Happy New Year 2026!

 

May all my visitors here have a safe, happy, healthy, wealthy, and, most importantly, holy 2026. 

I have a good vibe concerning this upcoming year!

The 2025 Best-Ofs!

 

Shhhh … hear that? … listen … it’s getting louder … Yes! … I can hear it now! The noise, the cheering, here it comes … louder … Louder … LOUDER … LOUDER!!! It’s here! It’s here! Tens and tens and tens of people worldwide – all right, ten people worldwide … Cheering! Roaring!! Celebrating!!! It’s here! It’s here!!

 

IT’S HERE!!!

 

THE 2025 HOPPER BEST-OFS!

 

Yes, my annual tradition of the best and worst of all the literature, movies, TV, phases, and experiences Hopper has undergone in the past twelve months. All for your edification. Books and films to experience and enjoy – and those to avoid at all costs.

 

Now, without further ado, here they are –

 

 

Best Book:

   Nonfiction – My Effin’ Life (2023) by Geddy Lee

   Fiction / Re-reads – Moby Dick (1851) by Herman Melville, Conquerors from the Darkness (1965) by Robert Silverberg, Space Skimmer (1972) by David Gerrold

   Fiction / First-time – The Spy Who Came in From the Cold (1963) by John Le Carré

   Notable Mention – The Seventh Scroll (1995) by Wilbur Smith. [This was an insane read and deserves its own blog post … perhaps in early January … trust me on this.]

 

 

Worst Book:

    Iceberg (1975) by Clive Cussler (all the embarrassments of 1970s culture)

   Stephen King’s It (1986) reread was slightly disappointing

 

 

Bucket Lists:

   As mentioned above, I read through Moby Dick for the third time – I dunno, it just gets better and better every time I read it. Also put away Dumas’ The Three Musketeers, Le Carré’s The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, and The Confessions of St. Augustine.

 

 

Best Film:

   Horror/Science Fiction/Action – Frankenstein (2025) directed by Guillermo del Toro. What cinematography! What props! Plus an intelligent, human ending to tug at heartstrings.

   Comedy (alleged) – Friendship (2024). Truly and delightfully bizarre … but don’t watch with the wife.

   So many runner-ups – A Man Called Ove (2015 – the Swedish version, not the Tom Hanks remake), Good Boy (2025 horror flick with a dog as the main character), The Dark Divide (2020, midlife crisis meets bigfoot), Nobody (2021, old man John Wick), Being There (1979), Abigail (2024), House (1977 campy Japanese horror flick seen with Patch)

 

 

Most Disappointing Film:

    Dream Scenario (2023, where everyone on the planet dreams of a bald, frumpy Nicolas Cage)

   The Woman in the Yard (2025, where you watch a premise get wasted after a promising 20 minutes)

 

 

Best TV:

   Again, not a big TV year for me. I did enjoy the first season of Ash vs. the Evil Dead.

 

 

Worst TV:  

   The Lazarus Project – everything I hate in modern writing, and I mean everything. Identity politics, wokeism, vulgarity. Wife made me sit through first episode; you couldn’t pay me enough to sit through another one.

 

Personal Accomplishments:

   Losing 18 pounds the first five months of the year (but, unfortunately, gaining 10 pounds back at the time of writing).

   Shaking the dust off my electric guitar and shaving the rust off my fingers with something like 30 hours of serious practice.

   Assembling my daughter’s college bunkbed with her roommate’s dad, plus assembling two bookcases and an ergonomic chair on my own.

   Six trips to the confessional.

   Grew my record collection by 19 to 63 total.

   Met not one but two Little One boyfriends (and behaved myself the whole time).

 

 

Phases:

   Sugar-Free January 1st to May 20th

   UFO literature revisited (read 8 books in November and December)

   The Lindbergh baby kidnapping case – deep dive for one week middle of October

   Return to SF pulp paperbacks (read 9, gave up on the 10th – Asimov’s Foundation)

   Diary of St Faustina six-month reading journey

   Hell House LLC quadrilogy watched with Patch for Movie Nights in September and October

 

Favorite Phase:

   No, don’t make me choose!

 

 

Best Podcast / YouTube channel:

   Andrew Wilson debates. Discovered him in August and probably have watched twenty hours of him debating feminists, communists, transvestites, islamists, you name it, mostly in 1v1 debates but also Andrew versus a whole panel of opposition. He’s a little crude and rough around the edges, doesn’t bar any holds, and may be an acquired taste, but it’s a fun way to get the adrenaline flowing when your job involves generating reports and spreadsheets and more reports and more spreadsheets.

 

Song of the Year:

   Most anything from The Essential Frank Sinatra with the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra. I find it relaxing on the nerves, especially after all them YouTube debates.

 

Workout Tally:

   37 weightlifting sessions

   68 miles walked

   Not nearly as well, physical-health-wise, as 2024, where I lifted 46 times and walked 20 miles more. I am a few pounds heavier, but what’s more concerning is a worsening lack of flexibility. For 2026 I would love to get in 100 workouts next year – with deep stretching before and after – plus around 150 miles walked. I recognize that this is highly optimistic.

 

Reading Tally:

   43 books / 18 fiction, 25 non-fiction (if you count 5 UFO books as “non-fiction”)

   Re-read the four Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles, Genesis, and Revelation

   Abandoned 8 books anywhere from 30 pages to 431 pages in

   Re-read 8 books, not counting the Bible books above, mostly science fiction from my youth

 

Proudest Moments:

   Seeing Little One posing in her first class teacher picture after six months of student teaching. Also watching her grow independent with her own car, an off-campus apartment (with her two bffs), and a serious relationship.

 

   Patch with her first retail job managing a woman’s clothing boutique, getting her permit and taking her out driving a dozen times on the way to getting that driver’s license, and being accepted into all four colleges she applied to.

 

2025 was a decent year. Had better, had worse. I enjoyed most of it, albeit with a hint of sadness as the little ones are now young adults and are starting to forge their way through life, more and more independent of their parents. Next year Patch will be leaving us for college for extended periods of time (she’ll be way out of state) and that will bring new challenges. And there may be a new pet in the near future. We’ll see.

Used Book Archaeology

 

So I am finally getting to Asimov’s classic 1951 Foundation paperback that I picked up a few weeks ago. Throughout my early childhood I read at least seven of his works.* He was easily my main introduction to science fiction. Didn’t get to Foundation until sometime in the late 80s, and got about a quarter of the way through it before more pressing concerns took my attention (my band, night school, girlfriend, alcohol, etc.). I tried it again during the Wu Flu but only made it a few chapters. Not sure why; but again, more pressing concerns were on my mind at that time.

 

Anyway, I opened the book and this fell out:

 

A receipt from November 15, 1975! Half a century old!

 

It appears to have originated from a place called the Sierra Book Shop in South Lake Tahoe, California. I googled for a few minutes and the place (or a place with the exact same name) could still be in business. I also found that someone who possibly owned it retired in 1980 (maybe sold the business?) so perhaps it since exists under new management. My purpose of the all this was to find a picture of the place to post here, but couldn’t find anything definitive online.

 

The forever mysterious customer bought four books – one for $7.00 and three for $1.25. The Foundation novel has a price on the front cover of $1.25 – which converts to $7.55 in 2025 dollars. Sounds about right. I also see that the tax on the $10.75 purchase was $0.65, or six percent. Now google tells me the sales tax in Lake Tahoe is 8.75 percent, a 46 percent increase over 50 years. Honestly, I thought it’d be more.

 

I truly wonder what the other three books bought were, especially that $7.00 one. That bad boy would sell for $42 today.

 

* Those seven Asimov paperbacks were: The Bicentennial Man, Nine Tomorrows, The Gods Themselves, Pebble in the Sky, The Caves of Steel, I Robot, and the novelization of the movie Fantastic Voyage. I read them all several times between 10 and 12 and loved every minute of it.

Happy Halloween!

 

The Worst Feeling in the World

 

Is when you excitedly crack open a book newly purchased …

 

… and discover that the prior owner has graffiti’d it all up with either a highlighter, a heavy-handed black pen, or both. It’s even worse if the highlit chunks are pink.

 

I’ve been an avid reader all my life, and I’ve probably bought somewhere in the neighborhood of four hundred books over the past 25 years. The vast majority have been used books, since I only buy new for the best and the keepers. When I consider a used book I do give it a thorough examination, checking the spine, the brittleness or lack thereof of the pages, the smell (can’t have a moldy book, mind you), dog-earedness and, most importantly, if it’s been marked up.

 

Three times I’ve failed this most important of tests.

 

The first was a thick but flexible introductory book on the Revolutionary War. I found it at a library book sale and scooped it up for a few bucks. It felt good in my hands. This was in the first phase of my military history interest, sometime around 2012 or 2013. I anticipated learning about the main players, the battles, the tactics and the strategies that enabled the United States to secure its independence from Great Britain. It sat on a shelf for a little while as I finished up my current reads and then I cracked it open … to that pink highlighter! Some high school or college kid marked up the early chapters which somehow didn’t reveal itself to me in my initial scan. I was crushed. I simply could not read it. I think I donated it to Goodwill.

 

The second was purchased at a thrift store on Hilton Head where my mother-in-law volunteered. This place has an enormous selection of books of all sizes, shapes, genres and age levels – several aisles’ worth. The family always scored there when we’d visit. I found a thick paperback biography of Albert Einstein, which instantly leapt off the shelf and into my hands. Excited, I paid the few dollars and, opening it to page one on the ride home, discovered some dude both yellow highlighted and black pen underlined most of the opening chapters (about 70 pages) covering Einstein’s youth and his scientific thought. I was crushed and again could not read it. However, it sits to this day in my closet atop my dresser. Not sure why, but I haven’t given up on it. Though I probably won’t read it.

 

The last was a book I ordered online. Don’t remember the title, but it was a one-volume history of the Catholic Church that was fairly well received. I ordered it from a local used book store (most likely right here in Dallas) and only because the condition was marked as GOOD on the website. Well, I supposed “good” is now a loosely subjective term. When it arrived in the mail I hurriedly opened it, only to observe that some prior reader had underlined sentences and whole paragraphs throughout the entire book in pencil. An irrational thought popped into my head: I could just erase it! Sure, it wouldn’t leave any indentations and wouldn’t take any longer than six or seven hours – but I’d still have a potentially awesome read ahead of me – then I slapped myself hard and yelled “STOP IT!” The book is a lost cause, man, put it down. And slowly I did.

 

So on that last book I was sorta deceived, and don’t count it against me.

 

It’s not the money – I think I’m out maybe $20 thanks to these three charlatans. It’s the smothering blanket of disappointment that envelops you, tamping down joy and hope and the promise of adventure and discovery.

 Sample page from my Einstein paperback biography, taken in my closet where the book resides for some reason. How can one deface a work of art such as this?

So … don’t mark up a book, unless you intend to keep it forever.

 

This public service message provided by Hopper, Lifelong Reader.

 

Fishing

 

Okay, here’s something a little unexpected and unusual.

 

I’ve never been an outdoorsman. Had I lived in medieval times I’d probably have been a cleric enclosed in a monastery or a hermit in a Carthusian cell. Or I’d be an apprentice to a merchant, stocking shelves by day and reading scrolls by candlelight at night in my tiny attic room. What I would not have been would be: farmer or a hunter. I have no natural affinity for the Great Outdoors, for Mother Nature, roaming the great plains or the tundra or lush forests or sailing the deep seas. I am not an outdoorsman. Don’t have the genes.

 

Like home repair and auto mechanics, that gene has passed me by. In fact, whatever genetic propensity I might have had for that particular love skipped me and was passed on to my younger brother, who has it in spades. I mean, he’s currently an automotive technician, and as a teen was an amateur taxidermist and considered a career as a forest ranger.

 

It was not for lack of trying – on my father’s part. Yes, I did have a shotgun license, thanks to my dad. But I enjoyed the clay pigeons about as much as I hated tromping through the bushes hunting rabbits, pheasants, and grouse. And fishing – forget that! I would much rather read the Merriam-Webster dictionary than cast a line off a bridge waiting for a bite. (That is not an exaggeration – I once purchased a 25-pound M-W at a book fair and I was enraptured.) True story: I read chapters 4 through 8 of The Fellowship of the Ring in a rowboat in the middle of the lake while my father and brother fished for sunnies.

 

All right, now we come to the unexpected and unusual part: I’ve been binge watching fish and wildlife law enforcement videos. 

Now … hear me out.

 

It’s more law enforcement than fish and wildlife. Basically, Fish and Wildlife Commission (FWC) officers pull aside boaters and bust them for all sorts of violations. From poaching to catching over the limit to not carrying registrations and licenses or having the requisite number and type of safety jackets, fire extinguishers and even horns. Mix in the occasional boating while intoxicated or smoking by a fuel pump at a dock, and you have a recipe for some quite interesting videos.

 

Most of the perps are contrite and, well, a little embarrassed and taken aback at the seriousness of which the FWC regards these infractions. After all, who thinks taking an extra four or five fish helps deplete the coastal population? But some go crazy, some get irate, and once in a while one gets arrested.

 

Yes, it’s a current fad because I’m bored with everything else on YouTube and am sick of the death and destruction filtered into my head from the news media. But my accounting job requires the analysis of spreadsheet after spreadsheet, and most of us at work listen to some form of music or videos on headphones to make the clock hands move quicker. This week for me it’s FWC enforcement videos. Next week, who knows?

 

But, rest assured, you won’t find me perusing fishing rods and reels at the sporting goods store. The closest I’ll come to a fish is my next reading of Moby Dick or Jaws.

 

Note: As a non-outdoorsman and non-fisherman, I am not responsible for the accuracy of any outdoors- or fishing-relating content in this post. Thanks!

 

Columbus Day

 

All kidding aside, I’ve had a biography of Christopher Columbus stored along with two or three dozen other books of miscellaneous genres in a plastic bin in my garage, and one day, I vow, I will get to it. It’s old school – and I mean purely old school –written quite the while back, the 1930s I want to say, meaning it should be fairly free of the post-modern contagion that rots so much of the historical nonfiction put out today. I bought it at a library book sale a decade ago, and I can feel it in my hands right now: strong and sturdy like your grandparents’ living room tv set, five or six hundred pages of hefty thickness, shielded by a hardcover that could stop a .38. One day I’ll get to it. When I need a break from all the religion, science, military history, classic lit, and pulpy sci fi that seems to be my daily bread.

 

One day.

 

Maybe Columbus Day 2026.

The 2024 Best-Ofs!

 

Every year I promise little to no fanfare for the annual Best-Ofs, and this year I am going to honor my word. (Actually, I’m under the gun timewise with work, so I’m rushing the writing of this during my lunch break.)

 

Okay, you know the drill. The best and worst of my experiences this year (but mostly reading and watching stuff). Without further ado, here they are!

 

Best book: The Sum of All Fears (1991) by Tom Clancy

   My favorite book of my mid-90s Clancy phase turns out to be my favorite book of my 2024 re-read return to the Jack Ryan universe. It’s all there – terrorists, a-bombs, political intrigue, the CIA, the Navy, and all those acronyms. I recommend it highly if you’re into this sort of book or want to dip your toes into such water.

 

Worst book:

   Nonfiction (allegedly) – The Man Who Killed Kennedy (2013) by Roger Stone

   Garbage. Yeah, I’m about 95 percent Lone Gunman, but this is a book full of unsubstantiated rumors and wild leaps of faith. I’m not particularly a fan of LBJ, but this book reeked of cheap shots and I had trouble finishing it.

   Fiction – Satan’s World (1969) by Poul Anderson

   This is not the Poul Anderson I remembered fondly from my youth. Picked it up and read it on a whim, but it was a struggle to get through. Maybe it was me, but I don’t think so. Very sixties-ish but also very forgettable. In fact, I’ve forgot the plot and remember only the name of the main character.

 

Bucket Lists:

   I managed to power through The Republic and two out of six books of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire

 

Best Film:

   (tie) My Dinner with Andre (1981) and Parasite (2019)

   Andre is a wonderful anti-movie: the viewer is basically a third wheel at a dinner between two intellectuals whose conversation ranges all over the philosophical landscape. A dream for introverts like myself who yearn for such conversation in real life.

   Parasite is a Korean-language film detailing how a poor, down-on-its-luck family cons their way into a wealthy CEOs life. It’s clever and comedic with dark undertones that come out in the final scenes. Shouldn’t have won a Best Picture Oscar, but worth a watch and I was truly surprised when I checked it out on a whim over the summer.

 

Worst Film:

   I Saw the TV Glow (2024) – barf

   Runners-up: Kill the Irishman (2011) and The Talented Mr Ripley (1999) – also barf

 

Best TV:

   Netflix’s Arnold 3-part biography was pretty decent (the shame of that whole “screw your freedom” thing during the Wu Flu notwithstanding). Also, Wyatt Earp and the Cowboy War, about the gunfight at the OK corral and also on Netflix, was promising, though the Mrs. and me have so far only watched the first episode.

 

Worst TV:  

   Any New York football game

 

Personal Accomplishments:

   Kept two 2024 New Years resolutions! A new spiritual devotion (plus a second one begun in October, both to be kept private for now) and Soda Free for 365 days!

   Also painting my backyard fence over the summer.  (Next year’s goal – disposing of the empty buckets of stain and paintbrushes… 😊)

 

Phases:  

   Tom Clancy

   Kurt Vonnegut

   Dean R Koontz

   The growing LP collection (now up to 44 albums)

   Bernie Madoff deep dive (February)

   Mozart deep dive (May)

   The Kennedy Administration (October and November)

 

Best phase:

   Re-reads! Nostalgic and surprising. Really enjoyed those Clancy and Koontz books. Worth some research into my young adulthood to see what other authors to tackle next, maybe this summer.

 

Proudest moment:

   Little One’s European adventure in the spring and her student teaching in the fall.

   Patch’s successfully negotiating the complexity of becoming Confirmed as a Catholic.

 

Best Podcast:

   The Rest is History; great for long walks.

 

Best Youtube channel:

   Any of a number of true crime channels (Dreading, Dr Todd Grande, The Lawyer You Know, Bruce Rivers, Christina Randall, etc.), though for my overall mental sanity I need to cut back on the true crime in 2025 …

 

Song of the Year:

   Actually, album of the Year: Catalina Breeze by the Blue Jean Committee. Go ahead, check it out on Apple music or YouTube. The album has seven songs and is ten minutes long. It’s a win-win for all!

 

Workout tally:

   46 weight workouts

   89.5 miles walked

   They don’t average to much divided over the course of a year, but I tend to work out in clumps … one month gung-ho, six weeks sedentary, six weeks Schwarzeneggarian, three weeks couch potato, wash rinse repeat. A 2025 goal would be to work-out more consistently.

 

Reading tally:

   39 books read cover-to-cover (21 fiction, 18 nonfiction). A low number historically, due to eight massive Clancy hardcovers and the thousand-page A Thousand Days review of the JFK administration.

   12 of the 21 fiction books were re-reads dating back to 1989.

   Read 2/3 of the Old Testament in the Douay-Rheims translation (up to Isaiah).

   Abandoned seven books (three fiction, four nonfiction) anywhere from 49 to 587 pages in. Life’s too short …

 

All in all, overall, a fine year. Not the best, not the worst. It had the feel of a “harbinger” year for me. I find my tastes in literature, viewing, and listening are changing, pointing towards something or things more challenging. A “harbinger” of better – or just different – things to come. We’ll see …

A Nightmare

 

Had a creepy nightmare last night. May I tell you? Okay!

 

My wife and I were on the boardwalk one evening and found ourselves in front of an old-timey movie house. We entered and discovered that a participatory play type of thing was scheduled – except, we learned, a play more like the Squid Game than any dinner theater. There was a huge group vying to get in, something like a hundred people, so the rewards definitely seemed worth it. We agreed to sign up and were ushered in.

 

The premise was simple and B-movie-ish: You had to keep your eyes closed no matter what. If you opened them, there very well could be the chance you’d be staring eye-to-eye with a demonic being. A black shadowy entity with glowing red eyes. And once you glanced into those eyes, even for a split second, you could not look away – and something very, very bad would happen, something involving a lot of gore.

 

The next building we entered turned out not to be that old-timey movie theater but a Catholic church. People were shuffling in but urgently taking up positions. The ideal position seemed to be as far up from the floor as possible, hence men and women of all ages standing on pews, on tables at the end of each pew, and in stained-glass window frames. My first instinct was to go up on the altar, but I was hesitant, but soon discovered others weren’t. So I raced up to the altar, the sanctuary as its called (giving my nightmare much spiritual and religious significance), passed the empty priest’s chair, and stood on a table (not the tabernacle) at the rear of the sanctuary, and forcibly closed my eyes as the “game” started.

 

We all began to hear surprised shrieks and short screams vaguely in the distance, but definitely approaching. Then it was quiet for a long time, and then I felt a dark presence come over me. Blanket me. Dark, oppressive, menacing, evil, touching but not-quite-touching me, moving over my head, from one ear to the other. Whispering to me with its rancid breath, daring me to be curious, open my eyes and take a look. Even to open them just to look down on the floor. Though severely frightened, I did not yield to the voice and kept my eyes forcibly shut, though my head was definitely aimed downward. After what seemed an eternity, the presence moved on.

 

Then a whistle blew and we were told we had a break. Our eyes could be opened safely and we could move around. I did so, and noticed people were talking about everything but what we’d just been through. Weirdly, I began practicing a golfing exercise I hadn’t done since my 20s, which I learned in the only golf lesson I took. This impressed a few people nearby for some reason, and I felt a large degree of hubris. I’m sure this has a deeper symbolic meaning, but it escapes me now as I struggle to get this all down before the dream fades.

 

An unexpected signal alerted us that the “game” would begin again. I dashed back to the altar and saw my prior spot was taken, so I had to rush to find a new one – this off to the right of the sanctuary. I sat on a table, and in grim expectation of being visited again, I noticed something unpleasant in my mouth. I fished around with a finger and realized that there was some debris of some sort between my cheeks and gums. I withdrew my finger and it was covered in what looked like chopped up tomato parts, but was warm and sickening to the touch. I wiped it on the side of the table, and pulled more and more of it out of my mouth.

 

Quickly the scene morphed into a third trial of the “game.” The break was uneventful and my dream did not linger on it. Instead, I sat in the open priest’s chair, directly behind the altar. That dark evil entity again descended upon me, but was much weaker this time. In fact, I was not scared at all, and it quickly passed by.

 

Then, I awoke. The house felt cold and it seemed pitch black outside, so it must’ve been four or five in the morning. Was it 3:15, the bane of my overnights? I don’t think so, but I can’t confirm, because I would not open my eyes. Turning over, I went back to sleep, and my cell phone alarm went off in what seemed a few short minutes later. Light crept in through the blinds. I threw the covers off, put on my socks, and got up to clock in to do some remote work, and get this down on paper before I forget.

 

Some Thoughts on the UHC Crime

 

1) Yes, we do live in a multi-tiered society as far as the justice system is concerned. Were I or one of my family members gunned down in NYC in a similar style, it is doubtful the entire local, state, and federal law enforcement industrial complex would move heaven and earth to apprehend the perpetrator.

 

2) I am appalled at the love the perp is receiving. As of last night a casual stroll of X (Twitter) showed about a 50/50 split between praise for the murder / murderer, and conspiracy theorizing (more on that below). No matter who the victim is or what the victim does, murder is always wrong and never justified. There are several conditions to this, however. Self-defense being the first that springs to mind. But our (admittedly multi-tiered) legal system is based on trial by jury, and no one has the right to be judge, jury, and executioner.

 

3) We live in a dumbed down world that is getting dumber by the minute. I say this in reference to the knee-jerk “everything is a conspiracy” mindset that washes over just about every major event that happens nowadays. As one who recognizes that conspiracies have existed in the past and can theoretically still occur, and groups can and did hide in the shadows, not everything that happens is part of someone’s Grand Scheme. The fact that the percentage of seemingly intelligent people believe the moon landing to be a hoax has been growing every year convinces me of this unchecked plague of dumbth.

 

4a) All the points above need to be taken with large amounts of NaCl crystals. Grains of salt, that is. The Internet is a weird place. Being anonymous, it’s a playground for the Societal Id, and that’s not necessarily a good thing. It’s like the movie Purge but for keyboard warriors. So I don’t believe its entirely true. I don’t think that if one questions a group of 20 people all face-to-face that 10 will praise this sick weirdo and 10 will say the oligarchy planted another Oswald. I think a lot of the Internet is spiteful, contradictory, ideological, drunk-uncle-ish, and/or just plain uninformed. A lot is feelings over reason. So it’s not an accurate barometer of a culture. 

4b) Yet I don’t deny people generally speak more truthfully in a setting of anonymity. If I had to put a number on it, I’d say the aggregate Internet response to any global event is likely to be around 60-70% truthful but with an intrinsic (as opposed to apparent) intensity of only 20-25%.

 

(And as I’ve always said around here, only 85% of what I type is full-on truth. The other 10% is stretched out a little bit here and there. The other 5%, however …)

Sigh

 

Seems like it’s open season on my wallet this month …

 

Happy Halloween!

 

Average or Awesome?

 

So I got this from management where I work:

  

It’s a candle. I must admit when I first took it out of the bag I thought it read, “Thank You For Being Average”!

 

😊

 

If I really was “awesome,” though, wouldn’t they give me a raise, like a two-percent increase? Or maybe a one-time $500 bonus? Or even a $25 gift card, maybe every now and then when I do something “awesome”?

 

Not to be bitter, though, the company does give us a lot of perks. Wednesday they catered for the entire Finance Department (about 200 of us), and I feasted on barbecue brisket, turkey, cheese macs, and a couple of chocolate chip cookies. They also raffled off a ton of swag, but I didn’t win anything. I did win a fleece hoodie two years ago that I gave to Little One. Last year they gave us all t-shirts that, honestly, are pretty decent. I still wear mine 2-3 times a month.

 

A little work humor to end the week …

 

Klaus

 

After the rush to flee Globe Life Stadium with the stink of defeat upon us (the Yankees lost in humiliating fashion to the Texas Rangers), we managed to get out of the stadium parking lot ahead of the vast majority of hometown fans, still celebrating wildly. My wife was driving as she’s naturally more adept for situations like this, her career having her negotiate New York City, Washington DC, and now Dallas city streets on a near-daily basis. We quickly found ourselves on the highway heading home, around 10:15 pm, a 45-minute drive from Arlington.

Anyway, to entertain the Mrs., I monitored the Yanks’ twitter account and some fan blogsites reading aloud comments and commentary on the night’s debacle. To be honest, it was really quite funny. New York fans are the best and come up with some of the choicest one-liners. Most, however, were vulgar and I can’t really post them here. Regardless, we were chuckling and the shock of the night wore off as my wife turned off the main highway and drove the few streets before turning onto our block.

And there was Klaus in the middle of the road!

Klaus is the large Doberman who lives in the house diagonally behind us. He’s the size of a small pony and has a thunderous bark that often keeps us up at night, especially if he’s out in his yard chasing bunnies. He has a companion, an ancient bulldog named Champ, built like a fire hydrant made out of concrete. Though they’re both intimidating on first sight, they are sweet animals. Klaus is spastic and full of energy, about seven or eight years old, and Champ meanders along like a tank. I know this because I have met them several times. My youngest daughter Patch walks them every now and then for $15 an hour, and she always brings them by when she does. These dogs are the epitome of “bark-worse-than-bite.”

 

Patch and Klaus

 

My wife slammed on the brakes a few feet away from Klaus. Because I knew this dog, I rolled down the window and called his name over and over. We realized he was off the leash, escaped from his yard and wandering the neighborhood. Klaus heard me and paused, but by the time I got my shoes on and jumped out of the car he bounded down the alley behind my house.

I ran after him calling his name. Not sure what I’d do, since he was collarless. But perhaps I could re-assure him, pet him, calm him down, and maybe Patch could call his owner or even walk him back to the yard herself. I was halfway down the alleyway when Klaus stopped. Turned. And began growling at me, a low, menacing rumbling from his big chest.

Uh-oh.

I backed up as he advanced on me, slowly then more focused. Something had made him upset, very upset, and he obviously did not recognize me in the dark. I retreated up my driveway. I knew I couldn’t outrun him, and the only defense I could see was my giant recycling bin. Could I hide behind it? Could I throw it at him? These thoughts raced through my head as Klaus advanced up my drive. This all happened in something like ten seconds.

The Mrs., still in the car in the street facing the alleyway, illuminating the area with her headlights, fortunately hit the garage door opener at this moment. Klaus halted, spooked by the sudden noise of the door rumbling up and the new light from our garage shining in his eyes. I trotted inside the garage where there would be more items I could defend myself with – fold-up chairs, a broom, a weed whacker, even. But with all this new stimuli the dog turned on its heels and raced down the alley into the darkness.

Patch came out at this time, calling Klaus sweetly, with no luck. The wife pulled into the garage and we debated a course of action. Patch texted Klaus’s owner with no answer. She was confident that Klaus wouldn’t hurt her. In fairness, she has spent about a hundred times more, uh, time with him than I have. But I didn’t want her to go by herself. So for a half-hour we walked the neighborhood, calling his name, attuned for any motion or any barking. Nothing. All was silent and the only thing on the move were the foraging rabbits. Eventually we got in my car and slowly drove down to the ponds and a few further streets, again luckless.

We turned in for the night around midnight. Then – the owner texted Patch back! Klaus did, in fact, escape the yard when the woman got home from her job and let the dogs out. But he returned and she let him back in the yard before reading her texts and not seeing or hearing us looking for Klaus.

Lesson learned: Never, ever, ever approach a strange dog. And unless you’ve scratched his belly, all dogs are strangers.

 

The Verdict on the Fence

 

Well, it was a hard-fought project. Took me eight weeks, mostly working a few hours on the weekend in the morning before it got too hot, and I did miss two weekends due to rain. All in all, I tallied 39 hours of work, done mostly while listening to podcasts and slathered up in sun block.

 

Here are the before pics:

 

And the after pics:

 

I learned from my neighbor that he paid two guys $1,500 three years ago to paint his fence. Since my corner lot is a somewhat bigger than his, I guesstimated the current cost to me to have it professionally painted would have been around $2,000. This on top of buying the three drums of stain as well as the rollers, paintbrushes, and trays used.

 

So my 39 hours of labor saved me $2,000. If I was one of those pair of workers mentioned above, I’d have earned $25.64 an hour for the job. Not bad but not great, but better to have paid myself in my imagination than to write a check to some painting company in real life.

 

Verdict: Glad I did it, but I ain’t doing it again. Before we sell the house in a couple of years I’ll touch up the faded areas, but I’ll be doing that in the winter when it actually gets cool around here.

 

N.B. I listened to a lot of true crime podcasts while painting, as well as an hourlong interview with a JFK assassination author, an hour on why history is false (it didn’t convince me) and a whole bunch of movie reviews.

N.B. 2. My favorite “treat” meal after a three-hour painting session was a ham-and-swiss hero with lettuce, tomato, mayo, washed down with an ice tea, bought from a new deli that just opened two miles from my house. Ham-and-Swiss on a roll with lettuce, tomato, and mayo is just about the perfect lunch sandwich ever created.

N.B. 3. My “reward” for the job was an “Atlas of the Civil War” magazine. I may have jumped the gun as I bought it before I finished my work, and now my interest has moved on, so it is now gathering dust on the shelf. Oh well. The maps are pretty.