Steellover

The large white Siamese walked up to me, purring softly. I wanted to reach out, stroke it's soft, thick fur, but...

...Karla would have thought it was weird, like, "Why are you petting my car?"

Karla was a year behind me in high school but one of my first crushes- tall, athletic, strong, and muscular, with long curly dark brown hair. Something about strong, muscular, hot girls always did it for me.  She was a year behind me but yet, she thought I was too young for her, preferring seniors and college guys to dudes who were "only a year older."  Story of my life, sadly. 

But this isn't really about that.

It's about her car.  She had one of those early 80's Mercedes models that looked like big cats.  If you were around back then, you would probably recognize one if you saw one.  If you weren't around then, you'd probably laugh at it.  Those cars always made me smile; whenever you saw one on the road, it was like watching this big furry stuffed animal running down the road toward you.  They not only looked like cats, but they even sounded like them; they had this turbo-diesel motor that gave off a distinctive purring noise at idle that was as unmistakable as the "Garrr-rarrr-rarrr-rarr" of a Dodge Ram or the "SputtSputtSputtSputtSputt" of a Volkswagen boxer-four.  Mercedes built them from roughly the mid-1970s to the mid-1980s, but they were so well built and durable that, even like 15 years after they stopped making them, there were still millions of these large, furry critters running around the streets, roads and highways.  There was a two-door version and even a station wagon version, and they were built under various model numbers, I guess depending on level of trim and engine size or something. (She had the basic 300-series four door model.) They weren't particularly cheap; a new one cost like $24,000 back in 1983, which would be equivalent to roughly $65-70K today.  Nor did they have particularly cat-like reflexes; the turbo-diesel engine had marginally adequate performance for the time, but they certainly were no "Cat Rods."  

So Karla's car, like many others like it I'm sure, became the butt of many cat jokes. As pranks, we would leave bowls full of cat food in front of it sometimes.  Uh, maybe if we hadn't been such juvenile shits and made fun of her car, she would have gone out with me?  Don't think it would have worked that way.

Nowadays the Mercedes "Cats" are becoming more and more scarce on the streets. There just aren't that many left. I mean, it's been almost 40 years since they stopped making them.  But just this evening, I saw one while riding my bike around town and it made me smile. In fact, every time I see one of these oversized stuffed animals on the road it just makes me feel, well, warm and fuzzy.  It's weird, I guess, to derive such simple joy in such a dumb thing, but that's how it is.  Maybe in another 20 years, people will feel the same way about the ubiquitous Nissan "Frog" (Juke) or the Fiat "Mouse."  If Karla's car were still around- and I haven't seen either her or her car in many long years, I'd like to think it would chase the Fiat mice and Nissan frogs around for sport.  

It would be cool if Mercedes started building them again, like some retro-model, the way Volkswagen did with the Beetle. Maybe we should launch a letter-writing campaign to ressurrect this iconic model.  Like, "Bring back the Cat!"  It would probably end up being some kind of lame generic tall-wagon/crossover mini-SUV type thing though.  None of the current Mercedes models have much soul anymore. They just have that huge circle-star thing on the grille that looks like it's trying to scream "MERCEDES!!" at you.

So like I said earlier, I like to write blog posts about stuff nobody else ever writes blog posts about.  Hopefully I succeeded with this one. And that's about all I got.

Around 2016 or 2017 or so, there was this youtube channel that I loved to follow, which I discovered the usual way of going down youtube rabbit holes.  It featured a group of characters who all lived at and/or hung out at this somewhat dilapidated house in London, Ontario Canada, and worked for this guy Jeff McCafferty. Most of them were either young street urchins (like 21 year old Wil), recovering drug addicts (late-30 something Drew) or 20-something guys who had either done time in jail or who were likewise dealing with various substance abuse issues, all of them trying to live their lives and get back on their feet.  So the main character, Jeff, took these guys in, gave them jobs, and tried to hook them up, and the channel was about their various exploits. It was all raw, real and unscripted.  But despite the stated theme of it being about "A bunch of derelict Canadians pranking each other" there was an underlying theme of addiction and recovery.  And when Jeff eventually relapsed into his own addictions and his own life spiraled out of control, the channel became difficult to watch.  I'd like to think that Jeff and his Ramshackletons crew eventually got their lives together and were able to pick up the pieces, though I don't know; after Jeff posted a sort of "Farewell" after a stint in jail, nobody seems to know.

Around 1935, John Steinbeck wrote a novel called "Tortilla Flat."  In it, a chronically unemployed alcoholic named Danny inherits some property, which he sub-lets to a group of fellow bums, derelicts and degenerates.  All of them who struggle to some degree with alcoholism or mental illness.  However, together they try to be a force for good, banding together to help those in need in their community. (While also engaging in various booze-fueled shenanigans.)  But after Danny and the house is gone, the whole group splinters, presumably back to their lives in the gutter.

So this is for all of the Jeff McCaffertys and the Danny's out there, who, though they may have deep flaws, still nonetheless strive to be forces for unity and goodness, and bring out the best in people around them. 

So that's all I got. See ya.

Last night, I woke up from a deep and disturbing erotic dream.  Sometimes dreams can be a reflection of your deepest- and darkest- fantasies.  I suspect that was what triggered this.  I won't dwell on it, or describe it any further, other than it involved me being, well... submissive. 

But when I fell back asleep, it was all sweetness and light.  She was someone I met in the halls of the classroom unit where I was back in school once again, a 20 year old living in the dorms. Tall, dark hair, kind of pretty if not stunningly gorgeous, and quirky and intellectual instead of your typical snooty rich girl preppy princess type.   We hit it off, chatting about school, music, professors, college- and she gave me her number and I couldn't wait to call her. As I walked back to the dorm room, I saw her and we smiled and winked at each other.  When I woke up it was not without a bit of disappointment that it wasn't real.  She would have been the type of girl I have always been casually attracted to- with no deep and disturbing baggage attached.

So, one of the things I did when I woke up for good, was break down the old, rusted out barbecue grill and put it into the trash.

It's a weird feeling, to get sentimental about something as pointless and simple as a mere barbecue grill. But I still felt a bittersweet pang when I realized it was not going to make it through one more 4th of July cookout, and I needed to replace it. So I got a shiny new one for the holiday, and it worked perfectly, cooking sausages and brots for the block party we've been having, by tradition, for the last 5 or 6 years. Just a simple charcoal grill, not a gas one.  

I had got my old one at a yard sale nearly 20 years (or more) ago- before I even moved into this house I live in. Paid five bucks for it. After 20 years, I would certainly say I got my moneys worth. I remember all the fun parties in the past that I had, using that grill. Cooking kabobs on it for past 4th of July parties, which were attended by people who are now long since moved away- or in two cases, no longer alive (in this phase of reality.  I'd like to think we'll meet again in another one.)  Good, wonderful times with these people.  And my first house-warming party, held during a cold February evening, cooking outside on the deck.  Reflecting on people who have come and gone over the years. All those who attending parties over here with that charcoal grill as the centerpiece of these gatherings.

Last year, I noticed that it was leaning badly off balance. The ash collector plate at the bottom was dented and battered.  And when I examined it more closely, I noticed that the bottom of the grill, where the leg shaft brackets attach, was rusted almost completely through, by all three legs. One of them was now poking through the bottom, making it tilt.  I got one more party out of it, last year, but then I realized it was no longer even safe to use; one more cookout could potentially cause it to collapse and spill burning coals everywhere. So I realized I better replace it.  For some reason I waited until the week after breaking in the new one to dispose of it, though.  You might say I gave it an extra week to enjoy retirement, ha ha. 

And I realize now this is a whole lot of post about nothing, yada yada.  Or rather, it's about a $5 yard-sale find charcoal grill that lasted me 20 years and brought some good memories and great vibes with it.  Or maybe it's just being sentimental about dumb things.   Rest in peace, old rusted grill. That's about it for now. 

I guess one of my goals has always been to write posts about stuff that nobody else does.  It may not be terribly interesting to everyone, but at least it's original. That's the goal anyway.

One thing I've noticed about "erotic" posts is, what is erotic to one person is cringey to someone else.  If, for example, I talk about the deep erotic thrill of being spanked by a women, forced to take her strap-on, worship her boots or...use your imagination and fill in the blank-  then usually the reaction will be one of these 3 things, either  A) submissive females (and even some dominant females) will find such content cringey, or, B) dominant males will be outright disgusted, or C) only fellow submissive males will find it as erotic as I do. One out of three isn't bad I guess but that's still a pretty narrow appeal.

So... with that, I'll post about something else.  Something nobody notices or ever talks about.

Those green boxes. 

You see them everywhere: on sidewalks in residential areas. On front lawns, next to driveways, or around bushes.  If you go down to your local shopping center or office complex, you will see larger, taller ones.  You probably don't even notice them after a while.  I mean, they don't really appear to do anything but sit there, humming away (literally) cryptically, always in the same key.

That's another thing, if you do take notice- and if you don't, I certainly don't blame you at all!- then after a while you realize the enigmatic green boxes do always hum at the exact same pitch.  It's a low B, or just slightly off of a low B,  which is a scientific 61 cycle tone.  The boxes give off an almost exact 60 cycle tone.  There is a reason for this, but the explanation involves a bunch of technical scientific jargon and who really wants to read THAT?  (It would probably be about as cringey as me talking about being spanked.)  So anyway, what you can do, is walk up to one, preferably one of the larger ones that sit in front of most Burger King or Dairy Queen restaurants, and hum to yourself in the key of D sharp. And if you have a buddy with you, have them start humming in the key of F sharp. That way you can have a three part harmony with the box, and make beautiful green box music with them. 

Or, you can set your drinks on them, or use them as makeshift yard furniture.  Cats in particular like to lie on them in cool weather.  I mean, these boxes have to be good for SOMETHING, right?

Actually, they have something to do with electricity, because when the power goes out, lo and behold, all of the boxes stop humming.  So, next time you see one of those green boxes, and I bet you probably see dozens of them every day and just don't even notice them, then raise a toast to the singing but unsung heroes of underground power lines- the Green Boxes!

So, that's about it, see ya.

This is based on a true story, but the names of course have either been changed, or they simply aren't given. There are three people involved- a love-struck suitor, a Random Guy, and a beautiful and amazing woman. It's not an entirely happy story, but maybe it's not yet over.

Once upon a time, maybe ten or so years back, there was a girl.  She was tall, smart, beautiful and alluring.  The girl of his dreams, but of course he had not yet met her.  This girl loved to go out on the town, and have fun.  Who didn't in those days. Our main character, a love-struck suitor, he liked to do so as well.  Maybe he tried to be responsible and limit his number of drinks, but maybe not everyone else did.  Certainly not This Random Guy, whom she chose over him that night.

She and This Random Guy, they laughed and drank together. Somehow, he said the right things, and they hit it off.  A superficial hook-up, a shallow bro-brah who wanted nothing more than to brag about his conquest with the rest of his shallow bro-brah buddies the next day.  After a while, he decided to make his move.  "Hey, let's ride one of those electric scooters!  My apartment it just across Broadway, behind the stadium off of Beacon!  Let's go back to my place!" This Random Guy said.  "Hop on! We'll ride together!"

But This Random Guy had already ingested a random number of cocktails, a random number that was nonetheless far too high to negotiate such things as electric scooters.  But with no misgivings, She hopped on with him. Drawn by his... who knows what, was it his charms, his looks?  His false confidence and smarmy ways he had about him?  It's not always apparent why people choose the partners that they do.  Maybe it was nothing more than the booze talking.  Because speaking of which, it was not more than a couple blocks from his apartment where he lost control and crashed.  She hit the pavement, head first, fracturing her skull and bleeding profusely. He managed to escape with only minor injuries

Ever chivalrous, our Random Guy.  He carried her unconscious, lifeless body over to some nearby junipers.  Maybe he thought, "Oh Shit!  I better get out of here before the cops get here!"  Or maybe it was just "Oops, this sucks, guess maybe I won't get laid tonight after all." But either way, he just dumped her into the bushes, like a litterbug leaving out yesterday's trash- and left her there to die.

The neighbors found her body, barely alive, and called an ambulance.  Happily, she pulled through and eventually recovered, after weeks in a coma and months of recovery.  But she would always have a scar on her head, and a slight slur to her speech.  And yes, she would always remain beautiful.   After a few weeks, detectives caught up with our gallant Random Guy, who ended up getting only a year in prison for his so-called "noble and romantic exploits."

Ten years later, our hero, ever striving to be true, chivalrous, and noble, and not just a Random Guy, he sits; waiting in vain for her to return his love.

And that's all I have. See ya.

So, this is just a random question about something totally random.

Like, Why do we have so many fucking elements? 

Like, seriously, take, for instance, Gallium.  What the heck does one do with Gallium?  Mostly it just sits there, taking up space on the periodic table between Zinc and...whatever "Ge" is (some other equally useless element, most likely.)  I mean, do they make Gallium burgers?  Or Gallium necklaces?  Gallium toe rings?  I haven't heard of these things; for all intents and purposes, Gallium is frickin' useless.

Or Ytterbium.  Most people have never even heard of this stupid element.  If I still played Dungeons and Dragons, I might make Ytterbium pieces as coins, equal to five Dysprosium pieces, or eleven point two five Lanthanum pieces- or maybe six or seven "normal" metal coins like copper.  Because, what else do you do with Ytterbium?  I bet if there was a Ytterbium shortage, nobody would notice (or give a dang.)  On the other hand, I was trying to buy some Praseodymium bullion the other day, and lo and behold, the pawn shop was sold out of Praeseodymium.

Then there are those elements like Cesium, that do cool stuff like explode when you toss them in water, and while that's pretty cool in all, it really kind of gets old pretty quick if that's about all it's good for.

And you have stuff like Berkelium, Curium, Actinium,and Francium- radioactive death elements that seem to have no use other than radiation, pestilence, darkness and evil, bombs, worship of dark forces, corrosion and despair.  If we got rid of some of these stupid elements, I bet nobody would even miss them. And some of these, like, say, Meitnerium, have atoms that only last for nine seconds.  Like, what good is an element that only lasts for nine seconds?  Seriously, this is why kids hate chemistry.  

So, I propose, we get rid of some of these pointless and useless elements, that don't really do anything.

Anyway, that's about it, see ya.

This blog isn't about anything other than the subject line implies:  It's about my dad.

Dad was one of those guys who wasn't very good at communicating.  He wasn't the type of guy who, if you were struggling with something in your personal life- girls, not getting along so well with other guys, or general teenage angst- that you could go to for advice.  He wouldn't listen to you.  He might offer you some advice that had nothing to do with what you had just told him, making it clear that he either missed the point entirely, or just didn't want to be bothered. In a way, he reminded me of Red Foreman, the classic TV Dad from "That 70's Show-" sarcastic, stern, but in the end, he tried to do what he thought was right. 

     "Think positive," he always said- his answer to anything no matter what.  It wasn't always that simple of course. Not only is life full of fear, doubt and uncertainty, but I learned- life experience sometimes being as good a teacher as my father- that sometimes you have be prepared for the possibility of hardship and failure, or when it catches you blindsided, it becomes harder to bounce back.

     He came from a working class family, living paycheck-to-paycheck barely scraping by in a small apartment while his dad worked in the auto industry. Eventually they were able to move into a small house with a garden, when he was 11 or 12.  By the time I was born, Dad had a good, white collar job and we had a decent sized house in a nice hilly subdivision, and were never wanting.  I suspect that Dad thought I took my middle-class upbringing for granted.  I had my own struggles growing up but they were nothing like his family's struggles with poverty. Perhaps that's why he had a hard time relating to my own experiences and struggles.  

      By the time I was in college, he was always haranging me, "Cut your hair. Get a hair cut, hippie.  Why don't you wear nicer clothes?"  And then, when I graduated, I couldn't think of any real goals as far as a career, and I really struggled with that. Dad's way of motivating me was to point out how some of my peers were making $60 grand a year (pretty good for the mid/late 1990s) while I was still delivering pizzas.  However, Dad was always ready to lend a hand when I was struggling, in the best way he knew, whether it was driving 200 miles to pick me up after a road trip went horribly wrong (Resulting in a blown engine and dead car) or giving me some financial support when, at 28, I laid out my career plans which involved going to a vocational technical school.  And by then, I had finally cut my hair, updated my wardrobe, and was on my way to a good job- which I still have today, and which pays over $60 grand a year (which is decent if not extravagent for the early 2020s.)

     Though we had plenty of disagreements over the years, some of which led to fierce and bitter arguments, I always loved and respected him- and he likewise always wanted the best for me.  About a year or so before he passed away, he told me, "You are a good man."  That moment meant a lot to me. I felt then, that we had made our peace and that we had finally reconciled our differences.

     So anyway, that's about it, thanks for reading.  On another note, Mister Youtube Math Man said the other day, "Many will get wrong!  Solve for x:"

The equasion was "x squared over 4 equals -4."  So, using my math skills, I deduced that x squared equaled negative sixteen.  After which, I entered  "Square root of minus sixteen" into my calculator.  It gave me the answer " - E -" .  Okay, so the answer must be "- E -." then, I thought.  Or it's one of those imaginary numbers, like eleventy four, 4i, or Sixty-Twelve. Anyway, I got it wrong. So, I've since gone down another rabbit hole; watching videos of some punk-rock looking Australian kid smash up old desktop computers in a fit of rage.  It's utterly stupid and mindless, but at least there are no wrong answers.

"MANY will get wrong!" says the enticing youtube tag.  "Oh YEAH?!" I ask myself.  "This is easy; I'll show him!" 

So I whip out some scratch paper and come up with an answer.  Yeah, many will get wrong, but I'm not gonna be one of 'em...

Why do I even waste my time; math was always my least favorite subject. And how did this dumb math problem show up in my Youtube recommendations anyway?  What kind of insidious math algorithm did this Mister Youtube Math Man come up with, to torment us with his insidiously evil math problems, that many, in fact, DO get wrong?  

So I set about to prove Mr. Youtube Math Man wrong.  OF COURSE I know how to do this, it's only been (3x + 10 =100) years since I last took algebra, so...  Sometimes I do get it right.  Maybe  60-70 percent of the time.  "Ha ha, you can't put one over on ME, Mr. Youtube Math Man!" I sneer at the screen.  "IF you got this right, you get an A plus, happy face, and certificate of excellence so you can brag to your friends and family that you are a certified expert in the field of polynomial equasions!" He replies. (Yeah, I'm not really gonna brag to people about that.  They'll just be like, "Why are you such a math nerd, and aren't there more interesting things to watch on Youtube?"  To which I'd reply, "Yeah, your're right.  But you see, Mister Youtube Math Man, he's like my nemesis!")

Or, I'll get his silly math problem wrong and be like "Goddang it, Mr. Youtube Math Man!  You got me there. Dang it.!"  And feel pretty dumb since like, probably every average 9th grader in the world probably got it right.

So, I dunno. Math was always my worst, and least favorite subject. Ironically though it seems.  I do enjoy interesting content, about music, or horror movie shorts, or other topics of interest.  So, how I got suckered into wasting valuable computer time watching Mr. Youtube Math Man's silly videos in the first place, I'll never know.  Maybe because my ego needs a constant fix, or maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment. 

Or maybe I just need some better content for blog posts.  So that's about it, see ya.

When we were kids, we had literally boxes and boxes full of little 2 1/2" high plastic toy soldiers.  Little green plastic tanks and green plastic cannons, and big plastic mountains representing Iwo Jima and the German Navarone stronghold.  We would set them up, sometimes to play war-strategy games with each other, sometimes we would just set them up and imagine them in a quest to liberate our living room from the evil forces striving to make us pick up our toys. Shoot them with rubber bands, "Bang, Bang, you're dead."  Then set them up again.

We were given plastic toy rifles, and would run up in the open spaces and hills nearby, pretending we were commandos liberating a hillside or woods from imaginary foes. "Bang Bang, your dead!"  We'd cry. Kids who "Died" would count to 20, and then be right back at it. (Sadly, these days, a lot of kids aren't allowed to play with guns anymore.  I won't comment further other than to say that times change.)

We'd envision ourselves as the bright and shining good guys, wading ashore, mowing down enemies, indestructible fighting machines. 

It was a kid's naive and childish vision of war.  I admit I am probably a little ashamed of that now.

I would wholeheartedly recommend watching the movie "Saving Private Ryan" if you haven't seen it yet. This is a more grim, true depiction of what really happened on that day, 80 years ago. Good guys wading ashore, and being mowed down like blades of grass.  Not indestructible fighting machines, but flesh and blood, maimed, blasted and torn apart.  No "counting to 20" there. No setting them up again like cheap plastic fobs. The death toll and sacrifice that day was ghastly.  And every day, I thank those who were called upon to make that sacrifice. To fight and sacrifice for what is important and what we take for granted.

D-Day was 80 years ago and it prompted me to make this post. I was originally gonna post about something else, but thought better of it.  Seeing that movie was part of it. Seeing the wall of names at the Vietnam Memorial, or standing on the sunken deck of the Uss Arizona in Hawaii and knowing that most of the crew's bodies were never recovered- that made a huge impression on me as a kid.

Without getting too controversial, it is saddening to see our freedoms under attack, not by uniformed nazis overseas, but by forces in our own country wanting to take them away.  In just a couple years, freedoms have already been lost; Our younger generations are already the first in nearly 100 years to have less freedom than those that came before.

But I still am grateful for the sacrifice those soldiers made in Normandy, and for preserving the freedoms that we sadly take for granted today. Anyway, that's about it, see ya.

Somewhere, beyond the veils of this earth, there must lie a place,

Uncorrupted by sorrow, loss, or sadness, 

Untainted by war, greed or corruption, 

Where hate is a forgotten myth of a bygone place, and love and joy rules supreme. 

Somewhere, beyond the havens and across the sea, there is a far, fair green country under a swift sunrise.

Where life is abundant, beauty never withers and light never fades.

Sleep is peaceful and dreamless, and waking life is as bright and wonderful as a child's best daydream.

I spend my life seeking the Havens, but a voice says, "You are not ready. Yet."

So I abide here, seeking the beauty and joy in everyday life, even if that is a mere reflection of that land beyond the Western Sea.

And still strive, not always successfully, to learn and grow and be a good person, so that one day, I will be ready to take that journey,

To the Havens, and across the sea to that fair green country under the eternal swift sunrise.