Never A Dull Moment

My visit to Bristol concluded, I'm now safely back home. I thought the Great Grocery Heist would be the highlight of my stay, but I was wrong. On Tuesday evening, we were lingering at the kitchen table, a not-uncommon thing for us to do, when we heard a loud crash coming FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE! We all jumped up and ran to the direction of the sound - the living room, but nothing looked out of place. That's when Roy (DaddyDearest) opened the front door and there it was - the glass in the storm door was shattered. There was an obvious entry wound, and although we couldn't find a bullet anywhere, we called the police to report the incident. Apparently we weren't the first to call. There had been five other houses hit with - get this - marbles, possibly shot from a paint-ball gun. Seriously, a drive-by shooting! We found the marble on Wednesday morning. After it went through the storm door, it hit the front door and bounced back into the yard. It's a shame that the culprits (more than likely, teenagers) may never be caught...that is, unless one of them talks. That's usually how it happens. Somebody in that car won't be able to contain himself. He'll have to tell somebody. Maybe he'll brag to his buddy. His buddy will tell his girlfriend. She'll tell her parents. Then the shit will hit the fan...like a marble hitting a storm door.

Oh No You Don't

I came up to Bristol Friday to visit with my Dad. I was joined by two of my sisters - J.C. and Priscilla. Suzanne's down with the "crud" and couldn't make it. We did manage to get out of the house for a few hours on Saturday to drive around and do a little sight-seeing. But yesterday it snowed and the wind chill was about 18 degrees, so we never got out of our pajamas. Not that that stopped Priscilla from making a run to the store for more provisions...in her pajama pants. She managed to make it out of Food City without seeing anybody she knew (always important when you go out in your p.j.'s) and with all of her groceries, something I didn't do on Saturday at the same location. I had gone through the check out, paid my tab, the little guy had bagged my stuff (two bags) when suddenly I remembered something I wanted to look at in the spice aisle. So I told him to hang on, I'd be right back. I was only gone a minute, but when I came back, my two bags of groceries were gone. Priscilla had been in the aisle next to me and had observed a guy who was behind me in line and when it was apparent my groceries had been absconded, she took off in hot pursuit. She found him in the parking lot, loading them into his trunk, along with his own groceries. She said, "I believe you've got something that doesn't belong to you." He didn't argue. He handed her one bag. She said, "What about the rest?" He just stood there as she reached into his trunk and grabbed the other bag that she knew was mine. By that time, I had followed her out of the store and I saw that she had my groceries in hand. Crisis averted, we went home happy. Poor guy. He was inches from a clean get-away with a priceless haul of stolen loot: a six-pack of Coors Light, a bag of cookies, a container of onion dip, a carton of half and half, and a pair of pantyhose.

Upholding The Negative Image

He started a television station in Buffalo, New York whose sole purpose was to portray Muslims in a more positive light. But then his wife filed for divorce and got an order of protection to keep him out of the home. That's when Muzzammil Hassan decided that the Muslim way was the only way. So last week while his wife was standing in his office, talking to her sister on the phone, he chopped her head off. I don't really see any way you could spin that other than fanatical. Savagely brutal? Grotesquely inhuman?
They had two small children.
If I were that woman's family, I'd find myself a really sharp axe and I'd hunt him down like a dog, and I'd take him to a remote location, where I'd commence to chopping. The first thing to go would be his iddy, biddy pecker. Then his fingers. One at a time. Only when I got tired of his screams, would I land the final blow. Between his eyes. Praise be to Allah.

A Snippet of History

The summer of 1857 was really a bad time for Benjamin Smith of Poor Valley, Va. He lost his wife Martha to Arisypelas (sic) at the end of July. She was 23. His 3 year old daughter, Mary, died 3 weeks later from Scarlet Fever. Then, his 10 month old daughter, Nancy, died just a week after that from the same thing.

Over at Clinch River, Mrs. James Addington found her 34 year old husband dangling at the end of a rope. His cause of death was listed as "hanging by the neck". His father, William Addington, died 3 months later of Meloncholy (sic).

According to the 1857 death notices of Scott County, Virginia, if you had any of the following "conditions" (i.e. illnesses) you were likely to find yourself in the throes of rigor mortis:

Scarlet Fever (the most prevalent disease, by far)
Typhoid Fever (most often spelled Tyfoid)
Dropsey of the Heart (precursor to heart attacks?)
Croup
Flux
Bloody Flux (As if regular Flux weren't bad enough)
Consumption (Consumed by what? Guilt?)
Pneumonia (They had no use for the silent P. They usually spelled it "Neumonia".)
Parelasis (Paralysis)
Suisidl (Suicide)
Ulcer of the Stomack (sic)
Arisypelas (Erysipelas)
Dispepsa (Dyspepsia)

Apparently, the informants couldn't always spell.

The most common cause of death was, by far, listed as "Unknown".
I have a feeling you could pretty much kill anybody you wanted to in 1857, and give the cause of death as "Unknown".

I was reading through these pages on the Internet because my mother's family was from Scott County. I thought I might get a glimpse of an ancestor or two. Not really sure if I did or not, but what I found was an interesting slice of Americana.

Remember "Roots"? We all wanted to believe that Kunte Kinte was Alex Haley's ancestor, but that was probably closer to fiction, than fact. When slaves died, they were listed by their first names, then identified as "Slave of" whatever family owned them. The informant was listed as Master or Mr. While it was customary to identify the parents of the deceased on death records, when slaves died, the spaces for parents were almost always left blank. That would make researching African-American ancestory difficult, if not impossible.

Smelly Dog

I've been complaining about how bad our dog (Fred) has been smelling lately and this morning it reached the highest level of skunkdom. I was leisurely enjoying my coffee and newspaper when my nostrils filled with Fred's foul odor, and that was all she wrote. I put him outside, and hoped that his stink wouldn't disrupt the equilibrium of the neighborhood. Everything was fine until Ron joined me in the kitchen. Even after I explained why I put the dog outside, the moment Fred scratched at the door, Ron got up to let him in. That's when I went on tilt.

Me: "Don't let him in! Didn't I just tell you that he stinks?"

Ron: "You have no compassion for that dog. He's fine. He just smells like a dog."

Me: "I just put him outside, I didn't kill him. I didn't want him to ruin my morning ambiance with his disgusting odor. And by the way, I think he may be in the first stages of dementia. He's been acting very weird. Maybe it's time to start looking for a nursing home."

Ron: "You're very funny."

Me: "Or, maybe we can wait a while and I can find a home that'll take you both. A package deal as it were."

Ron: "That'd be fine."

Me: "I'll come visit."

Ron: "Call first."

Me: "And just to show that I do have compassion, I'll be sure and check the DO NOT RESUSCITATE box for both of you."

Ron: "I feel the love."

Me: "I'm a frickin' saint."

Torture

Here's a scary phenomenon: Comcast has their Emergency Alert System crawls on the QVC station here locally, so when there's an emergency, it switches everybody to QVC and holds us hostage there while they run their stupid crawls across the screen! Thank you Comcast, you ignorant sonofabitches. Maybe we don't want to buy blenders during the tornado. Maybe we want to watch the local stations (WATE!) to see what's going on. Just another reason to hate Comcast.

...And Back From The Doctor

Like I said, my Eustachian tubes are clogged. I guess I just needed to hear it from an expert. My doctor did give me some "stronger" meds to, as mother used to say, "knock it out of me."



'Course, if I'm not careful, I could "take a back-set"...another priceless jewel. Mother was as full of old sayings as my head is of phlegm. And brother, that's a lot.

I Give Up

I'm going to the doctor this afternoon. Enough is enough. The Gunks have to move on.

Freeloaders

After spending the last two weeks inside the house, I've officially become a recluse. A severe cold will do that to you. It started when I got back from Tunica. I thought I was on the road to recovery, but I was wrong. I got worse. My head became populated with a new civilization of Gunks, the likes of which I have never seen before. First, one faction of the Gunks migrated south. They set up residency in my throat and chest, so that I couldn't breathe without coughing. Then, to my absolute despair, one Gunk family moved into the tubes in my left ear, and another into the tubes in my right ear; therefore, I couldn't hear for days. Finally, I got my left ear to "pop", an eviction notice, if you will, to those damn Gunks, and I could finally hear out of that ear. But nothing scares that other Gunk family. They apparently love their new digs, so my right ear remains clogged. God forbid I should go to the doctor. Not until I have resorted to every last home remedy possible. Last night, PhillyTwo and I tried to smoke 'em out with ear candles. Didn't work. Before that, Nancy advised me to flush them out with peroxide or alcohol. Neither has been successful. Those effin' Gunks haven't budged. No telling what they've done to the place. It'll probably never be the same.

Give Me That Gavel!

The friendly facades of the Knoxville City Council may just come crashing down in the next few weeks. The hand-holding and back-patting will give way to arm wrestling and back stabbing among the usually amiable members as all eight vie for the newly-opened position of vice-mayor. The News Sentinel called it "jockeying". I call it war. Everybody wants it, but no one is ready to admit the real reason why, which is that it will put them one step closer to looking very mayorish. They're all "running" for the position and each one thinks he/she is the best person for the job. I wonder how many votes it will take to get elected. Most will only get one vote, their own. Somebody may win by a landslide...of two votes.
I don't live in the city, so it makes no never-mind to me who gets to be vice-mayor. I do love a good cat fight, though. And this is surely working itself into one.

Speak Up

My Eustachian tubes are clogged as hell and therefore, I can't hear a damn thing right now. It all started with a cold and grew into sinus dysfunction and buckets of phlegm that have taken up residency in my ears. Now ain't that a fine how-do-ya-do? First it was one ear, then it was both. Now I'm nearly deaf, which is a bunch of fun, not only for me, but for anybody who has to try to communicate with me. "Huh? What'd you say?" The only saving grace is that I don't have a job. I can just sit here in my house, pop pills, and wait for relief. It would be sheer hell to have to deal with answering phones and talking to people in this condition. "I'm sorry, you'll have to speak louder. I can't hear a word you're saying."
My biggest disappointment is that I had to opt out of the regularly scheduled poker game that's slated for tonight. Call me silly (I wouldn't hear you if you did), but I want to be able to hear the table chat when I play poker. Otherwise it's like watching t.v. with the sound off. You can see what's happening, but it's not as entertaining.

Watching Casey

At the urging of PhillyTwo, I watched "The Assassination of Jesse James" last night on one of the movie channels. I agree with her that it's an excellent movie. First, the historical significance. Worth watching for that alone. Second, Brad Pitt. He's always worth watching, and not just for his looks. His Jesse James was authentic. Third, and by far the most important, was Casey Affleck. His performance was riveting. But there's a reason beyond his obvious acting ability that I've become a huge Casey Affleck fan lately. He looks so much like my nephew Donnie who passed away a couple of years ago, that it's scary. I feel like when I'm looking at him, I'm looking at Donnie; therefore, I can't get enough of him. Even his voice and his mannerisms are like Donnie's. I've seen Casey in all of the "Ocean" movies (Eleven, Twelve and Thirteen), in "Gone Baby Gone" and now, "The A. of Jesse James". I think he was excellent in all of them, but I'm obviously prejudiced. I'm a fan for life. I look at him and I see Donnie. And I swear, it helps.

Phone Home

My mission (should I choose to accept it): To reduce our AT&T land line bill by half - from $66 down to $33.

Nobody said it was going to be easy.

I was passed around like a local slut in a college frat house.

Me: Stop trying to sell me more services. I have cable and I have Internet. I'm not switching those to AT&T. I just want your basic telephone service. No bells. No whistles.

Creepy Man: Ma'am, I'm not trying to sell you anything. I just work in accounting. The only way I can possibly give you the "special price" is if you buy cable and Internet from us.

Me: You sure sound like a salesman to me. And either you give me the price I want or I quit you. I know how.

Creepy Man: Let me transfer you to another department...in the Arctic Tundra.

Me: Yes, do that.

Frozen Man: How can I help you?

Me: I want the basic package for $21. And what's this $7.50 charge for indoor wire protection?

Frozen Man: That's in case anything goes wrong and we have to do a service call. Without that, we'd charge you $85.

Me: Take that off. I'm a gambler. I live on the edge. And why am I paying for call waiting? It's says here it's free.

Frozen Man: Yes ma'am. I'll take those charges off.

Me: And take the long distance service charge off. That what we have cell phones for.

Frozen Man: Yes ma'am. So that's $21 for basic service, including free call waiting and caller i.d. and $6.50 for federal taxes, and then some random taxes thrown in because we can. That should take you to around $31.00.

Mission accomplished. New bill: Less than half.