Testing Out a New Section

Merry Hump Day, Coot Fans!

Yesterday, astute reader and certified Ribfest '06 Champion Bizarro Todd made a comment to me concerning the content of my blog. No, not a blog comment but rather he just said the words to me like people did in the olden days when verbal communication was more commonplace. Anyway, his comment was that I may have veered a little off course from the original intent of my blog. Apparently, my good mood has offended some people and they described it to me as being a little too "foofy" (my word, not theirs). Ashamed that I have deserted my roots, I have decided to add a section periodically to my entries where I will complain about shit. Since BV is bailing on us, I am commandeering one of his maxims to use as the title of the new section. After a few rounds of market testing, we here at Old Coot Productions® have settled on "The Cranky Corner©". Koots Kranky Korner didn't lend itself well to acronymizing.

Well, I'll get to The Cranky Corner© in a little bit. First I have some things to discuss. My sister is making a short trip back to The States during a break in her teaching stint in Japan. As an aside, some people haven't realized that the Japanese are no longer our enemies. Christ, they have it better than us in many ways. We're not talking about the South here! But that's neither here nor there. In celebration of her return visit to the Old Country, she's coming to stay at my house for a few days. I thought it might be fun for the folks to come out too, since they haven't seen my house in years. Oh, it'll be a good time. No sooner than I had made arrangements to pick her up in NYC, and for our folks to come out from B-lo did I come to the realization that my house is a pig sty. A plan was needed.

True to form, my plan was defined around unachievable goals with unachievable budget and schedule. I planned on cleaning one room top to bottom every day until everyone arrives. That leaves me roughly a fortnight, give or take, to get the place into tip-top shape. Don't get your panties all in a bunch now, my house does NOT have 14 rooms. I have allowed some slack in the schedule for things like Live on the Lake (and it's associated race series), the Thursday Night Run, days when I just don't feel like cleaning, and days when I have to go shopping.

The shopping is where the budgetary concerns come into play. My plan was to take my newly-reclaimed (actually, soon-to-be-reclaimed) box springs and outfit them with a new mattress for the guest room. That way I can have a proper spare bedroom for all of my guests. Not only do I have to buy a mattress, but I also need sheets, pillows (or panillas, if you will), perhaps a table, a rug or two, and so on. I want this room to be the jam so that people will be more inclined to visit. I also want to get that new storm door for the front entrance. I double-dog dare Home Depot to ever have one in stock so I can buy it. STOOOCCKKK IIITTTT (in Homer's voice, shaking fist). The problem is that toys and porches have rendered my savings all but extinct. Hmm.

Last night I decided to tackle the kitchen. It was by far the most disgusting room in the house, and would require the most effort. Sidetracked only a few times by plants that needed watering, an A/C unit that needed installing, cupboard shelves that needed lining and a few songs that needed rocking, I eventually got the kitchen damn near clean. I even went so far as to scrub the floor on my hands and knees; the bastard was filthy.

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The Cranky Corner

Here's my beef with drivers on my street: you all suck. Well, many of you at least. For some reason people with loud exhausts feel like they should stomp on it as they turn onto my street, deafening everyone within a two-mile radius. Yesterday, I saw a cop out presumably pulling over speeders, and I was happy. Then I saw the types of people being pulled over and was unhappy. I am willing to stereotype, generalize and profile drivers to assist the po-pos in catching the problem drivers.

Here's what you do: pull over every car driven by a punk-ass, sideways-hat-wearing, seat-too-far-back-reclining, fart-can-having kid. I bet you'll find some illicit materials in their cars too, the hoodlums. While you're waiting for those guys to come by, you can pass the time by pulling over every person matching the previous description riding a crotch rocket. Those guys hit 45mph in first gear - 15 over the limit - half a block after turning the corner. You don't even have to watch for them, just listen. Truck with a hemi? Pull 'em over, they're speeding. Don't waste your time on the moms in their Camries (pl of Camry) I saw you pulling over yesterday, except for that dumb broad who didn't know what flashing blue lights on a cop car meant.

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I appreciate any feedback on the content of The Cranky Corner©. If you make asinine comments however, you can expect I'll be griping about your punk ass next. Plus I'll tell the cops to keep their eyes peeled for your car screaming down my street.

Over and Out,
Old Coot