Personal Musings category archive

I have seen posts on various blogs wishing folks a “Happy Veterans’ Day.”

I don’t get it. What can possibly be “happy” about Veterans’ Day?

Where is the happiness in honoring folks who willingly or unwillingly (remember the draft? I can still remember my lottery number) put themselves in danger on behalf of their country, whether for good cause or ill? I put out my flag today, but it was not about happiness; it was about respect.

My Daddy was a veteran of World War II. Mostly he didn’t want to talk about it.

Sad, somber, serious, reflective, thankful, grateful, respectful, all those I could get. But “happy”?

Give me a break.

I’m so old that I can remember when all automobiles did not look alike.

I have been an unabashed mystery buff since I read my first Pocket Books Perry Mason story at age 13. (It cost 35 cents at Thalhimers* Department Store in Richmond, Va. When we accompanied my father on business trips to Richmond and toured Talhimers and Miller and Rhoads while he was in meetings at the Virginia Department of Agriculture, my mother would give me a dollar and a dime and I would agonize over what three Pocket Books to buy.)

I can go on for hours about my favorite mystery writers, my favorite OTR mystery shows, and my favorite TV mystery shows. (I have also been a Sherlockian since I first read the Canon, which I started reading the evening of the day on which I had two wisdom teeth pulled when I was about 15.)

Rarely does a mystery story cause me to laugh out loud, but this one did, and I’m just starting chapter two.

_______________

*I much preferred Thalhimers to Miller and Rhoads.

We DVRed the last CSI and watched it last night.

It ripped and snorted, but not necessarily in all the right places. Halfway through, I turned to my friend and said, “CSI meets Nightmare on Elm Street.”

The actress who played Lady Heather had obviously had her lips botoxed since her previous appearances on the show. Lesson learned: Don’t Botox, detox.

For a science fiction show (you don’t really believe that forensics labs have those resources and that kind of dedication, do you? If you do, I have this bridge . . .), it had a good run. Even in the middle years, when it was “sexual perversion of the week” (like the David Vitter Memorial Episode), it was fun to watch.

Q. How can you guarantee that the skies will be cloudy the whole darn night?

In truth, the skies cleared long enough for us to see most of the covering-up portion. The moon was about 7/8s covered when the clouds rolled back in.

You can’t make this stuff up.

When I ride my bicycle around the neighborhood, I freguently find myself overtaking joggers who are jogging on the wrong side of the road (that is, with the traffic rather than against it) while their ears are stuffed with noise-cancelling earbuds. Even though I shout, “Passing,” as loud as I can, I worry that they will drift in front of me because they, frankly, are being stupid and selfish.

Afterthought:

I have certainly mentioned this before, but, as my old coworker used to ask, “Did you ever see a smiling jogger?”

I was cruising about on Shoutcast last night looking for background music for reading my Phryne Fisher murder mystery because KCEA was broadcasting a high school football game (they are a high school station; they’re allowed). I was trying to find an online station for which “oldies” or “easy listening” meant something other than early Beatles or “soft rock” or, to put it differently, played the music that WTAR-AM played before I discovered the Jefferson Airplane and before AM radio became a cesspool of hate-full talk.

No luck.

Suggestions?

(I still have a crush on Edie Gorme.)

There is no truth to the rumor that one must pass an “a$$hole test” to purchase a BMW.

The Inverse Relationship, though, is true: The smaller the BMW, the bigger the–oh, never mind.

I got my driver’s license a long time ago.

Shortly thereafter, I was driving the family car in a snow storm on I-85 near Charlotte, North Carolina. As I recall, I was doing about 50, reasonable in a snow storm, when a pick-up truck careened by me on the left, then immediately shot to the exit ramp on the right, almost taking the hood ornament, except that 1961 Fords did not have hood ornaments.

That’s when I said, “All North Carolina drivers must think they are Richard Petty.”

Well, it’s just going to get worse.

I was in Philadelphia the last few days visiting family.

I now have five grandchildren, all of them boys.

I do love Philadelphia. Despite my 300-plus-years of Virginia roots, Philly is as much home for me as any other place. It is one of the world’s great cities, with one of the world’s great inferiority complexes, as it is half-way between New York City and Washington, D. C., cities that bring hubris to life.

It was good to be in Philly for a few days.

I came back with a cooler full of Philadelphia scrapple, because all you can find in these parts is Rapa brand, which, as far as I can figure out, is a combination of lots of bread-like substances with a few pork-like bits, on which I refuse to waste my money. Breakfast can be many things, but a waste of time should not one of them.

I brought back eight pounds of the real thing–I trust that it’s enough to last me until my next trip up north . . . .

I’m not a big fan of Amazon, as they are trying to hijack all of the retail (cue the chorus: all of the retail) and their warehouses are hell-holes for workers, but I do sometimes order books from them because books are what they do best.

Nevertheless, I was pleasantly surprised at this: I recently ordered some additional Phryne Fisher mysteries (you should too–I’ve read six and am heading for nine) from Amazon; because I was hitting the road for a few days, I paid for overnight delivery. Two of them arrived as scheduled, but one was shipped late. Amazon refunded the entire shipping fee I paid, an amount equal to the cost of one of the books, because of that. I didn’t care and wasn’t going to complain, as I had two books to take with me and stuff happens you know; they did it on their own hook.

I’m still not a big fan of Amazon, but credit where credit is due and all that, eh what?

I reckon that Discover Card’s current internet ad campaign, in which they cover up your browser window for a few seconds, is supposed to get attention.

It’s got mine. If I still* had a Discover Card, I’d cancel it immediately, cut it up in little pieces, and mail it back to them postage-due.

__________________-

*Had one once. Got rid of it long ago.

My electric razor died after over a decade of faceful service, so I shopped for a new one today.

One of the shavers on the store display had a stubble attachment (I shan’t dignify it by naming the brand), so you can get your Yasser Arafat look just right.