My Plumbing Problem

I have a plumbing problem. We'll get to it later. Because of that, instead of going out east to celebrate New Year's Eve, I will be in Chicago. The only upside to that downside is that the Bears will be on TV tonight. Hot freaking dog.

So the four days I was going to be royally entertained have now become an opportunity to entertain myself. With that in mind, I thought a brunch with other people still in town might be fun yesterday.  After I first made sure that my plumbing problem was sufficiently under control to go out for awhile. Like I said, I'll get to that later.

I had to find people to invite who were still in town. Eight of the folks I contacted had left the building. Luckily, five of us were able to gather for an 11:00 AM chow call at a restaurant everyone has been talking about.  The chefs were profiled in some tres chic magazine because they serve a nice brunch on weekends. Even better, their "cafe" is in my plain old suburb.  The two fancy cooks used to work at the Ritz Carlton. Yes, that Ritz Carlton. Where Oprah used to have an apartment. Having them whipping up breakfast stuff so close by is like having Emeril dropping in to make grilled cheese sandwiches for your kids.

The menu is extensive, including imported bacon from Wisconsin -- shut up that's a big deal -- fresh fruit and, something very important to moi, FRESH SQUEEZED juices. I had one orange and one red grapefruit. 

For those who drink more powerful potions in the morning, they offered Bloody Marys, Mimosas, and something called a Peach Bellini. There's also a full bar on the other side of the partition that separates the diners from the drinkers.

I knew they were serious when I saw that French toast made with challah bread was an option. But for entrees most of us glommed onto the Eggs Benedict. I chose the spinach version which boasted a dried tomato hollandaise. Someone else had the crab style, which used crab cakes instead of English muffins. So they could charge double. I got a taste and said OMG. Then there was a purist who ordered her EB the regular way.

Someone who thinks she is overweight got an egg white omelette with a salad. The man in our group ordered a frou frou Chicken Caesar, which to the chefs' credit came with two huge slices of pesto garlic toast and a giant slab o' chicken sliced into many pieces. Not that I think men shouldn't order girly food. But he said he wanted a WAFFLE when he first saw the menu. Plus he's a cancer survivor. Go for it. What's with people who like to deprive themselves at this age.

I couldn't eat another thing the rest of the day. It's twenty-four hours later and I'm still not hungry. 

Anyway, those of us who had not left town hung out for quite some time before I had to get back and address my plumbing problem. Which, now I suppose has to be explained. It is a REAL plumbing problem, not a female problem, like a couple of guys I know thought. Especially after I alluded to a plugged up pipe. And hoses. It went downhill from there. So, to be clear, the problem is not a female issue. But one that involves things leaking and, well, enough said.

But, plumbers take time off too, so I have to wait until after the holiday to get it fixed -- mainly so I won't be paying double overtime rates.

Meanwhile I'll try to make do with the Bears' game and wonder if I'll ever get hungry again. 

Traffic Court

While you were out stocking up on libations and recreational drugs for your New Year's Eve party, I was in traffic court.

On my way home from work several weeks ago, one of the sharp-eyed, shiny-booted officers who cruise the three mile stretch of road from the main highway to the Harley store in my town, noticed that my Jeep's license plate sticker was past its freshness date. I knew I was in trouble when the front end of his cruiser had its nose so far up my rear that it made my throat tickle. And those weren't Christmas lights blinking on the roof of his vehicle.

That's twice I thought I had until December, only to find out that I was supposed to matriculate in September.

"Yep, you got me," was the extent of my resistance. Then he parlayed that one little traffic citation into a two-fer when I couldn't find my insurance card in the glove compartment. Even better, I called my insurance company while he wrote me up only to discover that I was a month past due. When the shit hits the fan, it gets all over the walls. Plus he also had possession of my driver's license. Somewhere I had a Triple A card so I wouldn't have to relinquish it for the next five weeks.

Somewhere. But just where, exactly, I didn't know. I still haven't found it. The officer did say that for the low low price of $200 I could get my driver's license back, if I brought the cash to the police station before midnight. He actually seemed surprised to see me when I showed up after dinner to retrieve it. Duh. I need it to prove I am who I am. I also pointed out that it's hard to get through airport security using a traffic ticket as my i.d.  Flashing my passport just confuses people. "What's this for?"

This morning at 9:00 AM, many weeks later, I showed up in room 101 of one of the suburban locations that process people who forget that along with their driver's licenses, village stickers and auto emissions stickers, they also have to show proof of insurance and display a current license plate sticker. I guess three out of five ain't good enough for these nit pickers.

I might have forgotten some of my stickers, but I do have an oval black and white OBX sticker on my back window. HAH!!! Anythng with "X" makes it look like I have a membership in some kind of secretsociety,  I do. I'm one of a select group of people who have actuallyspent money on that sticker, which, for all its exclusivity, provides me with absolutely no immunity in traffic stop situations.

OBX, for the uninitiated, stands for the Outer Banks of North Carolina, a long, very skinny strip of land that, when it isn't being hit by hurricanes, is a rather pleasant vacation spot.

I learned two things in traffic court today. First, I would get my $200 back. But, only after they took out $50 for my fine, $30 for court fees, and, get this, another $20 [or ten per cent of the $200] for the effort to send me my money back. That includes the stamp to mail it. They can't just give me change. Now I really have to find that Triple A bond card.

Secondly, I noticed that there were about fifty people in court. That's not very earthshaking. What surprised me was that there were only four women with tickets. Either that or the rest of them just sent in their fines. 

There was also only one female police officer, out of fourteen cops in court.  At least I think she was female.

What surprised me even more was the ethnicity of the people there to see the judge. Most of the names they called started with Vladimir, Boris, Alexei, and Dmitri. 

Apparently most of the traffic laws in my neighborhood are broken by Russian men. I've noticed that for some time, most of the taxi cabs in my town are also driven by Russians. In fact, the woman who does my nails is also Russian. Coincidence? I think not.

It's The Thought That Counts

So far, I have given wine to a couple that has stopped drinking.  I gave books for five year old kids to a kid who's eight.

I presented a gift certificate that included an expensive pedicure to someone who doesn't like her feet touched.  

I bought candy for someone who announced right before opening her gift that she has decided not to eat candy ever again.

I received some gorgeous gloves that are just a bit too tight for the blood to continue flowing to my fingers.  I also got a lovely flowering plant that I accidentally left in the car to freeze last night.

On the other end of the spectrum, I sent some holiday flowers to a favorite aunt who called to say she not only got a poinsettia, but a huge centerpiece and a windowbox with three plants also arrived. That may explain why the bill seemed high.

Blockbuster had some sales on DVD's, so after getting gift cards for family, I got myself Capote, A History of Violence, Munich, and Syriana for a total of $19.00.  And I got to watch them all warm and fuzzy wrapped in a comforter.

I stopped by a friend's house to give them a bottle of Starbuck's coffee liqueur I promised to buy them.  As I was leaving, they unexpectedly gave me a present too. It was a box wrapped in lovely silver paper. I decided not to open it up until Christmas. Inside was a bottle of Starbuck's coffee liqueur.

My neighbor from across the street left me a delicious Christmas coffee cake -- a pecan kringle from Wisconsin. On Christmas Eve, I gave the leftover bag of cat food to my next door neighbor -- the one whose cat took refuge in my garage when they left him outside in a snowstorm. Whaddya gonna do? Their airport cab arrived to take them on an eight day trip to DisneyWorld and the cat didn't know.

I don't usually tip hair and mani people anything extra during the holidays because I tip very well throughout the year, but I gave my postman a huge tip because he organizes all my mail for me, separating the junk from the magazines, from the personal, from the bills.

I even tipped a gas station guy who came out of his warm sanctuary and started the pump for me when I was all dressed up, without being asked. Even better, he was completely surprised and couldn't have been more gracious when I gave it to him.

All this talk about the holidays makes me realize I haven't had any egg nog yet.  Just the thought is enough to line my arteries with a year's worth of cholesterol. Even so, the thought isn't enough. I gotta have one glass.    

There's a Happy Yul This Yule

Anybody find it not a little cosmic that the winner of the most recent Survivor earlier this week, a mere days before Christmas, is a dude named YUL? 

Miss Hidey Ho of 2006

Apparently Miss USA, who's been caught drinking and doping and publickly liplocking with Miss Teen USA, was kicked off her high school cheerleading squad for bad behavior. And then kicked out of high school for more bad behavior.

If she played for the Bears, they'd give her another chance.

Did Tank Johnson Just Tank His Career?

WORK IN PROGRESS -- FINISHED

Tank Johnson is the latest poster boy for professional athletes behaving badly, followed immediately by Carmelo Anthony, et al, and, of course, saliva challenged T.O.

Tank plays defensive tackle for the Chicago Bears. Until last week.

He's been arrested three times in the last eighteen months for a variety of reasons, ranging from dangerous dogs to shooting guns, to a fight outside a bar. 

Currently, he's on probation. Which makes his arrrest last week for not having a gun permit to go with the cache of unregistered weapons [and ammo] found in a raid on his home fairly problematic. 

Not to mention that his longtime friend, Willie Posey, a convicted felon who is not supposed to have weapons, kept a felony stash of marijuana in Tank's freezer. For which he was arrested.

Posey has known Tank for ten years according to reporters. They met in college, where both lacked a major in accountability. Tank gave his friend a place to stay in his home while he was trying to get on his feet again. Posey described himself as Tank's bodyguard.

Along with all those weapons, there are small children in the household. Between them, like so many pro athletes [Brian Urlacher for instance] and their friends, the two men have six kids by various females they never bother to marry. Luckily, only two of the children live on the premises.

After their arrest last Thursday, the two buddies posted bond and went home.

There were the usual apologies by Tank to his team and the fans via the broadcast media. Blah, blah, sorry, blah, blah.

The coaches de-activated him for last Sunday's game, the most they could do for immediate punishment.

After all the trouble, any normal person would have taken his medicine, gone home, kept a low profile, and waited things out with his family in privacy.

Too bad Tank couldn't havebeen grounded. His friend would still be alive.

No, instead Tank and Posey went clubbing in downtown Chicago the very next night. At around two in the morning, there was an altercation on the dance floor, and Posey was shot and killed.

Unfortunately, yet another one of Tank's stupid decisions backfired. This time, permanently.

Part of it may not be his fault. There is a phenomenon I have observed when I was the wife of someone who had several professional football player friends. 

I watched as civilians, both men AND women, tried to pick fights with these guys for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Often while we were all sitting down eating dinner. Sometimes when we were in a bar. Always these people were drunk. They would come up and start to insult these huge men who were twice their size and strong enough to kill them. 

It was, to say the least, bizarre.  And not once, did any of the players we were with lose their tempers. Despite many attempts by these crazy people to get them to take a punch.

In defense of Tank and Posey, as weak as this may seem, because they shouldn't have been there in the first place, apparently some jerk kept bumping into Tank repeatedly on the dance floor -- on purpose, hoping to egg him into an assault and battery charge no doubt, and sue for some spending money.

Posey, playing amateur bodyguard, tried to intervene and someone shot him in the back. They still don't have anybody in custody for that. Even though "security" was not only supposed to be checking for weapons at the front door, the killer apparently walked down a bunch of stairs and out the door unchallenged.

So far Tank hasn't learned any lessons from his multiple arrests. Maybe the death of his friend will be the wake up call he needs.

UPDATE from the local NBC affiliate:  Apparently Tank Johnson's weapons are registered in Arizona where he has a year round home. On Friday, the day after the arrest, he was helping Posey move into a new place, at the insistence of the Bears' front office. Afterward, they stopped into the bar where Posey ended up getting murdered.  Also, for what it's worth, Tank has such a bad driving record he can't get a driver's license in Illinois.

What Took Everybody So Long?

I've been saying for more than twenty years that HRT causes breast cancer. It's almost guaranteed if you've been on it for a long time.  Even sooner if you smoke, too. Nobody was listening to me. Gee, I can't imagine why.

Plus the people that make HRT had a pretty good PR machine in place to make you think otherwise. Hey, they had the doctors fooled.

Then somebody said, wait a minute, let's not just listen to the pharmaceutical people about the safety of HRT. They may have a vested interest in selling this stuff.  So the NIH began a HUGE study and stopped it cold a couple of years ago with a warning -- HRT DOES cause breast cancer; it doesn't prevent heart disease, etc., etc., pretty much reversing all the bullshit the manufacturers were slinging.

Now a couple of years later, it has become simple arithmetic.  Suddenly a whole bunch of women stopped using HRT because of the warning, and just as suddenly breast cancer rates for women that age [50+] dropped like a stone. 

Secondly -- here's the next thing they will discover.  Young women who went on birth control in high school and continued for twenty years into their thirties are getting breast cancer just like the HRT ladies.

That's right, long term use of birth control also causes breast cancer. Not fun when you're in your thirties.  Pretty obvious, though, when you consider that the ingredients in HRT and the pill are pretty much the same.

I wonder how long Cheryl Crow was on the pill. She had to be.  Since she is over forty, twenty years is quite possible. 

Somewhere, someone is keeping statistics with the actual numbers of women on the pill who get breast cancer. Or conversely, they are tracking the number of women who get breast cancer who happen to be on the pill.  

Only you can't find those numbers anywhere, because the people keeping track of them are the people who make the pills.

Just like the tobacco companies who knew all along that nicotine was addictive. And that smoking cigarettes caused lung cancer. 

I'm sure the pharmaceutical companies have known all along that HRT and the pill cause much more breast cancer than they wanted us to realize. Why do you think they kept lowering the dosage?
 
The numbers are buried in the archives somewhere. Or being shredded as we speak.

One of these days somebody will come up with a class action suit against the makers of the pill.  But, probably not until there's an alternative, easy to use, failsafe birth control to take its place.

Most women are willing to take sex without pregnancy NOW and worry about breast cancer getting them later. 

Mrs. Linklater Attempts Cookies for Christmas

Mrs. Linklater's Holiday Cookie Recipe:

Ingredients:

1. Purchase several packages of Pepperidge Farm Cookies although almost any brand can be used.

Suggestions:
Shortbread and Chessman versions are good, but anything with a surface you can spread stuff on top of will do.

2. Obtain one or more jars of Nutella hazelnut chocolate spread. Costco sometimes has the giant double jars.

3. A clean knife.

Directions for use:
Spread Nutella over one side of a cookie. Two sides if you don't care about getting it on your fingers. Roll in red and green sprinkles if you're alone.

Eat.

Lick knife. 

The Dead Chase Bank Flag -- Before

Here are some photos of the dead flag before it was removed.

I drove by the bank this morning.  There is a new flag flying today.  Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.  About damn time.

SCORE:  Mrs. Linklater 1.  Worldwide Banking Monolith 0.

What bothered me most was that the bank people couldn't be bothered to take down this ragged, tattered old flag until they got the new flag. 

I'll post pictures of the new flag soon. 

Rudolph The Crazy Bomber

Rudolph the crazy bomber

Whined about his prison woes

Guards never let poor Rudolph

Wear anything but orange clothes

All of the other prisoners

Used to laugh and call him names

They never let poor Rudolph

Join the prison fun and games

Then one foggy Christmas Eve

Santa came to say

Rudolph with your overbite

I'll make you my bitch tonight

Then all the prisoners jumped him

Rode him like the cavalry

Rudolph got poked so often

He never got off his knees.

REPEAT AS NEEDED

Convicted bomber Eric Rudolph, who deliberately and methodically killed two innocent people and maimed others, is right. Being confined to a windowless 7 x 12 foot cell in a supermax prison 23 hours a day is enough to drive anyone insane. 

So?

It's 40 Degrees Today

You know that six degrees thing -- and I don't mean the recent temperature here. I am referring to the concept that everyone is within six degrees of knowing Kevin Bacon. I was at a party Friday night before the annual Bar Association revue and several of the other guests and I ended up playing six degrees from the host and hostess and me. Kevin Bacon wasn't available.

The hostess had been a client of mine and we became friends. In a completely different life, I had met the host and his first wife decades before because one of his [now dead] fraternity brothers was married to one of my longtime girlfriends, a woman I'd first met when we worked together. She also went to the same school I did and was in the same sorority, but at a different time. This is a recurring theme you'll discover. There's a circle of life here somewhere.

The host is a lawyer and my family is littered with them. Not only that, but the host's first wife and I ran into each other at the hospital when we were both in labor -- she with her third, me with my second. We even ended up in the recovery room together after our kids were born. For what it's worth, my sister and I have children who were born a week apart. I'm not sure which is more cosmic. You could say it's a matter of degrees. But I digress.

One day the hostess, a marketing maven who was my client at the time, called to say she was dating someone I knew. It was, as it turned out, the host. Another cosmic moment. But he wasn't the host then, he was a member of some adventurer's club, while working as an attorney in real life. His hobby as an outdoorsman had come in handy capturing some Beluga whales for the local fish museum. My marketing friend was at the adventurer's club celebrating the capture as a dedicated conservationist. They have been together ever since. He kills 'em. She cooks 'em.

They were barely a degree from me when they met. Kevin Bacon eat your heart out.

Fast forward to their party on Friday. The six degrees game began as soon as we walked in the door. I brought along someone whose cousin turned out to be a friend the host knew from his early years working on the bar show.

Then the first guy who ever hired me in advertising arrived with his wife. Why was he there? He was working with the hostess on a pro bono project. I discovered awhile ago that his wife and I were sorority sisters from the same sorority house at the same school. See a pattern? One of us is older so we never met when we were in college.

The ad guy knew the guy I was with because they had met at some executive breakfast months ago and discovered they both knew me. How did that conversation go?

A couple I didn't know at all sat down and began discussing their knee ailments, so it wasn't until later that I learned he was friends of the host from grade school, and her best friend was married to one of the host's fraternity brothers. That's when I asked if she also knew my girlfriend who had been married to the dead fraternity brother. Why yes, she did. Did I know the people who lived next door to the dead fraternity brother and my girlfriend, when they first got married? No. But after a phone call later to my girlfriend, I found out that the host's first wife, who, by the way, went to law school after the divorce and became my lawyer for a time, was now close friends with the woman who had lived next door.

You need a scorecard. 

Because the party was inhabited by a huge number of attorneys, there were people who knew my relatives, but didn't know me, until Friday night. I was the older sister, the granddaughter, the ex. In fact the host introduced me as the ex to several people.  Then he tried to tell the story about how his first wife and I ran into each other in labor at the hospital, while the husbands hung out, but he was one too many marriages, brandies and cigars into the evening to get it straight.

Then there was the host's daughter-in-law, who is also an attorney. On Friday night, she introduced herself to someone she had never met. Within two minutes she discovered that his wife was a woman she had just settled a case with. Not only that, the same woman had also been her father-in-law's former secretary. She had put herself through law school while working for the FIL. They are now new best friends -- the DIL and the former secretary.

Meanwhile, it turns out the hostess' son was close friends in grade school with the children of a couple I met, who are now, all these years later,building neighbors of the host and hostess.

I didn't have time to talk to everyone who was there because it was time for us to all walk across the street to the theater for the show. Which was surprisingly excellent. Those attorneys can sing and dance and act almost as good as, well, Kevin Bacon.

Ho Ho Ho

I took pictures of the dead flag hanging in front of Chase bank.  I used film so things are going a little slower than digital.  While you're waiting for photos and phone numbers of people you can call to help me complain, here's a little holiday cheer that arrived in my email today:


Christmas Carols for the Disturbed

1. Schizophrenia --- Do You Hear What I Hear?

2. Multiple Personality Disorder --- We Three Kings Disoriented Are

3. Dementia --- I Think I'll be Home for Christmas

4. Narcissistic --- Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me

5. Manic --- Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Buses and Trucks and Trees and.....

6. Paranoid --- Santa Claus is Coming to Town to Get Me

7. Borderline Personality Disorder --- Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire

8. Personality Disorder --- You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm Gonna Pout, Maybe I'll Tell You Why

9. Attention Deficit Disorder --- Silent night, Holy oooh look at the froggy - can I have a chocolate, why is France so far away?

10. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder --Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells ...

The Saga Continues

I called the VFW in my town. The number I called seems to ring at a phone in some old fart's bedroom. [No offense to old farts.] He sounded like I woke him up. After coming to, he suggested that the American Legion might be a better option when it comes to getting people to take down old and tattered flags.

So I called the American Legion here and the voicemail informed me that the box was full. 

Hello, hello, is anybody home?

Chase Bank is Too Cheap To Fly a New Flag, continued

I went looking for the name of the Chase Bank CEO so I could contact HIM about the flag and I found this:

JPMorgan Chase & Co. (NYSE: JPM) is a leading global financial services firm with assets of $1.2 trillion and operations in more than 50 countries. The firm is a leader in investment banking, financial services for consumers and businesses, financial transaction processing, asset and wealth management, and private equity. A component of the Dow Jones Industrial Average, JPMorgan Chase & Co. has its corporate headquarters in New York and its U.S. consumer and commercial banking headquarters in Chicago. Under the JPMorgan, Chase and Bank One brands, the firm serves millions of consumers in the United States and many of the world's most prominent corporate, institutional and government clients. Information about the firm is available at www.jpmorganchase.com.

Assets of 1.2 trillion and they can't fly a new flag. 

Dead Flag at Chase Bank Update

Holy red white and blue!!  The torn and tattered flag was still flying when I drove by on my way home tonight.

I will soon post a phone number that I encourage you to call to tell those jerks to take the flag down, retire it properly and hang up a new one.

Tomorrow morning I'll also get a picture of the rag that's flying there now.

I smell a chance to make Chase look like a bunch of assheads. Who could pass up such a great opportunity?

Dead Cat Update

Tonight when I got out of my car I heard a cat meow at me.  I called the neighbor from two doors down and we rescued my other neighbor's kitty from the crawl space above my garage. 

He's back in his home, eating like a pig, instead of frozen and dead.

Phew.

Chase National Bank Is Too Cheap to Fly a New Flag

Geez. I've finally turned into my worst nightmare. Woman over fifty -- way over fifty -- with an ax to grind. Oh, well, too late.

So, yesterday I was out doing errands. I get into my car, look up and notice the flagpole in front of the Chase National Bank branch office in my town. You probably have one in your town. They have bought up every bank in the country as near as I can determine.

They are flying a flag that looks like it's been in a panty raid. It's ripped, stained, and faded. It's also twisted.  And it's caught in the branches of a tree. How rude.

I called them up.  Hello, I notice that your flag is tattered and torn. This is disrespectful. The flag should be taken down and disposed of properly, then replaced with a new one. Silence.  Uh, we'll look into it. Let me make myself clear. If you don't take it down today I will call your corporate offices to complain. Uh, sure, we'll look into it. 

Yo, Bill, you'll never believe the call I just got.

That was after lunch, around two.  After sundown I went back and the flag was still twisting in the wind.

Meanwhile I tried to find a local VFW or some veterans' group to stop by the bank and tell them how to properly fly the flag.  Several calls later, no luck. That adventure in itself is worth an entry.

So I emailed the editor of our local paper, suggesting that a story about flag etiquette with a picture I could provide might be appropriate some time. Also a call from a reporter might spur the bank to do something about their own disgraceful display.

This morning I had to be downtown. I didn't have time to drive over to the branch to take a photo of the flag that I knew was still hanging from the pole. 

Once downtown I called the corporate office of Chase in Chicago. I explained my citizen's concern to an incredulous operator who had me wait on hold.  

Yo, Alice, wait till I tell you about the crazy lady I'm talking to.

After considerable waiting, I talked to an Indian guy who took my name, noted my concern over the raggedy flag and said he would contact the branch. I mention that he was Indian only because it occurred to me that I might have been on hold waiting for another continent to pick up.

Tonight on my way home, I'll stop by the branch to see how the flag, at least what's left of it, is doing. I hope they haven't taken it down yet so I can post a photo here. 

Most of the time I don't get riled up about stuff like this. But the more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got at the nerve of this bloodsucking, mortgage lender to be so cheap that they couldn't fly a nice, shiny new flag.

It's a power thing. Some days I just want to see how quickly I can make a monolithic company do what I want it to do. Since we all have to jump to their tune the rest of the time.

Dead Cat Anyone?

Last summer, those halcyon days I long for every morning this December, a gray cat took up housekeeping under the rose bushes next to my driveway.  Every day when I came home, he or she would scamper out from under the bushes and run into the back yard along the side of the garage.

I figured it was a homeless cat. Mainly because it never seemed to go home. It was always under the bushes when I came home at night. Still, I wasn't entirely sure.

I had no plans to adopt it. I don't want any more pets. I'll visit yours instead. 

So I just let the kitty do its thing.  It wasn't bothering me.

It's been months since it started hanging out. The day after our snowstorm here it was really getting cold.  After getting home from doing errands, I walked back out to my car and heard the most pathetic meow.  All of a sudden the kitty came out from under my car where it must have gone to keep warm.

It ran toward the garage and ducked inside. How'd it do that? One of the small square wood panels had fallen out of the garage door. Rats, I knew I should have replaced the whole door last summer, but I didn't. 

The kitty was inside the garage now meowing rather loudly. Help me. Help me. This was the first time I'd ever heard it make a sound.  Hmmm, I thought.  Maybe this kitty doesn't have a home.  Maybe it's starving and freezing.  And I'm the only person who can save it.  Oh great.  Like I have time for this. 

So I called the animal control people who, of course, only work from seven to three on weekdays. By now it was Saturday.  I left a message to call me when theygot in on Monday.

To make a long story short, I put some food inside the garage, along with water and a box with a warm rug and a blanket in it.  No way I was going to try to catch that cat, bring it into my house and discover it had fleas, rabies, and who knows what else.

The next day there was no more meowing. Today the animal control lady came by with a trap when I was gone.  She was going to check it every half hour.

Shortly after she arrived, a woman who lives two doors down came over and asked the animal control woman why she was there. To get a stray cat. What color is the cat? Gray. Ohh, that's the cat that the neighbors have been looking for.

Apparently the people who live right next door to me own this cat. They only let him out at night.  Until last summer he used to spend time under the deck by the dryer vent of the lady who lives two doors down. She moved the vent. So he moved his operations to my rose bushes.

Meanwhile, I had no idea my neighbors had a gray cat, since he wasn't out during the day, only at night. And they never talked about him. Weird.

Right after the storm last week they went to DisneyWorld. I didn't know this. Another neighbor told me. But, even with the bad weather, they left their cat outside. Okay, they asked the neighbor lady to keep an eye out and bring him in. But sheesh.

They never said anything to me. Did they think he wouldn't go in my yard? Did they forbid their cat from stepping foot on my property? In fact, what were they thinking?

This is the same neighbor that built a tall fence between my property and their property about two minutes after moving in. Without telling me in advance, like most neighbors would. Luckily I was home that day. When I saw the fence guy digging a post hole almost two feet onto my property I was able to say "What the f**k are you doing?" before the whole thing went up and had to be taken down.

The husband seems like a nice guy. You can have his wife. They do have two cute little girls. Now their cat may be frozen dead somewhere in my garage.

Merry Christmas.

Presidential Candidate Update

The Iowa governor who just announced he's running for president is a big man named Tom Vilsack.

He was interviewed by George Snuffalupagus this morning.  And he sounded very reasonable. He's running on an I WAS ADOPTED ticket.  Kind of a Harry Truman sort of person.  Down to earth.  Makes a lot of sense when he talks.  He hasn't got a prayer.

John Edwards has a book out.  So he's probably going to run.

Evan Bayh is going to run. He'll have to change his name. I'm not sure what that's about. He's from Indiana and nobody cares.

I guess the only people in the country -- except for Hillary and Obama -- with enough money to mount a campaign are rich white guys. Hillary is married to a rich white guy.  She also wrote a book and made a lot of money. So did Obama. His is supposed to be pretty good.

Time to get the icicles off my nose.

Christopher Walken Is Running For President

A bunch of white guys in suits that I've never heard of are announcing their plans to run for president of the United States.

That got me thinking that maybe I should throw my hat in the ring.  I was looking up information on How to Run for President on Google, when I noticed that Christopher Walken is running for president too. 

He has a web site that talks about it: http://www.walken2008.com/

I thought it would be humorous. It isn't. He's serious.

Uh-oh.