Wide Load

•November 5, 2006 • Leave a Comment

Why do so many women with corpulent buttocks wear skin tight pants?

the death of common courtesy

•November 4, 2006 • Leave a Comment

Last week a dog showed up in our yard just as we were leaving for lunch. We find a dog-tag that leads to a phone number that leads to the owner. Owner contacted. She says she can’t come for the dog now. She says someone else will call “right back” to pick up the dog. We delay our lunch 20 minutes. When no one calls we cage our dog and put the stray in our fenced yard. The stray is big and does minor damage while there. We go to lunch and mid-meal the phone rings. A man says he wants to pick up the dog. We say we’ll be home in about 30 minutes. He says he needs to pick up dog right now and he’ll just go to our house and get it (we wouldn’t have agreed to this, but we’d given our address to the owner lady). We arrive home to find the garage door open (we’d closed it to keep dog out). I called to ask if there had been some problem and ask why the garage was left open. The man said he didn’t know, he’d sent a subordinate to get dog, but he’d contact his subordinate immediately and let me know what happened. No one ever called.

There was no “Thank you for looking out for us, we appreciate your concern and thoughtfulness,” or “Thanks for not calling the pound which would have cost us a hundred bucks plus and a 80 mile roundtrip to get the dog,” or “Did she create any problems for you?” No call, nothing, nada. It makes me want to call the pound next time, but that will be harmful to the dog.

If they’d give her to someone else maybe she’d be better off than with careless, inconsiderate owners but, in our area, if the owner doesn’t pick her up in 3 days it’s ‘dead dog.’ They can get most small dogs adopted, but not so for large dogs.

this is where i bitch, comment on the state of society, and talk about human behaviors i don’t understand or that confuse me

•November 3, 2006 • 3 Comments

The power of accurate observation is called cynicism by
those who don’t have it. — George Bernard Shaw

 

I’m a 70 year old grouch.
Acquaintances call me a cynic. Friends call me a realist.

Curmudgeon is simply a euphemism for a grouch. My thesaurus says a curmudgeon is a crosspatch, grouser, sorehead, bellyacher or churl. Choose any one you like, they’re probably all appropriate. People refer endearingly to old grouches like me as curmudgeons, probably because they’re too polite too call a spade a spade.

I suffer fools poorly and rudeness less. I’ve been watching the world for all these years and my opinion of the human race has declined steadily. In my youth I believed in the innate goodness of people and thought democratic rule would steer a good course. I no longer believe either of these things.

My favorite twentieth century chroniclist — the exceptionally perceptive H. L. Mencken.
My favorite twentieth century novel — Catch 22.

— I made this “About” description the first post —
expect the first real post tomorrow