Thursday, April 30, 2009

The Matrix Monoface

They are not necessarily Hollywood's best actors, but the following I find to be the most interesting to watch on screen, i.e., the expressions, the movements on their very faces: Al Pacino, Jeff Goldblum, Steve Buscemi, and, yes, Dom DeLuise. If an Oscar were given for the category called best facial histrionics (is that the correct term?), I'd like to see them win it.

Now contrast them with the "facial acting" of Keanu Reeves.

-Old Gargoyle

My Heart (and Nose) Is in Dixie

The American Lung Association has announced its list of the ten metropolitan areas in the U.S. with the dirtiest air and some with the cleanist. Nowhere on the dirty list do I see my area of Aheadofrepoman, Delaware. What's the matter with these lung people? Don't they visit Delaware? (I know, I know, no one in his right mind ever visits Delaware.) Every morning I sniff to the north and smell the foul air coming from the chemical factories at Wilmington. I sniff to the north and the east and smell the foul air saturated with the odor of rotting, Mafia-erased bodies from New York City's East River and from New Jersey. I sniff to the west and the south and smell the "fowl" air from the chicken and turkey farms and the fireworks factories of downstate Delaware and nearby Maryland. What does it take to convince the A.L.A.---an Association president with the nose of Jimmy Durante?

The cleanest-air metro area is Fargo, North Dakota. Fargo? If snow and sleet are always in the air around Fargo, how can any odor develop? Simply not fair. I vote for Magnolia, Mississippi. Ahh, what's a more-pleasant smell than the lemony magnolia flower? And, Lord knows, Magnolia, Mississippi could use some recognition.

-Old Gargoyle

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Wheels of Fortune

This morning I did my first-time accompaniment of a little old lady in her car on her Meals on Wheels route. I think I'm supposed to inherit her route very soon. Lord, what a disaster. Four of the elderly women whose houses we visited screamed in fright of my stern, gargoyle-like demeanor. Two more women screamed in joy thinking I was their far-away son who never visits them. One woman accused me of taking some of her silverware with me when I left. Two women made me act as their "poison taster" with their food.

I don't know if I can do this on my own with this route. If I don't do the deliveries, I'll be free from these terrifying reactions. But then these elderly persons will starve to death in their lonely houses and apartments. Give me a moment . . . let me think . . . subjective vs. objective morality . . . could I hide the meals the way I used to hide the mail on my other kind of route? . . . do old people really need to eat anymore? . . . the cost of gasoline . . .

To the Reader, "Karl"

Yes, what you say makes sense to me, and I personally believe what you say. Be aware, however, that what is involved in this topic is the very complex philosophical (and theological) nature of causality in relation to God, world, and humans. Even a conservative Western-religious view (and more so a fundamentalist one) would be inclined to exaggerate, I think, God's tight-plan-like control over all events. A moderate to liberal view would be inclined to emphasize God as the background primary cause, and to leave secondary causes, etc. to natural laws and human decisions.

The little woman better not have cooked liver and spinach again for supper.

-Old Gargoyle

To the Reader, "St. Louis Follower"

"Intelligent design" is a new phrase used especially by fundamentalist Protestants and especially in their anti-evolution campaigns. The concept of intelligent design actually is much older in Catholic circles, being one of St. Thomas Aquinas' five rational arguments for God's existence.

The Old Gargoyle would say, hey, we could've done worse with our human digestive system. A little imagination pictures more obvious, more unpleasant, more stinky ways it could've developed---phew. This is why the Gargoyle himself prefers to see almost all human functions, even eating, done in private. Thus he rejects invitations to dinner, and finds the darkest, loneliest corner of a cafeteria when he must eat there.

As to sanitation systems, etc., it doesn't need a Catholic scientific addressing. It needs concerned persons of all backgrounds using private or government agencies to improve human and ecological needs. Well, maybe try to mail God an occasional bill for all the mess, but I think the Big Guy at his giant computer in the sky already has his hands full running the universe.

Go, Cardinals!

-Old Gargoyle


Not-So-Bright Star

I make no bones about it: I'm a member of the Luddite Society, U.F.O. Society, Flat-Earth Society, and Monarchy Society, among others. Those meetings have been a little more exciting than my meetings with my local A.A.R.P. and A.A.A. chapters. Then it struck me: The employment market is so lousy, and I need a job so badly, why not milk these organizations for some help?

The U.F.O. Society gave me the best advice. It involves going to a certain farm area tonight near Aheadofrepoman, where U.F.O.'s recently were spotted, carrying a large flashlight. The Society's assistant grand dragon worked out a communication pattern which I can use with the flashlight to attract at least a small alien spaceship. From there, it's on to temporary work with good pay, I'm sure (since I'll show them my membership card), with the aliens. I just hope they overlook my poor computer skills, and appreciate some other talent. Lord, I pray that they have a sense of humor, and that none of them has its shirt untucked.

Well, if you don't hear from me for awhile, just look to the night sky.

-Old Gargoyle

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Thanks, Students

Thank you, my former students, "pour les bons mots" toward me in your---what's it called?---Facebook thingamajig (I don't understand computers these days). It is an overwhelming, pleasant surprise to be so remembered by you. I also see pictures of the young children of some of you. I can only hope you teach them to keep their shirts tied, shoelaces out their mouth, and gum tucked---or shirts tucked, shoelaces tied, and gum out of mouth---whatever the saying is.

To those few of you who had only "les mots mauvais" for me, I must apologize. I apologize for not having made it sufficiently clear to you years ago that the very purpose of a gargoyle is to frighten, not calm; to roar, not mutter; to criticize, not praise; to bite, not kiss; to complicate, not simplify; to rattle, not hug. No wonder I never enjoyed saying the Peace Prayer of St. Francis.

Ahhh, there, I feel better already.

-Old Gargoyle

Two-Thousand and One Views

We almost lost Stephen Hawking. Of course, Hawking almost lost us with his brilliant thinking. What I mean is Hawking almost died of pneumonia last week, but now seems to be recovering.

I like reading Hawking. Indeed, I've been able to acquaint myself with the philosophical or scientific arguments against the existence of God or against the social usefulness of organized religion, arguments proposed by the leading English-language writers of the past thirty years. Unfortunately, Christian leaders in general are poorly educated in the science vs. religion issues. Courses in religion and science can scarcely be found in Catholic, Protestant, or Eastern Orthodox seminaries, so Christian pastors scarcely address these issues in a meaningful way from their pulpits. And among professional Christian, Jewish, and Muslim theologians (clerical and lay), only a small minority has shown a strong academic interest in the issues (thank goodness, the late Pope John Paul II established the Pontifical Academy for the Sciences, at the Vatican, in addition to the older, prestigious Vatican Observatory).

But an interesting and very important development in the science-religion controversy has become apparent in the past only ten or so years, as recognized by some of the leading atheistic or agnostic scientists themselves (Hawking, Davies, Kuhn, Smith, Collins, Flew, etc. [even, one might add, the older Darwin and Einstein, whose religious views haven't been entirely correctly represented by many of their followers] ). It is the recognition that it is an unwise, intellectual dead end to keep thinking---as many non-theistic scientists did through most of the 20th century---that reason (science) and faith (religion) are mutually contradictory, that they having nothing to do with each other. As an honorary, newcomer "Bright" and member of such groups as the Society for Free Inquiry (whose members are surprised at my membership), I find, unfortunately, some young "free thinkers" who still cling to the older view that belief in God is useless, and that science and religion are essentially contradictory.

I think I have a headache now.

-Old Gargoyle

Pigs and Cows

Here we go again with the "pandemic" swine flu. By "go again," I don't mean around round of another flu; I mean the use of the word, "pandemic." What in the world was wrong with the older word, "epidemic"? "Pan" is the Greek prefix which means "with," "throughout"; "epi" is the Greek prefix which means "all around," "covering." The current concern is the swine flu appearing around the world, which means that "pandemic" adds substantially nothing to the meaning of "epidemic."

As I said in a previous blog which protested the fairly recent and dominant use of "medication" in place of "medicine," I'll start using "medication" in my speech the day on which Harvard or Yale changes the name of its subcollege from School of Medicine to School of Medication. See how silly "medication" now sounds? Let "pandemic" be given some "medication."

Well, at any rate, I hope this new "pandemic" doesn't strike at my house. The last thing I need is the swine flu in addition to my mad-cow disease. The little woman simply could not stand me oinking and bellowing at the same time.

-Old Gargoyle


It's Black and White

I was reading a book on animals to my grandson when I noticed that all zebras have vertical stripes on their bodies. A fews zebras with horizontal, not vertical, stripes surely must exist somewhere. But then I wonder if those zebras worry that their horizontal stripes make them look heavier than their friends.

-Old Gargoyle

Monday, April 27, 2009

Like Father, Unlike Son

General Motors has announced that it will discontinue producing the Pontiac. It will be sad to see the brand drive into the sunset. I remember when I was a kid proudly riding with my mother in a friend's brand-new 1954 hardtop Pontiac in a parade, as she and her classmates were honored in their twentieth high-school reunion. I remember learning to drive in my father's fairly new, light-blue Pontiac. I remember sending my oldest child off on his own after his college graduation in what was an old, dark-blue Pontiac which we had bought for him from our next-door neighbor. Jonka and I named the car St. Michael, because surely son would need protection in it; a year later, St. Michael died in the middle of traffic in the big city.

So what was the first brand of car son and later his siblings bought for themselves? Not Pontiac.

-Old Gargoyle


Sunday, April 26, 2009

Food for Thought

I'm a fan of Hannibal Lecter, Anthony Hopkins' character in "Silence of the Lambs" and "Hannibal." I think it's a stroke of dark-comedy genuis when Dr. Lecter indicates his decision to make his fatal move on someone by saying, "Okey dokey," an expression which doesn't match the demeanor of this erudite, criminal psychiatrist.

I was lounging in my easy chair watching women's bowling or something when Jonka called me unsuccessfully three times to the dinner table. "Alright," she concluded, "go ahead and lie there and feed off your own fat."

"Okey dokey," I replied.


Saturday, April 25, 2009

Fair Warning

You think it's easy maintaining a blog? Well, it's not, I say. And I don't seem to receive much help from you. I tell you, the day's coming when Jonka will find me slumped over my computer with one hand on its keys, one hand on my dictionary, and one hand on my two-dozenth cigarette of the day.

-Old Gargoyle

Watching Too Many Old Movies

Feeling lucky, punk? Go ahead. Make my day. Contact me.

-Old Gargoyle

Music to My Wings

Since I recently moved here to Aheadofrepoman, I've been able to attend live performances by Van Morrison, Joe Cocker, Bruce Springsteen, Leonard Cohen, Loudon Wainwright, Jesse Winchester, Jerry Seinfeld, and Kathy Griffith, with upcoming ones by Bob Dylan, John Mellencamp, and Willie Nelson. Come to think of it, when I go to heaven, I'll be able to attend, gratefully, dead performances by Jerry Garcia, Ray Charles, Jackie Wilson, Leadbelly, Dean Martin, and others. Free admission, I assume. I can't wait!

-Old Gargoyle

Barnyard Talk

Swine flu outbreaks in Mexico, San Diego, and San Antonio! (I don't know how swine flu compares to mad-cow disease, which I still have; can't be much worse. But my mad cow is a little better now thanks to the second anonymous reader since December who mailed me a Christmas fruitcake this week. Remember, I love fruitcake, and it has some mysterious ingredients which slightly alleviate my symptoms.)

But now I read that swine flu is appearing in New York City. New York City? New York has no swine---except, of course, those on Wall Street.

-Old Gargoyle

Win or Lose

I just returned from some brief shopping at my local Dollar Store. (Good place to shop. I tore out the written-on pages from some old classroom notebooks from my former students, notebooks they abandoned on the last day of school, and sold them to Dollar Store, which in turn sells them as new.
What a racket.) Anyway, I was in the aisle when suddenly a 5- or 6-year-old boy kicked me in my shin. Wow, did that hurt! But I immediately thought about offering up my suffering, worth, I'd say, about 30 days deducted from my stay in purgatory. Wow, did I feel good. And some people say that purgatory is meaningless!

When I reached home, the little woman kicked me in my other shin for having bought the shower cleanser instead of the sink cleanser.

-Old Gargoyle

Bumper Cropped

I had a minor auto accident yesterday; I lightly hit the back bumper of the slow-moving car in front of me---no big deal. The other driver, who quickly hopped out of his car, was what I guess is called a dwarf.

"Let's exchange driver's license," I said to him.

"Look," he said, "I am NOT happy!"

"Well," I replied, "which one ARE you?"

That's when he decided to sue.

-Old Gargoyle

Friday, April 24, 2009

Iron Mikegoyle

As you know, I love boxing. I don't like movies about boxing, however, because I'm turned off by the faked and unrealistic staging of the fight scenes. I wasn't even impressed by Scorcese's great "Raging Bull." Heck, I was more impressed by the "realism" of the "fakeism" in the recent Mickey Rourke "wrasslin'" film, "The Wrestler." Clint Eastwood's award-winning movie of a few years ago (whose name I now forget), in which he manages that woman boxer, was excellent, but it wasn't really about boxing.

And now "Tyson" soon will appear---well, not in a local theater near you, but only in theaters which have the courage to show adult-appeal films and not merely romantic comedies, action movies, etc., which appeal only to the under-30 crowd. "Tyson," however, is not so much of a fight film as a documentary on Mike Tyson, the former world heavyweight champion. It focuses on his post-career years, and reveals a financially broke, emotionally twisted, physically battered, values-confused body and soul. Hmmm, reminds me of a gargoyle I know.

-Old Gargoyle

Where's the Cracker?

As I previously have mentioned, I have been hearing a voice in my head for awhile now, and I have asked you to tell me if it bothers you . But I finally reached the point I couldn't take the voice anymore, so I went to see my doctor. He simply had his nurse remove my parrot from my shoulder.

-Old Gargoyle

Happy Motoring

People here in Delaware love their New England or Canadian maple syrup; no one here has ever heard of cane syrup. It's probably impossible to find any syrup darker, sweeter, and heavier than cane. I had one of my former students (one of the few whose memory of me doesn't anger or frighten them to death) mail me some cane syrup. The product arrived in unlabeled cans. I presented the cans in a guess-what-this-is manner to the very few friends I have in his hellhole of a town. After examining my product for ten minutes without reaching a determination of its nature, my friends decided to use the cane syrup as motor oil for their cars.

-Old Gargoyle

Thursday, April 23, 2009

It Was over Their Head

It worked again. But this time I wanted to give the test a socio-economic context, so I went to not only two Wal-Mart stores but also to two upscale department stores (can't find that many here in Aheadofrepoman, Delaware). After briefly lingering inside each store, I then walked out its main door, making sure that several shoppers were about to enter. Then I quickly looked up into the sky shouting, "Look! Dead birds, dead birds!" It didn't matter what the socio-economic status of the shoppers, all of them near me kept looking up to see the dead birds.

-Old Gargoyle

Dean to Springsteen to Gargoyle

I'm not much of a follower of fashion (my clothes, including my underwear, are twenty-something years old). But I do miss not being able---because it's no longer styish---to roll up my shirt sleeves up and tight to the point of my shoulders, the way James Dean used to do. Man, I used to be able not only to tuck my pack of Chesterfield (never Camel) cigarettes in the roll-up, I used to be able to show off my Popeye tatoos on my biceps. Just think of how trendy that could be again: Every other person has tatoos now, so why not show them off constantly? And when flu season comes around, I wouldn't have to bother to answer people's stupid question, "Got your flu shot yet?" because the shot mark and Band-Aid on it would be obvious. I'm now working on something for knickerbockers.

-Old Gargoyle

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Student Reminder

If you can read this blog, you're too damn close. Back off.

-Old Gargoyle

Monday, April 20, 2009

Now I Know My ABC's

Another bleached-blonde colleague of mine (not the one in "The Twit" below) told me she knows that she soon will be laid off from work, and asked me for advice on finding another job. I told her, "Well, try advertising on your resume' or online, 'Office Worker Ready To Put Her Extensive Knowledge of Alphabet To Work for You.'" She always welcomes wisdom from the Old Gargoyle.

-Old Gargoyle

Friday, April 17, 2009

The Twit

Yesterday a young colleague asked me, "Do you twitter? How often do you twitter?" I slapped her silly---and she wasn't even a bleached blonde.

-Old Gargoyle

His Bite Was as Bad as His Bark

I keep remembering April 17 as the birthday not of a relative or a friend, but of one of my pastors when I was a boy. How could anyone from way back then and there forget this man? Let's call him Monsignor Bulldog, because that's exactly what he looked like, and that's exactly the personality he had. Mind you, these were the days of emphasis on duty, guilt, shame, and fear in my church, and the Bulldog played them to the hilt with his sheep.

And sheep we were, because no one, not even prominent businessmen in the church parish, nor even its three associate pastors, would stand up to the Bulldog. I don't exaggerate when I say that EVERY Sunday from the pulpit, Monsignor would spend most or all of his sermon time preaching about how the church needed more money, how the members had to give more to begin or complete the extensive building projects he had planned. He would pepper his fund-raising talk with references to "almighty God"---not "the heavenly Father," or "Our Lord," or "Jesus our Savior," etc., but "almighty God" (what an insight into the notions of power and control with which he enwrapped and used God).

I saw the Bulldog on several occasions suddenly stop talking from the pulpit, descend it, and quickly walk down the aisle to someone in a pew, or walk up the stairs to someone in the choir balcony, or even walk just outside the church door to someone sitting or standing on the church steps---to scold them loudly and angrily for their "disruptive" talking or movements during his preaching. I was in the town barber shop one day when Monsignor entered for a haircut. All the men and boys (a typical all-male shop in those days) fell silent, as they watched the trembling hands of the poor barber make small talk while trying to cut the pastor's hair as fast as possible.

Later I learned from a couple of the associate pastors, who lived in the same rectory as the Bulldog, that Monsignor would actually give these grown men a 9:00 p.m. curfew each night, and would lock them out the rectory if they would return late. This he would do after he would lock their refrigerator every evening right after supper.

Everyone privately moaned when he ordered the felling of eight or so giant, majestic oak trees, which provided needed shade and beauty for the church grounds, so that he could have the whole area paved for parking.

And still the parishioners paid their pastor tribute---tribute in the only form they knew would be approvable: frequent cash-money gifts and many bottles of expensive liquor to him.

Monsignor was found dead on Christmas morning in the rectory when I was a teenager. He had drunk too much from the dozens of holiday-gift liquor bottles which packed the living room. It was then announced that he had been a secret, lifelong diabetic.

The Bulldog lived most of his adult life scaring the hell out of people. Come to think of it, wasn't that supposed to be his professional task anyway?

-Old Gargoyle


Is It Hot in Here?

I don't know much about religion, so I bought a book on the topic. I read a bit about Hinduism and Islam, and decided to see what the deal is about wearing a turban. My advice: When you first start wearing a turban, probably the most-common mistake is wrapping it too tightly. You have to allow the head to breathe.

-Old Gargoyle

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Fair and Balanced Coverage

You know what this country needs, maybe more so than a recovered economy? More-frequent news about Marie Osmond, the late Anna Nicole Smith and her baby daughter, the Octomom, and---now that he's back in the news---Michael Jackson. Needed are nightly t.v. reports, alternating on these persons. No, make that channels devoted to 24/7 coverage on all of them. Marie Osmond could lose weight, sing, and dance her heart out in order to earn money to support the Anna Smith daughter plus all of Octomom's kids, and the whole bunch of youngsters could be babysat by Michael Jackson. Hell, I'd pay more than my sky-high monthly cable-t.v. bill to watch that. Who can get enough of these "celebrities"?

-Old Gargoyle

Pie Eyed

Well, I've made it back (see "Scratched in Saskatch" below) to my old farm house near Aheadofrepoman, Delaware. The little woman, who hardly knew I was gone, baked some good old beets pie and squash pie for me. Hot damn! Made me think: When you die, if you get a choice between going to regular heaven or pie heaven, choose pie heaven. It might be a trick, but if it's not, ummmmm, boy!

-Old Gargoyle

Scratched in Saskatch

Blast it, why didn't one of you try to persuade me not to do it? Lord, what a terrible idea! There I was, stuck at midnight on a deserted dirt road in the middle of the Saskatchewan forest! No lights, nothing but trees, snow, snow, trees, owls and elk, moose and muskrat, crows and caribou. What a bust! I abandoned my rig (when I unlocked the trailer door to see what I was hauling, it turned out to be fourteen confused, illegal, Bolivian immigrants, who quickly scattered in fright). I phoned the police, and I was rescued by helicopter. All I learned from my "adventurous spirit" was to use "bloody" frequently as an adjective, and to end every other sentence with "eh?" I don't know what happened to the Bolivians. I guess they're in the forest now, thinking they made it to the cold, northern edge of Mexico or New Mexico.

Nonetheless, I'm holding each one of you readers personally responsible for letting an old gargoyle wander off as a cross-country big-rig truck driver. I'm bloody tired now; it'll be awhile before I'm able to produce another blog entry, eh?

-Old Gargoyle

Monday, April 13, 2009

Take It to the Limit One More Time

You'll be surprised from where I'm writing this blog entry. But first some background: It began just three weeks ago when I went to the store for milk. I like my two-percent-fat milk to be at least two weeks from expiration, but all the store had was milk with a three-day expiration date. That simply will not do.

"Bad weather," said the store manager, "it slows down the truck drivers from reaching us early enough with their produce, milk, etc."

"That does it," I said. "I'm gonna do something about this. I'm gonna do something I always wanted to do: become a professional, long-distance truck driver. So off to truck-driving school I went, the one I chose from a flyer, the one with odd name of Yulehitsomethin, named, I assume, after its Asian-Indian owner. Anyway, I passed the course test after only one week of training.

I was ready to leave my old beets farm here in Delaware, and strike out in my rented rig. The boss told me to drive my load west to Michigan. But by the time I reached the motor state, I felt like Bob Seger, who sings in his song, "When I reached Mackinaw, I could've gone east, I could've gone west---it was all up to me to decide." I just couldn't stop. So close to Canada. I burst into a couple of verses of "O Canada," floored my rig, and kept going straight west, heading for . . . Saskatchewan! I've always wanted to see Sasktachewan. Don't ask me why. Funny name or something.

So here I am in the frozen prairies of Sasktachewan, Western Canada. Lonely as hell---unless you count the animals I've met, well, hit along the way. The score is now Gargoyle 13, Moose 4, Elk 2, Buffalo 1. And this godless place is from whence I'm writing this. Maybe more adventures await me. Stay tuned, eh?

-Old Gargoyle

Saturday, April 11, 2009

A Man Had Two Sons

I never thought that the gospel story of the prodigal son would come true for me, but it did recently when my godson, Chris, visited me from far, far away for the first time in years. His girlfriend, Dana, accompanied him. After offering them a jolting shot of Turkish coffee, I went straight to the point of fulfilling my godparent duty by ruthlessly interrogating him about his religious practices. Sensing an opening in his theological stance, I went for it: I convinced him of the righteousness of Wicca (see below my blog, "Wickerman," on my latest embrace of Wicca). Whammo, within the hour, he and I are wearing laurel wreaths, burning hand-held candles, and barking at trees on the street. Damn good spiritually cleansing---and bonding---exercise.

Chris hasn't heard from Dana in days now, and her whereabouts are unknown.

St. Blonnd the Aerhedd, patroness of Wicca, pray for us all!
-Old Gargoyle

Friday, April 10, 2009

Look, That Cloud Looks Like a Giant Mushroom

So North Korea has launched a test missile with potential nuclear warhead. Hot damn! Shades of the good old days of the cold war! What drama! Images of apocalyptic holocaust! I've been doing my best the past two or three days, sitting in my front lawn, waiting for the school kids to return to our neighborhood, then trying to gather them to show them how to duck under a lawn chair or a tree in case of nuclear attack. They think it's all a game. Good---let 'em think that, the little future-radioactive-crisp-fried buggers.

-Old Gargoyle

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Press My Tux

Three things you should know about me: I'm shy, I like birds, and sometimes I believe in reincarnation. So I was thinking: If I come back as a bird, it should be as a penguin. That way, I could walk around on two feet with a bunch of other guys just like me.

-Old Gargoyle

Monday, April 6, 2009

Pale Reminder

I read that Sarah Palin is feuding in public with her daughter's ex-fiance', Levi. Some commentators are saying that this could seriously harm Palin's political career. We can only hope. (Sarah, however, remains as cute as a button.) All those Palin kids have funny names. Didn't the daughter name her new baby "Jeans"?

-Old Gargoyle

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Spring Fever

It's sad and terrifying, all the recent national news about murderous shootings by berserk men who have lost job or wife and kids. Now I read another newspaper headline: "Two-Dozen More Bodies Found in Lake Wobegon [in Minnesota]." Dear Lord, will it ever end?

-Old Gargoyle

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Fruit of the Vine

I've begun drinking again. It's not pretty. The giant bottle of Lambrusco, which I had the little woman buy for me, sits in my frig. The bottle is near empty; it's two months old now. Almost tastes like vinegar. I never liked vinegar. I do like red wine. Jonka used to say that I'm as slow as Santa Claus or as slow as molasses. Now she says I'm as slow as Lambrusco. I'll bet he liked vinegar. Either the drinking or Jonka's taunts will kill me yet.

-Old Gargoyle

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Try the Schwinn

As you might've read, seven-time cyclist Tour de France winner, Lance Armstrong, took a serious fall in his comeback warmup race in Spain last week, dislocating his shoulder. I like "The Onion"'s headline on this, "quoting" Armstrong: "Riding a Bike Isn't Something You Just Remember To Do."

-Old Gargoyle

Wiccerstick Man

In every bookstore I visit I find a large "New Age," "Occult," or "Alternate Religions" section adjacent to the "Religion/Philosophy" section, sometimes larger than the religion one. Books on astrology, paganism, etc. are featured---in my face. Not that I have anything against astrology---my B.A. minor is in that subject---comes in handy. But the number-one pushed subject seems to be Wicca. Wicca, Wicca, Wicca. I finally succombed. Not only did I buy a book on that topic, but I've decided to become one. What, you say? I Wic can't. No, I think I Wic can. Well, for only a week, two weeks tops. I bought a special cap, gown, and sandals to go with Wicca. Now I have to find a public park. Wicca will help me get in touch with my feminine side. Or it might have me arrested.

-Old Gargoyle

Just Butt Out

You know one thing which will make a woman really angry? Maybe try this for April Fool Day: Just run up, and kick her in the butt. (By the way, this also works on a man.)

-Old Gargoyle

Read This---Stat

I read that the t.v. program, "E.R.," has its final episode this week. I never was a fan of it; for me, the old "St. Elsewhere" and the current "House" have been the best hospital dramas. Anyway, when I have watched "E.R.," I noticed that the doctors and nurses call out "stat" many times. "Stat," of course, is short for the Latin word, "statim," which in turn means "immediately." Let's see if I have this straight: Medical personnel take the word, "immediately," which they think is too long and consumes valuable treatment time, and substitute "statim" for it. But then they think that "statim" is too long, so they reduce "statim" to "stat." I'm confused. In this process, how could they have overlooked the already-available, one-syllable English word, "now"? Go figure.

-Old Gargoyle