More Weird Stuff
According to daughter #2, another weird thing about me (in addition to having a special bowl and a special coffee cup) is that I have a specific place that I sit on the couch and that place belongs to me, so if someone is sitting in the spot, I will make them move out of that spot so I can sit in that spot. Okay, so I guess this is true, and I guess it is kind of weird, but I also eat the same thing for breakfast just about every morning, do all the puzzles on the puzzle page every day, and recently downloaded “Raise Your Glass,” onto my IPod. I never claimed to be normal, so what can you do?
Heard on the Announcements
Every once in awhile, there’s actually something said on our morning announcements at school that I find worth paying attention to. Today, there were two such somethings. The first was during an announcement about the baseball game yesterday afternoon – apparently, one of the dramatic moments occurred when the shortstop drove for the ball (can’t you just picture him jumping in his car and peeling out?). The second was during a warning about a “Stranger Danger” situation (which is not a laughing matter, and which shouldn’t be seen as amusing in any way, because “Stranger Danger” is scary and dangerous and not funny at all) when kids were told to make sure that they, “Don’t touch strangers.” Hmmm. Definitely good advice, that I believe I will be incorporating into my own life immediately.
My Inbox Runneth Over
Birthdays are kind of funny things when you think about it. I mean, it’s not like you, personally did anything all that special on that day, other than happen to enter into the world – it was your mom that did all the work (in my case, apparently that was a whole lot of work – and after watching my lovely wife birth three children, I can honestly say that the whole birthing thing seems like an awful lot of work and not particularly comfortable, and I’m glad I was the one fetching ice chips and telling her when to breathe as opposed to being the one who… well, you know). And when you reach a certain age, maybe in your twenties or thirties, the whole birthday thrill kind of gets toned down (at least it has for me) and it becomes, in the immortal words of my father, “Just another day.” So I don’t get all that hyped up about birthdays anymore, other than the ones where I get to change age groups, but a couple of things did come up on mine (which was yesterday, in case you missed it).
First, apparently, I’ve “beaten the curve” when it comes to the degeneration of my near-vision ability according to my eye doctor. I told him I was starting to have just a little bit of blurriness in one of my eyes when I’m reading, so he checked me out and said there was a little bit of degradation of vision, but it’s still not bad enough to have to do anything about it (other than hold things farther away – and since I’m a “pretty tall guy” that shouldn’t be a problem) and what’s more, most people start having a problem with this in their early forties (hence the “beating the curve” comment from earlier). I think it’s only fair that this is so since I started losing my vision when I was 7 years old and I have pretty awful vision overall and can’t see a darned thing without my contacts or glasses (definitely didn’t beat that curve).
Second, when I opened up my email yesterday afternoon (and again this morning) instead of the usual three or four messages waiting for me, there was an entire page-full – and all of them from Facebook, announcing that someone had posted on my wall or left a comment. As I opened up the multitude of messages, I discovered that all of them centered around the theme of, “Hope you have a happy birthday.” I have to say that all these messages from friends, family, colleagues, former classmates, former students, and other miscellaneous people wandering around the internet landscape (hopefully, though, no strangers that I need to avoid touching) warmed this old curmudgeon’s cold, cold heart just a wee bit, and I was tempted to race to the tip-top of Mount Crumpit so that I could save the presents from being dumped into oblivion and go sledding down into Who-ville, where I would join all the Who’s, tall and small, for a glorious rendition of, “Happy Birthday to You,” before carving the roast beast.
Third, I realized (actually realized this a couple of weeks ago) that I have now been married for more than half of my life. That’s right, and if you doubt me, you can do the math just like I did. Take my age (which is now 47) and divide it by two and what do you get? Twenty-three and a half – which translates to 23 years and 6 months. And I was married when I was 23 years, 3 months, and a handful of days old, which is, if you’re doing the math correctly, less than 23 years and 6 months. So I’ve now been married for longer than I’ve been unmarried, which is actually kind of overwhelming and a little surprising to think about – as well as, of course, heart-warming and romantic and all that junk since every single nano-second of that 23 years, 8 months and 21 days has been nothing but pure, unadulterated bliss. Rock on.
Fourth, I realized that I will now be able to shoot lower than my age in mini-golf without too much cheating, I can still easily bowl my age, and what’s more, I can run more miles in a day than my age (sorry, I just had to add a running reference to this post – I’m jonesing bad after two posts in a row with no mention of running whatsoever, dudes).
That’s all I can think of for now, so until next time, may your weird tendencies be interpreted as endearing rather than creepy, may your curves remain beaten into submission, and may your vision remain unsullied by blurriness or those strange little floaties that float around in your vision every once in awhile.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Bowls, Boulevards and Backstrokes
Cereal Bowls
The other day, I was accused not once, but twice, of being “weird,” and each of these accusations came from a 7th grader – which is, as the saying goes, probably an example of, “the pot calling the kettle weird.” Anyhow, the first occurrence occurred when a student accused me of wearing a “weird-looking shirt,” which technically isn’t accusing me of being weird, but since it’s weirdness by association, we’ll go ahead and split the difference and go with it for now. What I was wearing was a Hawaiian shirt that I’d gotten in Hawaii, and which I consider to be quite stylish. I asked him why he thought my shirt was “weird” when I viewed it to be quite stylish, and he said he liked it, but it just wasn’t my normal style (which, to be fair, it probably isn’t since it has buttons and a collar and my usual shirt has neither of those). The second incident occurred when a student asked me if I had a special bowl that I used for cereal, which may seem like kind of a random question for someone to ask (and I guess it might be, but these kinds of things happen on a regular basis when one is dealing with 7th graders). Apparently, there’s a reference to having a special bowl for one’s cereal in a song called “Friday” which I was supposed to have heard of because it’s fairly popular and is sung by some fairly popular teeny-bopper. I hadn’t heard the song before, so I went and listened to it later, and I have to say I wasn’t impressed (especially by the really lame video accompanying the song) but then I listened to the original version by Bob Dylan, which was actually pretty good, and I was kind of depressed by how horribly the teeny-bopper had mangled Bob Dylan’s pretty decent song. Anyway, I told this 7th grader that I did, in fact, have a special bowl for my cereal, and she thought that was pretty weird, which led to her accusing me of being weird, because, as she put it, “Can’t you just pull out any old bowl and use it?” but I explained that I like big bowls, so I’d bought a big plastic bowl that I use for cereal and salad and grapes and other food items that go into big bowls, and what’s more I have certain cups for my coffee because I like the size and feel of them and she decided that was even weirder, to which I guess I had to sort of agree about my weirdness, because I guess I am a little weird about the whole bowl/cup thing, but what are you going to do?
Oracle Revisited
I experienced/observed yet another strange occurrence on Oracle this morning (previous strange sightings have included nuns in a Ford Taurus, a ninja runner, and a monkey in a car). Today, as I was driving down Oracle on my way to work after a lovely swimming workout (marred only slightly by the presence of a gaggle of giggling boot-campers) I was in the far left lane cruising along between Ina and Orange Grove when I spotted a car ahead of me that was stopped. Right in the middle of the road – just stopped. No hazard lights on – just stopped in the lane I was driving in. So I slowed down, wondering what was going on, and switched lanes so I wouldn’t plow into this car that’s stopped in the middle of the road, and as I approached, I tried to figure out why he had stopped in the middle of Oracle (which is a pretty busy road – even at 6:35 in the morning) and near as I can tell, he had stopped because there was something (about as big as a breadbox) sitting right next to the median and he was checking to see if it was worth picking up. I deduce this from the fact that he was stopped in the middle of the road, that he opened his door and leaned out of the car to take a closer look at whatever the object was (I wasn’t able to make out what the object actually was) and that he apparently decided it wasn’t worth picking up, because he closed his door without picking the item up and continued on his way (this happened after I’d passed him by). I will admit that I’ve stopped while riding my bike a few times to pick something up (usually a pair of sunglasses) but I don’t think I’d ever stop my car in the middle of a busy road to do so. And neither should you (consider this your driving tip of the day).
Speaking of swimming…
As I was finishing up my swim today, I decided to try a couple of laps of backstroke as a cool-down. This was suggested to me by my swimming coach, Josh, who claims that it’s a good way to stretch out the muscles and has been trying to get me to backstroke through my cool-down at our practices. Actually, I think he’s only encouraging me to backstroke through my cool-down because he thinks it’s funny to watch me thrash about aimlessly and run into the ropes on the sides of the lane. The problem is, I’m not a swimmer by nature (or nurture, for that matter) so I haven’t done much backstroking in my course of my life, so I have a tendency to run into the ropes on the sides of the lane while attempting to navigate down the pool. But as the old saying goes, “Practice makes perfect” (or maybe it’s, “That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”) so I figured I’d give it a shot since I had a lane to myself and nobody was really paying attention to me (there are lifeguards, but I don’t think they’re paying all that much attention to us at these early morning swims – especially with all the gyrating and giggling and what-not that the boot-campers are doing). Anyway, the point of all this is that I actually made it all the way from one end of the pool to the other without once whamming into the floats on either side of the lane (I will admit I cheated by peeking over every once in awhile to reorient myself). So there you go.
That’s all I can think of for now, so until next time, may your passages through whatever town you pass through be worry free, may your cereal bowls be large enough to accomodate whatever cereal you choose to eat, and may your backstroke remain smooth and unfettered by herky-jerky motions that misdirect you off the desired course and into hazardous waters.
The other day, I was accused not once, but twice, of being “weird,” and each of these accusations came from a 7th grader – which is, as the saying goes, probably an example of, “the pot calling the kettle weird.” Anyhow, the first occurrence occurred when a student accused me of wearing a “weird-looking shirt,” which technically isn’t accusing me of being weird, but since it’s weirdness by association, we’ll go ahead and split the difference and go with it for now. What I was wearing was a Hawaiian shirt that I’d gotten in Hawaii, and which I consider to be quite stylish. I asked him why he thought my shirt was “weird” when I viewed it to be quite stylish, and he said he liked it, but it just wasn’t my normal style (which, to be fair, it probably isn’t since it has buttons and a collar and my usual shirt has neither of those). The second incident occurred when a student asked me if I had a special bowl that I used for cereal, which may seem like kind of a random question for someone to ask (and I guess it might be, but these kinds of things happen on a regular basis when one is dealing with 7th graders). Apparently, there’s a reference to having a special bowl for one’s cereal in a song called “Friday” which I was supposed to have heard of because it’s fairly popular and is sung by some fairly popular teeny-bopper. I hadn’t heard the song before, so I went and listened to it later, and I have to say I wasn’t impressed (especially by the really lame video accompanying the song) but then I listened to the original version by Bob Dylan, which was actually pretty good, and I was kind of depressed by how horribly the teeny-bopper had mangled Bob Dylan’s pretty decent song. Anyway, I told this 7th grader that I did, in fact, have a special bowl for my cereal, and she thought that was pretty weird, which led to her accusing me of being weird, because, as she put it, “Can’t you just pull out any old bowl and use it?” but I explained that I like big bowls, so I’d bought a big plastic bowl that I use for cereal and salad and grapes and other food items that go into big bowls, and what’s more I have certain cups for my coffee because I like the size and feel of them and she decided that was even weirder, to which I guess I had to sort of agree about my weirdness, because I guess I am a little weird about the whole bowl/cup thing, but what are you going to do?
Oracle Revisited
I experienced/observed yet another strange occurrence on Oracle this morning (previous strange sightings have included nuns in a Ford Taurus, a ninja runner, and a monkey in a car). Today, as I was driving down Oracle on my way to work after a lovely swimming workout (marred only slightly by the presence of a gaggle of giggling boot-campers) I was in the far left lane cruising along between Ina and Orange Grove when I spotted a car ahead of me that was stopped. Right in the middle of the road – just stopped. No hazard lights on – just stopped in the lane I was driving in. So I slowed down, wondering what was going on, and switched lanes so I wouldn’t plow into this car that’s stopped in the middle of the road, and as I approached, I tried to figure out why he had stopped in the middle of Oracle (which is a pretty busy road – even at 6:35 in the morning) and near as I can tell, he had stopped because there was something (about as big as a breadbox) sitting right next to the median and he was checking to see if it was worth picking up. I deduce this from the fact that he was stopped in the middle of the road, that he opened his door and leaned out of the car to take a closer look at whatever the object was (I wasn’t able to make out what the object actually was) and that he apparently decided it wasn’t worth picking up, because he closed his door without picking the item up and continued on his way (this happened after I’d passed him by). I will admit that I’ve stopped while riding my bike a few times to pick something up (usually a pair of sunglasses) but I don’t think I’d ever stop my car in the middle of a busy road to do so. And neither should you (consider this your driving tip of the day).
Speaking of swimming…
As I was finishing up my swim today, I decided to try a couple of laps of backstroke as a cool-down. This was suggested to me by my swimming coach, Josh, who claims that it’s a good way to stretch out the muscles and has been trying to get me to backstroke through my cool-down at our practices. Actually, I think he’s only encouraging me to backstroke through my cool-down because he thinks it’s funny to watch me thrash about aimlessly and run into the ropes on the sides of the lane. The problem is, I’m not a swimmer by nature (or nurture, for that matter) so I haven’t done much backstroking in my course of my life, so I have a tendency to run into the ropes on the sides of the lane while attempting to navigate down the pool. But as the old saying goes, “Practice makes perfect” (or maybe it’s, “That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”) so I figured I’d give it a shot since I had a lane to myself and nobody was really paying attention to me (there are lifeguards, but I don’t think they’re paying all that much attention to us at these early morning swims – especially with all the gyrating and giggling and what-not that the boot-campers are doing). Anyway, the point of all this is that I actually made it all the way from one end of the pool to the other without once whamming into the floats on either side of the lane (I will admit I cheated by peeking over every once in awhile to reorient myself). So there you go.
That’s all I can think of for now, so until next time, may your passages through whatever town you pass through be worry free, may your cereal bowls be large enough to accomodate whatever cereal you choose to eat, and may your backstroke remain smooth and unfettered by herky-jerky motions that misdirect you off the desired course and into hazardous waters.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Final Burger and Pet Peeves
The Final Burger
Several people were wondering after the last posting exactly what kind of burger I ordered at Zinburger and what that might suggest about me. For those of you who want to know, here’s the rest of the story… As I usually do, I ordered a “Samburger” on that fateful eve (which is a burger with bacon and cheese – quite delicious). So what does this suggest, you might ask? Is there some connection to the bacon (some subconcious “pig-man” type of thing) or is it the name itself that compels me to place this particular order. I would say the latter (I don’t think I want to be a pig-man) and that this probably suggests a deep-seated and latent desire to be named “Sam.” If only, I often think as I lay tossing and turning late and night, I had been named Sam. How different my life would have been. A life filled with action, adventure, romance, suspense, and drama – a life including alien abductions, thwarted love, suffering and torment and overcoming unbelievable odds - instead of the plain old humdrum life that is mine. Actually, that’s more the life of someone named “Jack” than someone named “Sam” so if there was a “Jackburger” this scenario might make more sense (which makes me wonder, exactly why a burger with bacon is called a “Samburger” in the first place – was it invented by someone named Sam or is Sam the word for bacon in some exotic language and locale?). So if that’s not it, perhaps there’s some other “Sam” connection. I do remember I once had a friend named Sam who lived down the block. And I was always jealous of Sam because he had all the newest and coolest GI Joe paraphernalia (like the GI Joe tower that had a zip line and working searchlight, and the six-wheeled all terrain vehicle/mobile command post that also had a working searchlight, and a really cool wind-powered vehicle with wheels and a sail that we used to take outside so that GI Joe could go whooshing down the sidewalk, and other various/sundry cool stuff). Or maybe my Sam connection is related to the first dog I remember our family owning, a fat old basset hound who used to lie in the middle of the road by our house. Or it could come down to the simple fact that I really like bacon on my burger. Who’s to say?
These are a few of my least favorite things
With apologies to Julie Andrews, there are certain things that are just annoying. Not major, earth-shattering things that make your stomach turn and your heart hurt, just minor peeves that itch under the skin and make you grit your teeth slightly and question the laws of the universe. Several of those things reared their heads the other day, and they are as follows.
First on the list is “Aqua Boot Camp,” which is held every Tuesday and Thursday morning at 5:30 in the pool at the Y. This is the pool where I put in my laps every Tuesday and Thursday at 5:30, and up until the advent of “Aqua Boot Camp,” these morning constitutionals were peaceful and soothing, and I would be able to get in a quality workout along with a few other dedicated souls who rose before the sun to soak up the chlorine. But now, we have “Aqua Boot Campers” joining us, and they’ve recently expanded into a group of a dozen or so, when I was hoping they would just fade away after a couple of weeks. So I’m fearing that they’re probably here to stay. What’s so bad about this, you might ask? What’s wrong with a program that gets people out and exercising? Well, sure, that’s a good thing, but here’s what bugs me about the whole situation. First, they’ve now taken yet another lane (up from two lanes to three) from the lap-swimmers (leaving us with only three), which means we often have to “circle swim” which is pretty much a hassle. Second, they play loud, really cruddy music (like “Heart of Glass” by Blondie - only this isn’t the version by Blondie, it’s a cover band version made to fit a particular tempo conducive to Aqua Boot Camping and once you’ve heard it, it’s stuck in your head for the rest of the day). Third, the person running the boot camp is drearily cheerful for 5:30 in the morning, cheering on her “Aqua Boot Campers” as they tread water and dance in the water and gyrate in the water. I was under the impression (from my extensive experience as a viewer of movies portraying boot camp) that boot camp is about demanding drill sergeants who berate naïve young souls for being “namby-pambys” not people who encourage and urge on in a positive and cheerful manner, telling everyone what a “great job” they’re doing as they tread water and dance in the water and gyrate in the water. Fourth, and perhaps most annoying of all, the annoyingly cheerful person running the boot camp wears camouflage. Every day. I peek over at her every once in awhile through my slightly foggy goggles and shake my head in disgust – because I have to tell you, she’s not blending into the background at all, and isn’t that the point of camouflage (to blend into the background)? And if she’s not trying to blend into the background, what the heck is she doing wearing camouflage? It’s just wrong.
Second on the list is people who refuse to put their dog on a leash. I get that there are some very well-trained dogs who probably don’t need a leash, and that don’t chase after people who are running and try to bite them, but there are a lot of other dogs that aren’t that well-trained, and they do chase after people who are running and they do try to bite them, and that’s exactly what happened the other day, ironically enough, just outside a dog park that I was running by. This person who refused to put their dog on a leash let their dog run over to the dog park entrance (so it could say, “Hello,” to one of its dog friends) while she was getting out of the car, and sure enough, when the dog spotted me running by, it barked and chased and snapped at me, making me very uncomfortable, so I said something along the lines of, “I would greatly appreciate it if you would keep your dog on a leash so that it doesn’t chase after me and try to bite me,” to which she responded, “He’s only trying to play,” to which I responded, “He tried to rip out my Achilles tendon,” to which she responded by getting huffy, (and her response – surprise, surprise - was supported by all the other people with their dogs in the dog park, who booed and hissed at me for getting upset about being chased and snapped at by a dog that wasn’t on a leash).
Third on the list is people who drive great big trucks with horse trailers on dirt roads by my house and try to run me over – even though it’s a dirt road with just about no traffic on it and I’m way over on the side of the road. Just after the dog incident, I was running along the side of the dirt road near my house, and this big truck with a big horse trailer passed by going very slowly and as soon as the truck passed me, the driver cut immediately in front of me to turn into a driveway, forcing me to stop, or I would have run smack dab into his truck. So I stopped and waited for him to turn very slowly and waited for the trailer to follow him very slowly, and I wondered what the heck was the matter with him to do such a thing. But I guess he proved his point (whatever it was).
Whew – glad to get all that off my chest. Until next time, may your peeves be paltry, may your Achilles tendons remain intact, and may your burgers remain Sam-a-licious.
Several people were wondering after the last posting exactly what kind of burger I ordered at Zinburger and what that might suggest about me. For those of you who want to know, here’s the rest of the story… As I usually do, I ordered a “Samburger” on that fateful eve (which is a burger with bacon and cheese – quite delicious). So what does this suggest, you might ask? Is there some connection to the bacon (some subconcious “pig-man” type of thing) or is it the name itself that compels me to place this particular order. I would say the latter (I don’t think I want to be a pig-man) and that this probably suggests a deep-seated and latent desire to be named “Sam.” If only, I often think as I lay tossing and turning late and night, I had been named Sam. How different my life would have been. A life filled with action, adventure, romance, suspense, and drama – a life including alien abductions, thwarted love, suffering and torment and overcoming unbelievable odds - instead of the plain old humdrum life that is mine. Actually, that’s more the life of someone named “Jack” than someone named “Sam” so if there was a “Jackburger” this scenario might make more sense (which makes me wonder, exactly why a burger with bacon is called a “Samburger” in the first place – was it invented by someone named Sam or is Sam the word for bacon in some exotic language and locale?). So if that’s not it, perhaps there’s some other “Sam” connection. I do remember I once had a friend named Sam who lived down the block. And I was always jealous of Sam because he had all the newest and coolest GI Joe paraphernalia (like the GI Joe tower that had a zip line and working searchlight, and the six-wheeled all terrain vehicle/mobile command post that also had a working searchlight, and a really cool wind-powered vehicle with wheels and a sail that we used to take outside so that GI Joe could go whooshing down the sidewalk, and other various/sundry cool stuff). Or maybe my Sam connection is related to the first dog I remember our family owning, a fat old basset hound who used to lie in the middle of the road by our house. Or it could come down to the simple fact that I really like bacon on my burger. Who’s to say?
These are a few of my least favorite things
With apologies to Julie Andrews, there are certain things that are just annoying. Not major, earth-shattering things that make your stomach turn and your heart hurt, just minor peeves that itch under the skin and make you grit your teeth slightly and question the laws of the universe. Several of those things reared their heads the other day, and they are as follows.
First on the list is “Aqua Boot Camp,” which is held every Tuesday and Thursday morning at 5:30 in the pool at the Y. This is the pool where I put in my laps every Tuesday and Thursday at 5:30, and up until the advent of “Aqua Boot Camp,” these morning constitutionals were peaceful and soothing, and I would be able to get in a quality workout along with a few other dedicated souls who rose before the sun to soak up the chlorine. But now, we have “Aqua Boot Campers” joining us, and they’ve recently expanded into a group of a dozen or so, when I was hoping they would just fade away after a couple of weeks. So I’m fearing that they’re probably here to stay. What’s so bad about this, you might ask? What’s wrong with a program that gets people out and exercising? Well, sure, that’s a good thing, but here’s what bugs me about the whole situation. First, they’ve now taken yet another lane (up from two lanes to three) from the lap-swimmers (leaving us with only three), which means we often have to “circle swim” which is pretty much a hassle. Second, they play loud, really cruddy music (like “Heart of Glass” by Blondie - only this isn’t the version by Blondie, it’s a cover band version made to fit a particular tempo conducive to Aqua Boot Camping and once you’ve heard it, it’s stuck in your head for the rest of the day). Third, the person running the boot camp is drearily cheerful for 5:30 in the morning, cheering on her “Aqua Boot Campers” as they tread water and dance in the water and gyrate in the water. I was under the impression (from my extensive experience as a viewer of movies portraying boot camp) that boot camp is about demanding drill sergeants who berate naïve young souls for being “namby-pambys” not people who encourage and urge on in a positive and cheerful manner, telling everyone what a “great job” they’re doing as they tread water and dance in the water and gyrate in the water. Fourth, and perhaps most annoying of all, the annoyingly cheerful person running the boot camp wears camouflage. Every day. I peek over at her every once in awhile through my slightly foggy goggles and shake my head in disgust – because I have to tell you, she’s not blending into the background at all, and isn’t that the point of camouflage (to blend into the background)? And if she’s not trying to blend into the background, what the heck is she doing wearing camouflage? It’s just wrong.
Second on the list is people who refuse to put their dog on a leash. I get that there are some very well-trained dogs who probably don’t need a leash, and that don’t chase after people who are running and try to bite them, but there are a lot of other dogs that aren’t that well-trained, and they do chase after people who are running and they do try to bite them, and that’s exactly what happened the other day, ironically enough, just outside a dog park that I was running by. This person who refused to put their dog on a leash let their dog run over to the dog park entrance (so it could say, “Hello,” to one of its dog friends) while she was getting out of the car, and sure enough, when the dog spotted me running by, it barked and chased and snapped at me, making me very uncomfortable, so I said something along the lines of, “I would greatly appreciate it if you would keep your dog on a leash so that it doesn’t chase after me and try to bite me,” to which she responded, “He’s only trying to play,” to which I responded, “He tried to rip out my Achilles tendon,” to which she responded by getting huffy, (and her response – surprise, surprise - was supported by all the other people with their dogs in the dog park, who booed and hissed at me for getting upset about being chased and snapped at by a dog that wasn’t on a leash).
Third on the list is people who drive great big trucks with horse trailers on dirt roads by my house and try to run me over – even though it’s a dirt road with just about no traffic on it and I’m way over on the side of the road. Just after the dog incident, I was running along the side of the dirt road near my house, and this big truck with a big horse trailer passed by going very slowly and as soon as the truck passed me, the driver cut immediately in front of me to turn into a driveway, forcing me to stop, or I would have run smack dab into his truck. So I stopped and waited for him to turn very slowly and waited for the trailer to follow him very slowly, and I wondered what the heck was the matter with him to do such a thing. But I guess he proved his point (whatever it was).
Whew – glad to get all that off my chest. Until next time, may your peeves be paltry, may your Achilles tendons remain intact, and may your burgers remain Sam-a-licious.
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