmer picked up the hen to throw it, he was unaware the chicken was loaded. 

            Although the murder weapon had been plucked and was bare of all feathers it was taken into custody and grilled, which was department policy at that time.

            This landmark case ended up in the Supreme Court, for although the farmer was at the scene and admitted to throwing the chicken, it was argued that because the chicken is considered a bird, once it had left the grip of the farmer’s hand it was free to exercise it’s own bird will as to direction of travel.

It was furthermore determined that any impaired chicken judgment as a result of the Rum was due entirely to Bess Scotti and not the farmer.  The only issue remaining for the courts was the farmer’s constitutional right to keep and bare chickens.

            Some many years after, a lawyer from Mule’s Breath, Montana, sited this case in defense of his client.  The judge on the case had to then interpret the laws as they are now, while applying the reasoning and judgment of this past case.

            I won’t go into detail for it was a grisly crime involving a potato peeler and several abandoned tots.   

 zc

Fetch Mode

It is a cumbersome situation, carrying these fragmented thoughts around for an entire lifetime.  You see only the discarded babblings tossed out every now and then, while I remain tasked with storage of everything else.   These posts are set out at the curb awaiting your pick-up service and unbeknownst to you, more gibberish immediately fills the void in my head where previous posts had been. 

          Although I refer to it as cumbersome, I suppose if nothing took the place of these babblings, eventually my head would be entirely empty, causing me of course to enter politics.  So I take it as a bit of good fortune that I’m continually contemplating the frayed edges of old conversations, the casual and distorted reflections noticed momentarily within brass doorknobs and that small trace of lint clinging to the tip of the cat’s whisker.  What has he gotten into now?

 Dare I suggest that some seemingly insignificant observation be carried along my stream of consciousness, until it washes up at your feet, sparking you to an enlightenment of grand proportions?  It could happen.

  Should you one-day find yourself contemplating a small wad of gum clinging to some freeway guardrail as you sit in rush hour traffic, allow yourself to imagine the chewer, their hurried life, their inappropriate behavior, or the environmental impact this discarded gum could ultimately have, and you will have glimpsed a modicum of my mental existence. 

          It does not stop there, however, for now that gum has been logged, filed and woven into a mental retrieval system like no other.  Years from now, perhaps in some remote, little village, I shall witness, what other’s might consider, a simple vehicle mishap.  As I motor past, I will wonder if the driver at fault, in his or her attempt to discard their chewing gum, inadvertently wandered into the on-coming lane, causing the approaching motor scooter to swerve, striking the pedestrian, whose spewing bag of avocados set the small, white poodle into fetch mode. 

          Trust me, things only get worse from there.

          The following winter's frigid temperatures caused the wad of gum to fall from the guardrail and roll into the path of a Goodyear 75/R14, doing 68 Km per hr. 

          Partially wedging itself between the treads, an almost imperceptible clicking noise was made with each tire revolution, sounding much like frozen gum striking pavement.   The easily distracted driver rolled down the window to better understand the origin of this annoyance.  Leaning out slightly and listening, the driver became unaware that their vehicle was drifting towards the guardrail.  

          The Good Samaritan following behind felt obliged to honk vigorously, warning of the impending collision.  Unfortunately, it was the vibrating echoes of the honking that brought an avalanche of snow down to completely cover the road, as well as both drivers.

          Reports of the rescue attempts appeared on television throughout the following couple days.   Lyle Zurbach, of Channel 6 News was giving one of his dramatic accounts of the cold and tired rescue workers, when the camera operator filming him happened to notice one of the rescuers in the background of the shot chewing gum.

          Suddenly conscious of being in the shot, the gum chewing rescue worker spit the gum into his mitten and flung it.  The camera operator, having spent all summer filming the local golf tournament, instinctively followed the flying gum as if it were a golf ball.

          Viewers at home were quite entertained watching the small bit of chewing gum fly through the air followed closely by a mitten, and hearing Lyle’s voice saying, “What are you doing?  What are you looking at?” 

         

         

 I'm sure you can see now - it only gets worse.

ZC

A Ships Trial

        

Meek jurors in cramped boxes

sweat, as slow moving fans

laden with dust quietly churned small rivulets

of stale air in no apparent direction.

Flamjibberant and with great crajillity

the Prosecutor took center stage.

Bavoomish accusations echoed off of

veneer covered walls.

Floorboards squeaked as the larger words

bounced off deaf ears and fell before the jurors.

There would be a ship's trial today

and the Judge sat in great form

before the masses.

The ever so slight rocking,

up and down, back and forth,

lifted and sunk the horizon

from porthole views.  But

this jury was not about to be

swayed.   Like the Prosecutor,

they held tight to their convictions.

The ship's bell chimed away the

long and crippled hours, as tedious

accounts wafted past dozing spectators

and squirming jurors.  

Swinging oil lamps

were lit as the trial sailed into the

night.

Then the buoyant defense attorney bobbed up.

His wingtip shoes glided him across

the deck.  His slick, city ways glistening

from the light of the oil lamps.   

It wasn't long until jurors and spectators alike

had forgotten about the heat, for this barrister

painted with brighter colors, using broad strokes.

His light-hearted banter toyed with grim accounts

as if they were pillows of air.

Even the motion of the ship was dismissed.

No longer were people coughing, squirming

or murmuring.  They seem to hang on his

every word.

He did not carry the frown and scornful

tone as did the Prosecutor.  He looked

deep into the jurors eyes and spoke

as if they had been life-long friends.

He was not from around here

they could tell.  Nor had he the Sea

Legs required for such a lengthy

trial.   

As eloquent a speaker as

was ever heard,  he had concluded

in a manner that had left

no other doors ajar.

Had it not been for his

exasperating, projectile punctuation

spewing fourth at the conclusion of his summation -

he may have won.

 ZC

Act II

          It isn’t a pantry, but it is lined with containers boasting of flavors and delights almost beyond description.   Topor’s Dill Pickles, perhaps the best deli pickle in the galaxy.  Esparrago -Asparagus Guacamole, Folgers - Hazelnut Decaf, Mezzetta - Imported Spanish Olives, and of course, Dei Fratelli - Spaghetti Sauce (Italian Style). 

          All of these containers now hold a variety of flavorless, non-editable items, such as nails, screws, assorted glues, and odd, leftover plumbing parts.  

These are the cans and jars that line my workbench shelves.  They have found a second calling, a life after life.  In a way, they seem just as useful now as they were before. 

          As I edge closer to retirement years I wonder what my second function may be.  Surely not to toil in some job until my own parts wear beyond repair.  

Maybe all along it’s been the second purpose that's the important one, that which we choose to do with our lives after we’ve filed all the papers, charted the oceans and tended to the animals.

          There in the calm of life, when we realize we no longer need to accumulate things, we are no longer nudged to action by the second hand, or fall victim to the lures produced by Park Avenue, perhaps then our true purpose rises to the surface.

          Of course the whole idea of Life not actually starting until ACT II may seem absurd.   Why such a long warm-up?

  And if this were so, is page two the same for everyone? 

Observations tell us no.  Everything seems to be very individual and personal, while simultaneously advancing the universal conscientious. 

It would be prudent to remember at this juncture, that all of this speculation stems from a vantage point neither greater nor lessor than that of Moe Howard’s.

          It's not a pantry, but it is filled with humans of all sorts, each one unique within the galaxy, and each boasting of attributes almost beyond description.   

Moving in all directions, they come in different sizes, different shapes, all operating at different speeds, each one carrying memories, visions, frustrations, hope, and a plethora of curiosities. 

          Some are filled with heart-wrenching secrets, while others hold only rumors, spilling them here and there as they move about.   All of them have knowledge and a smattering of wisdom.   Many of them are proud of their contents and frequently list them, as if they hold some higher importance.

          There are a few who have dents and torn labels, yet their contents remain in tact, while others have spoiled, causing them to become bitter. 

          Of course there is always the odd one.  You know, sits around writing about everyone else, making lame observations and analogies, simply passing time at the back of the shelf; Contents unknown.

This is Z. Corwin saying, 

"Don't let your Life become ajar."

         

         

           

           

         

An Endless Supply of Stupid

Sitting out here in the wind causes me to squint.   There is likelihood that some particle will find its way into my eye, so I squint.  This, of course, is not a foolproof method of prevention, but more a simple human response to a situation.

My on-line hobby is to find and/or develop foolproof solutions to problems.  Given the vast array of human responses or reactions to any situation, my assignment is always a difficult challenge.   Add to that, Murphy’s Law, and my task becomes close to impossible.

I’ll give you an example that’s still fresh in my mind.   The owner of a Lawn Service wrote to me asking how he could stop his employees from using their hands to clear out lumps of wet grass from beneath the mowers, while the mowers were still running.  He added that he has very few employees left who have all of their fingers.  On payday, some can’t even grasp their paycheck.

I suggested that during their morning meetings, as he issues out the day’s assignments, he ask the group, “Who remembers our #1 Rule?

Come-on, show of hands.”

-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -

One Department Manager wrote in complaining that many of her employees cut across the local dog run to get to the building.  They are constantly tracking dog poop across the carpet and the place smells terrible.  She went on to explain that she was in charge of the perfume and make-up department at Sears and smell is a big part of their selling technique.

I, of course, suggested her employees enter through the Shoe Department, and simply exchange their shoes with new ones as they pass through.

This way I get paid for solving her problem while at the same time get the Manager of the Shoe Department gets new Customers every morning.

On an unrelated matter…

          We had to attend a funeral on Friday, and unlike going to the movies, there wasn’t anyone reminding us to turn off our cell phones, nor was there any popcorn. Claudia and I sat just behind the first row.  There were maybe 60 people there and as there wasn’t any microphone system to aid those giving speeches, everyone was being extra quiet so those sitting in the back could hear.

          A little ways into the service the daughter of the deceased stood up and told us all how the spirit of her father had paid them a visit.  He had unlocked doors that were locked and as she spoke to all of us with true conviction and passion, I was praying that no one would call my cell phone. 

          Not only had I forgotten to turn it off, but also the volume was all the way up and ring tone it plays when it goes off is “ Start Me Up” by the Rolling Stones.

          Thankfully, my prayers were answered.  Unfortunately, however, someone sitting across the room got a call.  They had a standard cell phone ring tone and quickly shut it off.

          Not being all that familiar with funeral traditions, Claudia and I were surprised to see a lady sitting in the service, holding a handful of strings, attached to a bunch of colorful helium balloons.  We just assumed she had a party to attend later in the day and didn’t want the balloons to go flat out in her car.

          At the end of the service we discovered that the balloons were to be released by the attendees’ just outside, as a symbolic gesture of letting go, or maybe to accompany the spirit on it’s journey up between the power lines and tree branches.

          Bon Voyage Uncle Mike

          You will be missed.

(There was a beautiful photograph here

of different colored balloons floating off

towards Heaven.  Something happened and

it didn't copy to the blog.  You'll just have to

close your eyes and imagine it).

Have a Great Forever

And as always, write back when you can.

Zobostic Corwin

Goulash

A friend of mine said she found a cannibal cookbook in the back of a rare book store.

It surprised me that cannibals kept records of their recipes but she showed me the page on goulash and sure enough - it started with a box of elbows.