Sunday, May 29, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
A Lovely Drive in South Dakota
After turning around to avoid the water on Hwy 81, I took a detour. Fun!
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Going to the Post Office
Today I had to mail some things. Since I enjoy small towns, a small town post office seemed like the thing to do. Normally the only people you see are the Postmaster and maybe Uncle Joe or Grandma Zelda. Today turned out much much different.
There was a young lady, 35 or so, having a heated discussion about postage, certified mail, and several other things I can't recall. While this was going on, I addressed the flat rate envelope. The phone rang:
Postmaster: "The party starts at seven."
pause
Postmaster: " Yes, bring your own beer."
pause
Postmaster: "No, no kids under twenty one. OK goodbye."
The discussion about how certified mail continues. In walks a young man, who looks at me, a customer, and asks if he can use the restroom. I tell him that I am not from town and don't work in the post office (this should have been obvious because I was standing in line).
He immediately interrupts the ongoing certified mail discussion when the phone rings again.
Postmaster: "The party starts at seven."
pause
Postmaster: " You can bring any kind of alcohol you want."
pause
Postmaster: "I don't think that would be a good idea."
The young man then asks to use the restroom and is told it is not a public restroom but there is a rest area about a mile outside of town. At this point, I think the kid was resigned to the fact that he was going to s*** his pants. He left.
Finally the certified letter lady gets the answers she want, but starts complaining about the cost! After a bit more discussion the transaction is completed.
I AM NEXT! Cool!
No, here comes Joe Cool Bob, asking about when the Pro Wrestlers are going to be in the big town down the road.
Postmaster: "A week from Sunday."
I paid my $4.95 and walked out the door. Relieved that I don't live here.
There was a young lady, 35 or so, having a heated discussion about postage, certified mail, and several other things I can't recall. While this was going on, I addressed the flat rate envelope. The phone rang:
Postmaster: "The party starts at seven."
pause
Postmaster: " Yes, bring your own beer."
pause
Postmaster: "No, no kids under twenty one. OK goodbye."
The discussion about how certified mail continues. In walks a young man, who looks at me, a customer, and asks if he can use the restroom. I tell him that I am not from town and don't work in the post office (this should have been obvious because I was standing in line).
He immediately interrupts the ongoing certified mail discussion when the phone rings again.
Postmaster: "The party starts at seven."
pause
Postmaster: " You can bring any kind of alcohol you want."
pause
Postmaster: "I don't think that would be a good idea."
The young man then asks to use the restroom and is told it is not a public restroom but there is a rest area about a mile outside of town. At this point, I think the kid was resigned to the fact that he was going to s*** his pants. He left.
Finally the certified letter lady gets the answers she want, but starts complaining about the cost! After a bit more discussion the transaction is completed.
I AM NEXT! Cool!
No, here comes Joe Cool Bob, asking about when the Pro Wrestlers are going to be in the big town down the road.
Postmaster: "A week from Sunday."
I paid my $4.95 and walked out the door. Relieved that I don't live here.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Hey There
Sometimes life throws curve balls at you. Not a wicked slider or a Tim Lincecum fastball, but a wicked curve ball that fools the hell out of you.
I have a friend who always answered the phone by saying "Hey there". Every time I called: "hey there".
Unfortunately we don't get a chance to talk much anymore. I didn't see it coming.
Just like that wicked curve ball.
I have a friend who always answered the phone by saying "Hey there". Every time I called: "hey there".
Unfortunately we don't get a chance to talk much anymore. I didn't see it coming.
Just like that wicked curve ball.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Curing Pain
Sunday, May 8, 2011
The Global Food Problem
US grain farmers are making a killing with commodity prices high. US consumers may be a bit upset, but if you are poor in a third world country, well good luck.
In the United States, when world wheat prices rise by 75 percent, as they have over the last year, it means the difference between a $2 loaf of bread and a loaf costing maybe $2.10. If, however, you live in New Delhi, those skyrocketing costs really matter: A doubling in the world price of wheat actually means that the wheat you carry home from the market to hand-grind into flour for chapatis costs twice as much. And the same is true with rice. If the world price of rice doubles, so does the price of rice in your neighborhood market in Jakarta. And so does the cost of the bowl of boiled rice on an Indonesian family's dinner table.Read the whole story at Foreign Policy
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
To tip or not to tip?
Dinner for four at a really nice restaurant: $87.00
the tip they left: $4.00
Assholes!
Oh, and for half of the meal 3 of them were talking on their cellphones.
the tip they left: $4.00
Assholes!
Oh, and for half of the meal 3 of them were talking on their cellphones.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
A House for Doc Blondie
Doc Blondie has a job and is looking for an affordable place to live. I think this little fixer upper might fit the bill. However, commuting from Iowa to the Netherlands everyday might present a problem.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
That Didn't Take Long
Well, the Royal Kids were married Friday. Today CNN has an opinion piece about whether the marriage can survive.
They also have a video about how fast it took to have Miss Kate's wedding dress duplicated.
This is the state of our media.
They also have a video about how fast it took to have Miss Kate's wedding dress duplicated.
This is the state of our media.
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