I love the sentiment surrounding Thanksgiving. All too many have become so wrapped up in either wallowing in their victim-hood or trying to right every perceived wrong that they’ve lost sight of those things to be thankful for.

Among those I’m most grateful for are family and friends we feasted with, the pleasure of being alive and feeling great in spite of health issues and not being among those enduring frost bite to be early in line. Early in line for what? To get maced? Really? And as a reward there’s an outside chance of getting that “amazing loss leader” bargain? Nope – not for me!

I ain’t doing that, or as a conversation in the local Harbor Freight store went a couple days before “Black Friday”: Think I’ll just curl up with a cold case of beer and avoid the crowds. Mostly I’ve been doing my best to avoid the crowds since. Up to now I’d say the skill displayed avoiding frenzied shopping should rank me up with professionals.

One prediction and a couple questions have arisen and it seems so right that they be aired now during the week immediately before Christmas.

Prediction: I’m 64 years of age with health stuff that casts doubts over my life goal of dying at 150. Longevity aside I predict the Friday prior to Thanksgiving Thursday will be earmarked “Black Friday” before I assume ground temperature.

Questions:

When will it no longer be “Black Friday” and become “Black blitz on your credit cards” season?

Why isn’t the NAACP offended?

Curmudgeon and PC don’t mix well, unless PC means “Personal Computer”.

I got banned from Santa’s lap when I told him we don’t heat with coal and asked if he could put Xcel energy vouchers in my stocking instead. Guess he really does know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice. Dang!

Shortly after I received an email explaining why the account was temporarily suspended.  It seems someone hacked into the account and sent spam emails.  To bring that to a halt the hosting company suspended the account and did whatever they had to in order to stop and prevent further spam being sent.  New passwords are in place and spam should no longer be coming from Rantsville.

Yep, we got hacked!  I’m a Curmudgeon not an email jerk wad.  For the sake of civility great restraint is being exercised to not say what I really think of the jerk wad(s) that hacked Rantsville.

My Curmudgeonly sense of right and wrong dictates that I apologize to everyone effected by this incident.  It would do my heart good to learn the perpetrator(s) were caught and brought to swift and decisive justice.  In my minds eye there exists a cartoon bubble of highly unpleasant punishments being exacted.  I guess it’s good my eyes will never focus on the perpetrator(s).

Granted, I am Curmudgeon and if you don’t know me you may feel I have an odd point of view about things. If you do know me you have no doubt. So I’m thinking why not go to the Fargo red and white circles store at 13^th Av S and 42^nd St and have a little summertime fun. Grab a tent, a couple sleeping bags and folding chairs. Then get all set up to spend the night. Oh yeah, gonna need a charcoal grill, charcoal, lighter, some brats and all the fixin’s. Good thing is they got all that right there in the store so it’s good to go. Oh, forgot must grab an ice chest and sodas too. Better rummage through the DVD bargain bin, grab a portable DVD player and get it all charged up for the evening entertainment. Yep, that’s the ticket!

So what’s your guess, will the tent get set up before security intervenes? What will they tell me – I can’t do that in the store? What will their response be to “but the TV commercial shows people doing exactly that”? Will they call the cops to haul me off and charge me with something? I wonder what kind of court battle that will end up being. After all they produced the TV commercial and it seems they may have (inadvertently) granted implied permission. Do ya think a good lawyer will be in order? Nah! Gonna need a team of top notch, junk yard dog, bad to the bone, dirty deeds done dirt cheap (thanks AC-DC) lawyers.

Maybe another plan is in order. How about a nationwide event? Possibly some Saturday this summer at least ten customers (more = better IMHO) walk into each red and white circles store at the same time and proceed to do exactly as in the TV commercial. From my curmudgeonly POV it could be a big news story. Every store, same day, same time: what would they do? Wonder if their lawyers already have a plan of attack? Hmmm!

Curmudgeon I am but beyond writing around 500 speculative words I ain’t gonna do a real life imitation of that TV commercial whether solo or in conjunction with tens of thousands.

But if it actually happened, the cartoon bubble = hilarious.

A heart surgery operating room is a bit on the cold side. That’s why they throw warmed blankets over you until you’re anesthetized. Before lights out though there are a few moments of looking over the surroundings. First thing noticed was the stuff hanging above the operating table and how well used it all appeared. Now when I say well used I don’t mean a ding or dent here and there, that’s normal. But has any of the missing paint (or whatever coating material) found a path into patients and would any get into me? OK, I admit lying there anticipating my heart getting pulled from my chest, cut open and parts replaced with parts of a pig heart probably didn’t put me in an objective thinking mode. Imagine that!

Hours later through the haze I was told surgery went well and Cardiac Care Unit (CCU) was my next stop. It doesn’t matter how thick the haze it’s good hearing you’re still alive. Three days later – back to surgery for pacemaker/defibrillator implant. Yep a valve job and full electronic ignition. Zoom – zoom!

Good news folks: Five plus years and no defibrillator jolts. Bad news folks: in a year or so it will start beeping every six hours. That means the battery is breathing its last. Worse news folks: I have no clue how to pay for a fresh pacemaker/defibrillator. I’m thinking maybe time to start serious stretching exercises so I can get head between knees to kiss my uh, err, well y’know good-bye. Even for the Curmudgeon these things weigh heavily.

Last Friday was the annual echo-cardiogram and cardiologist consultation. There was good news: ejection fraction hasn’t changed (a good thing) and weight is down about eight pounds. At that rate only another four or five years ’til I’m slightly over weight. There was bad news too: getting off blood pressure meds ain’t happening, more weight must go, recaptured youth is a myth and I’m still gonna die some day. Gotta like it when even the bad news has no surprises.

On to the Q&A: So what happens when the pacemaker starts beeping and I don’t have funds for a replacement? Shock of shocks: Mr. cardiologist explains the surgery and ongoing exercise has improved my ejection fraction enough I should be OK sans pacemaker. Really! I’m thinking pacemaker clinic appointment, turn it off and go for a trial run. My heart without electronic ignition. Oh yeah, it’s at least a little bit scary!

Procrastination being my modus operandi I planned to get a card and gift for Janice while she was at work today (Valentines day, February 14, 2011) which would have worked out fine except Sunday Janice struggled with an all day migraine. Eventually the emergency room and a Toradol injection quelled the pain. Although free of the headache, Toradol induced sleep ain’t altogether restful. Which brings us to Monday, Valentines Day, a day for bargain basement Valentines gifts. Procrastination does have some benefits, just not this Valentines Day.

Monday she worked about two hours before deciding to come home. It is kinda hard to deal with customers on a Toradol hangover. That left me completely in the lurch. No card, no gift and only one thing to do – ‘fess up. “I’m gonna have to go shopping ‘cuz I haven’t gotten you a card or gift yet”. Romantic, huh? And her reply – “Don’t, I was going to do that today too but we’ve got the best gift already, we’re comfortable at home”. Now that to me is incredibly romantic.

So for supper I promised we’d experience fine dining at our favorite local hole in the wall place. While we ate, Haley, our ride whore dog stayed in the truck awaiting the continuation of our journey. After eating we went to Petsmart. When she realized where we were going Haley’s excitement filled the truck cab (yep, she let one rip). Once out she had to find that special place to leave her calling card before going into the store. That’s what she does every Petsmart visit and after a quick cruise through the aisles usually goes back out to leave more calling cards. On occasion she’s been known to go in and out up to four times. I couldn’t have that much enthusiasm if someone figured out how to combine Harbor Freight, Northern Tool, Fleet Farm, Tractor Supply and Victoria’s Secret into one store.

Yep, I had to throw Victoria’s Secret in there to see if you’re paying attention. It worked too, didn’t it?



It started with a bolts and washers run to the local surplus hardware store otherwise known as Mac’s. Anyplace I can buy steel bolts for $1.99/lb is my kind of place. Once back home I fired up both burners of the sunspot heater and and returned to the shed about and hour later. The chill or at least the worst of it was gone. Little over half an hour more it was shirt sleeve comfortable. There is much to be said for shirt sleeve comfortable while working on a project during the winter. In a cold building unexpected problems with this type project would take me from curmudgeon to unbearable grouch in short order. Yeah, you guessed it, cold and I do not share a mutual admiration.

The engine got securely bolted down and appeared properly aligned. Slightly over ½ qt of 5W-30 synthetic oil went into the crankcase and gas tank was filled. All was ready. Throw open the shed doors, push the beast out into the cold, flip ignition switch to on, open the fuel shut off and flip the choke on. Now the moment of truth. First pull, nothing, second pull, nothing, third pull the engine fires up and runs smoothly. Ahhh! Life is good!

Enter Murphy or at least his law. Even though the auger shouldn’t be turning it is. The clutch lever doesn’t disengage. Yep, it looks as though the washers used to shim the raised motor mounts were probably not needed. OK Murphy that will get fine tuned tomorrow. In the meantime about half an hour of snow blowing was accomplished and the result was impressive. So there’s some fine tuning planned for tomorrow. Guess I can deal with that without becoming an unbearable grouch. It would be really nice if Murphy would let me get the fine tuning right tomorrow morning so some quality time could be spent with the snow blower in the afternoon.

But no, it has become an ongoing Murphy intervention and the afternoon was spent making new mounts from ¾” square tubing because it seems 1” is too much. Tomorrow morning the project continues. This kind of fine tuning is time intensive trial and error.

Meanwhile to clear our parking spaces of ever deepening drifting snow that little blower was pressed into service once again.

Hey Murphy, I’m ready to wrap up this project and get on with the other stuff that needs doing. So Murphy, is Saturday the day it happens?

So where to begin. A couple weeks back my brother asked me to play Santa in the wee hours of Christmas morning. Me, Curmudgeon, Mr. bah-humbug personified! And he asks me to take on the role of Santa? What the heck is wrong with his thinking anyway?

Far be it for me to delve into the dynamics of his last marriage which ended about a year ago. Suffice it to say he fears the offspring of his first marriage were treated differently than had he not remarried. So this Christmas his youngest daughter, her five kids, dog and main squeeze came to spend Christmas with him in his new digs.

First of all brother has always been the one that “brings home the bacon” not the family event coordinator. How overwhelmed would you be in that situation? Lucky for brother he has Janice and me to at least advise in matters of this nature. But when he comes up with a unique scheme there’s no question it’ll take some doing. Thus Curmudgeon got roped into playing Santa at around 3:00 AM Christmas morning.

Full disclosure here: Santa (that would be me) actually had the easy part in this fiasco. Santa’s chief elf (Janice) actually did the hard stuff including keeping brother focused while gift shopping. The chief elf worked diligently wrapping gifts and putting them in properly labeled gift bags. Late Friday afternoon (Christmas Eve) all was prepared for Santa’s 3:00 AM Christmas visit at brothers place.

A text message at about 2:50 AM awakened us. They arrived from their 300 plus mile winter journey and brother promised they would all be in bed by 3:00 AM. Chief elf muttered something about brother enduring an endless list of favors in exchange for this. Curmudgeonly Santa agreed and off we went. Don’t you wish you had been with us?

A well lit Christmas tree allowed us to maneuver while Christmas tunes from the stereo helped cover most unavoidable noises. Chief elf and I arranged decorative bags of gifts around the tree, emptied the glass of milk on the table, snatched up the cookies and note to Santa asking if he is real and left a 1½ inch sleigh bell. Gizmo (brother’s dog) provided a couple raucous outbursts; hey he was only doing his job. Chief elf headed for the door reminding me to let her get down the steps and on her way to the vehicle (arthritic ankle y’know) before the infamous “ho, ho, ho” and loudly slammed door.

On our way home we got a thank you text. We knew then what brother envisioned was what was happening.

Janice and I stopped by brother’s place about 6:30 Christmas evening. We listened to theme and variations of five kids excited versions of Santa’s visit. On our way home, Chief elf commented brother had the look of a wiped out tired new daddy: too tired to stay awake and too pleased and excited to allow himself to fall asleep. I’ll bet he snored extra good Christmas night.

Even curmudgeons need experiences like this as reminders the best things of life are seldom if ever about ourselves.

Some time back I’d received what felt like ten thousand of those supposedly heart warming messages with the request to send it to at least ten people and by doing so good things would happen to me. If I didn’t, bad things would befall me. This particular one went so far as to claim someone had not sent it to their friends and died shortly after deleting the email.

This being a very new blog, I guess it only fair to explain I consider myself a bit of a curmudgeon. As such I feel an obligation to be consistent and therefore display my curmudgeonly side as the mood strikes. Well that particular email squarely struck the curmudgeon in me. So in my best curmudgeonly manner I set about writing a reply. I have to paraphrase but it went pretty much like this:

“Dear What’s Your Name,

Just as a matter of information for you to consider before sending me any further emails of this nature is that they first do not inspire me, give me a warm and fuzzy feeling, make me want to forward the message to anyone else or for that matter want to send it to anyone in the hope the claim of good luck befalling me might be true. Second, as you already know I ain’t gonna do that. The thing that concerns me about this particular email is the implication that by not forwarding it I could be subject to death. Since you have known for quite some time I never forward these things I can only conclude you are hoping it is true and I will shortly be dead.

Bet you’ll feel real good about yourself knowing it is you responsible for my demise.

All my love”

Those types of emails decreased hugely after that.

Janice (definitely my best half) just got a whole stack of stuff from the “Mad emailer” yesterday. She said every one of the myriad of forwards were old, old, old, not to mention a lot of them was stuff she’d originally sent to the “Mad emailer” and was now coming back. Then she mentioned the “lizard birthing” story (pretty funny, bet a google search would work if you haven’t seen it) and I’ll guess it’s at least a year old. That’s when I told Janice it’s time to set up a gmail account and tell the “Mad emailer” it’s the new email address and to send everything there from now on. That way there will be no need to sort through, she can just delete it all.

As for me, I haven’t gotten anything from her in a long while, ever since we switched internet service. I guess eventually she’ll find out the new addresses but until then it’s being bliss.