Harleys, Cars, Girls & Guitars

Hillary Dons a Head Scarf in Pakistan

This picture is so funny. It appeared in yesterday’s New York Times.

Secretary of State Hillary Clinton visited Pakistan on a diplomatic mission… and she donned a head scarf in deference to Muslim practice.

I’m not sure what it is that’s so funny about this picture. Clinton, the star of feminism, a woman who is celebrated for breaking down tradition in the west, kowtows to Muslim fundamentalists. Well, they stone heretics to death in the street in Pakistan.

In the U.S., there is no penalty for pissing on a picture of Jesus. In fact, that’s just a clever PR stunt. I don’t think there should be a penalty for this behavior, but it is pretty damned disgusting.  I’m willing to bet everything that I own that Larry David doesn’t have the courage to piss on a picture of Mohammed on Pakistani TV.

Which side do you think will win this war? The godless west or the Muslim world?

“Damn it feels good to be a victim”

Via Michelle Malkin, this is good:

This brother got it right!

Learning to Haggle in Chinatown

The Karaoke Queen and I drove into Chinatown on a recent rainy Saturday. She needed some exotic vegetables that can only be found in Chinatown, and hoped to find some super fresh fish. I was looking for a new baseball cap and some accessories for my iPhone.

We ate lunch at Great N.Y. Noodletown. Just as the name implies, noodles are the main attraction. Great restaurant, and super cheap. The waiter told us that Ed Koch and Rudy Guiliani had both eaten there within the past week. I had the BBQ pork and duck over rice with Chinese cabbage. Fantastic.

I bought a case and some transparent covers for my iPhone at one shop. Without even thinking, I paid the price the salesman offered.

“You’re supposed to haggle over everything in Chinatown,” the Queen scolded me.  “You never pay them what they ask.”

“I’m just a dumb American,” I replied. “What the hell do I know? I always pay the list price.”

The Queen agreed that I was hopelessly dumb and took over the haggling when I found a cap I wanted.

Since the Yankees are in the World Series, I’ve decided to play the front runner. So, I wanted to buy a Yankee cap. My teams are getting their ass kicked. The Cubs appear to be headed toward another century of despair. And the football Illini… God help us!

“Twenty dollar,” the salesman said when I tried on the cap.

“Will you take fifteen?” the Queen countered.

I already had my money out and I was ready to pay the asking price. Force of habit. One of the things that the Queen really enjoys when she goes home to Cebu is the haggling. The list price is just a starting point, even at the food market. Dumb American that I am, I just pay whatever is asked. Seems kind of impolite to argue over it.

The salesman refused the fifteen bucks. I kept my mouth shut as the final price was negotiated. Seventeen bucks.

God, the Illini are stinking up the place. 1-6 and going down! Illinois fans are furious, and pissed off websites are popping up to express their anger. Among the best: Fire Ron Zook, Give Zook the Hook, and Fire Ron Guenther.

The New Garage Arrives!

Just a couple of days ago, my new modular garage arrived. I had to cut down a tree along the road to my house so that the garage could be trucked in. Rented a gasoline powered chain saw from the local hardware store. Jesus Christ! What a wicked instrument of destruction! Scared the hell out of me.

The garage arrived on a flat bed trailer pulled by a pickup truck. My driveway faces a neighbor’s fence, which left the driver with little room to back in his trailer.

Luckily, the trailer was outfitted for just this contingency. A second set of axles lifted the rear wheels off the ground. The auxiliary axles allowed the driver to move the trailer sideways. I got to do my bit. I held up the overhead wires so that the peak of the garage wouldn’t tear them down.

Once we got past the overhead wires, it was a straight shot onto the foundation. Just back the damn thing up and over. Along the bottom of the garage, you can see the 8 X 8 pressure treated wood beams that will sit on the slab.

At this point, the driver got out of his truck and began to maneuver the trailer with a remote control.

A couple of hydraulic jacks lifted the garage off the trailer. The driver used the remote to position the building on the slab.

It’s almost in place. At this point, the driver began to push and pull the building until it was perfectly placed on the slab.

Flat on the slab. Once in place, the driver did a bit of finish work. He cut away support cross beams with a chain saw and installed some trim around the doorway.

Pull the trailer away, and we’re just about through. The entire process took several hours.

I took this picture a couple of days later. Note the blurry focus. My camera is dying! The auto focus no longer works. Damn. Solve one problem, and another emerges. That’s life.

Now that the garage is in place, I’ve got a mess of chores to do. Got to seal the concrete foundation, caulk the spot where the pressure treated wood beams meet the concrete, install electric and insulation and do some landscaping. It’s almost winter in the Catskills. So, installing my new asphalt driveway will have to wait until next spring.

The Cubs Are Not Going Bankrupt

When I wear my Cubs’ cap these days, somebody always stops me and says: “Aren’t the Cubs going bankrupt?”

The short answer is: No!

My Cubbies may be perpetual losers, but the franchise is a money machine. Like the Red Sox, the Cubs sell out almost all of their tickets before the season begins. The franchise rakes in megabucks from its deal with WGN-TV, a national superstation. Cubs paraphernalia brings in another pile of loot.

Don’t believe all those media stories you read about the Cubs’ supposed bankruptcy. Long ago, I worked for a big time corporate law firm, so I understand some (but not all) of the workings of corporate bankruptcy. Here’s the scoop:

The Tribune Company owns the Cubs. They are in the process of selling the Cubs to Thomas Ricketts, CEO of Incapital LLC, a Chicago investment bank, and a director of TD Ameritrade Holding Corporation, for about $850 million.

It is the Tribune that is awash in red ink. Newspapers are dying all across the country. Their ad revenues have tanked as the internet has triumphed. Some would say that the reflexive PC liberalism of newspapers has also been a part of their downfall. I don’t know about that.

The Tribune is selling the Cubs in a desperate attempt to stay afloat. That $850 million will buy them some time. Here’s where the bankruptcy comes in. The Tribune is dumping all of its debt into the sale of the Cubs. Dumping that debt will probably relieve the Tribune of another $500 million in liabilities.

Why would a successful investment banker plow $850 million into a franchise leaking red ink? Thomas Ricketts is no fool. Sports franchises are great investments for the super rich. Why? Because Congress has long granted them favored tax status, and because states and cities lavish public money and tax breaks on them. At this moment, the Cubs are lobbying the Illinois state legislature to pony up a sizeable percentage of the money for a complete rebuilding of Wrigley Field. Don’t be surprised if the politicians comply.

So, the Cubs may not know how to win a World Series, but they do how to make money. Don’t feel sorry for the Cubs. The franchise is minting money. And, no, the Cubs aren’t really going bankrupt.

Bodies… The Exhibition and Junior’s Restaurant

The Karaoke Queen, Peter and I took in the Bodies exhibit at South Street Seaport last Friday night.

The exhibit was incredible! This anatomical and dissection display really enhanced my understanding of the body. What an amazingly complex and beautiful machine it is.

I was especially impressed by the circulatory system exhibits. Dissection experts had teased every vein, artery and capillary out of one body, creating a sort of circulatory system on a hanger.

I don’t get to the city that often. We were blessed with a beautiful, cool fall night. The event was a delayed celebration of the Karaoke Queen’s birthday.

On the bus trip to the city, I managed to grab the wrong bag when I jumped off in Jersey. Damned thing looked exactly like my duffel bag. I called Trailways and they located the girl who’d taken my bag. So, at the end of our night out in Manhattan, we drove over to Brooklyn to swap the bags.

On the way, we passed by Junior’s, the iconic Brooklyn deli.

“That place is pure Brooklyn,” I said. “I’ve got to warn you, though... it’s calories be damned.”

“Why don’t we try it?” Peter and the Queen both suggested.

So we did. Decades ago, I lived in Ft. Greene Park, just down the street from Junior’s. I must have gained 20 pounds on their fried chicken, BBQ and cheesecake. Junior’s was one of the few things about Brooklyn that I enjoyed.

The joint was everything I remembered… garish, loud and tasty. If you loved broiled food, you’ll love this place. They broil a great hamburger (10 oz.!), steak and seafood. The Karaoke Queen could only put down half a burger. Peter slowly consumed a huge salad festooned with every kind of cold cut imaginable. I wolfed down the broiled salmon with a onion and bell pepper garnish.

The best part of Junior’s is the plate of free appetizers at the beginning of the meal… vinegary coleslaw, pickled beets and pickles. Unfortunately, they no longer serve the pickled cherry tomatoes and peppers… my favorites.

The Karaoke Queen and I finished off the meal with a piece of Junior’s strawberry cheesecake.  Fresh strawberries in a compote!  The Queen was so impressed that she bought a cheesecake to take home.

Back over the Manhattan Bridge to the city. As we drove by London Terrace on 23rd Street and 9th Avenue, I began to reminisce about the good old days when Myrna and I lived in the city. Thank God, Peter interrupted me before I could get started.

“These are the good old days,” he said.

He’s right. Great friends.  A night out on the town in Manhattan.  We had a great time.

Bagmen for Liz... Lee Marvin for President

I took this picture in front of the CVS in Woodstock. One of our local bagmen is throwing his support to Liz Simonson in the upcoming Town Board election. He’s packed up all his belongings in what appears to be a Radio Flyer wagon that he pulls around town all day.

Ms. Simonson is one of our ultra-radical leftists. She’s used her position on the Board to vote to impeach President Bush and to champion the “greening” of Woodstock, whatever in the hell that might be.

I’ll be voting against Simonson. Woodstock’s Town Board should be concerning itself solely with maintaining infrastructure and picking up the garbage. Simonson’s whack job nonsense should be restricted to BS sessions at Maria’s Bazar, one of the town’s favorite hangouts for the local commies.

And, yet another bit of tomfoolery from my trip into town… a bumper sticker that reads “Lee Marvin for President.”

Lee Marvin was a famous actor who’s been dead for some time. For those of you who don’t get the insider joke, Marvin once lived in Woodstock and worked for Heckeroth Plumbing.

Pouring the Concrete Slab for the Garage

Last week, the contractor built a frame for the foundation for my garage. He started with a gravel substrate, covered the entire mess with a plastic vapor barrier, then built a rebar grid on top. Finally, he enclosed the site in a wooden frame.

Yesterday, the concrete truck backed up and started the pour. The truck was mammoth. We had to prop up the electric, phone and cable lines so that the truck could sneak under.

Hoorah! The concrete hits the frame. Those two boards with a motor attached to the top will come into play later.

Pouring concrete is just like kids playing in the mud! As the truck poured in the concrete, the contractors waded in and started to spread the mud evenly around the frame. They used ordinary metal lawn rakes.

This strange machine that the contractor’s pulling causes the concrete to vibrate just enough to shake out the air bubbles.

Once all the concrete had been poured, the driver finally stepped out of the truck, began to disassemble the chute, wash it down and stow it back on the truck.

The driver was one big guy. He had a stoogie hanging out of his mouth throughout the pour. Note the tank behind the cab and the hose running over the front fender. The truck is equipped to carry its own water for cleanup.

And, there it is! The finished concrete foundation. Well, it has to cure for a week. Then, the modular garage will be dropped on top and bolted to the concrete.

Night Shift Nurses

Nurses have always been fetish objects. In the early days of nursing, all nurses were thought to be prostitutes. So, is it any wonder that there is a Japanese anime movie about naughty nurses? Check out the plot line.

I’m a night shift nurse! Are nurses sexy?

I would guess that the stereotype of nurses is a result of the reality that (1) nurses see plenty of people naked, and touch their genitals; (2) nurses stay up all night; and (3) nurses are primarily women.

There is something about the dropping of physical barriers in the hospital that releases sexual inhibitions. Nurses speak very bluntly about the basic physical processes. We must tell the next shift about our patients’ bowel movements. Bowel movements are something of an obsession in the nursing home.  We keep a “poop book” that details our resident’s droppings.  Must be filled out in detail at the end of every shift.

This tends to loosen tongues. I was sitting in the nurses’ lounge, which is right next to the nurses’ bathroom. One of the female nurses walked by me and pushed against my chair.

“You’re going to have to move a little bit, or I’ll have to leave the door open,” she said. “Do you want to listen to me tinkle?”

For your edification, here’s a “Clean Clip” from Night Shift Nurses, culled from YouTube:

Off topic… but, nursing has been great for my back. Arthritis has been creeping into my spine and lower back. Walking for 8 hours every shift has just about banished the arthritis pain. Movement is the key to defeating arthritis.

Filipino Friends

My good friend, Flida, sent me some pictures of the flooding in Manila. Here’s one of them.

And, one of my internet friends, Ray Townsend, sent me a picture from his days playing in the NBA with the San Francisco Warriors. Ray is the only Filipino-American to play in the NBA.

Ray played back in the day (1979-1981) before the advent of digital photography. So, photos of his career are not easy to find. Filipinos love basketball. Someday, a great player will emerge from the Philippines.