Nervous Voting

In roughly 48 hours from now I will be disappointed, having long ago given up any hope of a positive electoral outcome. If it's Hillary, I will be embarrassed, if it's Trump, horrified. But today at church I heard the words of a prayer offered up by the pastor which spoke to me and apparently many others in the congregation since an audible approving murmur rose up around me, a rarity in the church I'm currently attending. These words. . ."God, no matter how this election turns out, many of us have the sense that we are in trouble as a nation." Something has gone off the rails. He went on to pray that the election result would be received by the American people without violence and bloodshed. Honestly, I have always assumed that as an American, I would never hear those words from a pulpit. But, given the fever pitch of emotion, the hair trigger hatreds which have grown up among us in 2016, it is a real concern. So, along with 300 million other Americans, I wait.

I will vote on my way into work on Tuesday morning, like I have always done. I'm too old school for early voting. I will stand in line with my countrymen. In the past, my time waiting has been comforting, a time of pride, a time to feel good about my amazing good fortune as a citizen of a country such as this. This year, I will be nervous, restless, eyes peeled towards my perimeter at all times. Virginia is one of three states listed by Homeland Security for heightened security because of vague Al Qaeda internet chatter threats. It would be just like those bastards to pull something on Election Day. If you're wondering, "who would a terrorist attack on Election Day help the most," then you, my friend are part of the problem.

I have family members who will be voting for Hillary and others who will be voting for Trump. I have friends who support both candidates. Some enthusiastic readers of this blog love Donald Trump, despite my opinions to the contrary. But, I am proud to say that I have not lost one single friend because of this election. I will not think less of those who disagree with me in this regard because friends and family are far more valuable to me than mere politics. A month from now, we all will have moved on. We will be back to arguing about far more important things. . .like which yard chore is more obnoxious, raking leaves or shoveling snow?

So, go out and vote on Tuesday and keep your eyes peeled. On the other hand, if you're one of those people who can't name your congressman, or if you think that the Supreme Court is the name of Diana Ross' second album. . .feel free to sit this one out.

I'll patiently await the day very soon when we Americans once again remember that not everything is about politics. Oh, happy day...

Yard Sale Highlights

Dunnevant Family Yardsale #116, Fall 2016 edition, is in the books. Although the haul of $660 was on the low end of expectations, that is not to say it was a failure. The treasure trove of anecdotes alone made it worthwhile! Here are a few of the highlights:

So, it started Friday night when we all gathered at the site for set up, that euphemistic phrase which translated means "We all just had a long hard week, so let's get together and have a Chinese Fire Drill in Mechanicsville."

 Step one of this set up business involves Ron putting up yellow crime scene tape along the road with 

signs clearing warning customers that under no circumstances are cars to be parked here. Because it's dark, and Ron being Ron, he thought to bring his coal miner head lamp. But, this is America. More specifically, this is Mechanicsville, Virginia, America, where rules are for other people.

This particular Mechanicsvillian was especially bold in her disregard for instruction, parking her tiny, toy car directly in front of the driveway, where she left it for nearly an hour while she haggled with us over the fair black market price of curtain rods.

Once again, yours truly won top salesman honors for like the 116th time in a row. I was able to move not one, but two of the most tacky hunks of knickknackery ever offered for sale east of the Mississippi. The first was a set of black cat cheese knives that defy my powers of description. I am
quite sure that beside the Webster definition of kitsch you will find a photograph of the four black cat cheese knives. My pitch was based on the fact that since Halloween just happened, now was the best
time to stock up on all of your Halloween decorative crap needs while prices are low! My second triumph was another decorative figurine whatnot which looked like a cross between an angel and
Lady Liberty attempting to clear a high hurdle. There were red, white and blue ribbons festooning
this hideous creation which seemed to be making some statement about 9-11, since the Twin Towers loomed in the background. My sisters had voted this particular item as the worst, most tacky thing in our entire inventory, which I took as a personal challenge. Soon, I spied a likely mark hovering around the offending table display. I meandered over, picked up Lady Liberty and said with a straight face, "Wow, this is about the most moving thing I've ever seen." The poor woman replied, "You know, my brother is a fireman. I wonder if he would like this?" I closed with..."Can you say, 'stocking stuffer'?" BOOM!!!

Other highlights:

An elderly man was looking puzzled at the small box of odd shaped Fram oil filters being offered for
.25 each. He asks, "You have any idea what these filters are used with?" I answered, "Haven't the foggiest notion." To which he remarked. . ."Well hell, for .25 I can throw them at a barking dog!" He bought the entire box!

Here's Ron trying to convince this hapless shopper that these windows aren't as bad as they look. "Sure, the wooden frame is rotted through by termites, but the glass is still relatively clear."


SOLD!!!

Of course, no Dunnevant Yardsale would be complete without a tent being erected inside the garage to hold in the heat from the Kerosene heater that Ron set up to keep the ladies warm. Here are the three queens taking a rare break.

Another day, another dollar.

The Unity Cup?

Just in time for the election, there's a new controversy brewing at Starbucks. The purveyor of overpriced, and over roasted coffee unveiled a new container called the Unity Cup.

The cup features a hundred different people drawn in a continuous pen and ink style without lifting the pen, illustrating how connected we all are, I suppose. I haven't examined the cup with a magnifying glass, so maybe there's some sort of satanic symbol hidden in all of the humanity. Otherwise, it's hard to understand the insane uproar that has greeted this cup on social media. Boycotts have been organized. Starbucks has been accused of liberal bias and trying to brainwash voters on the eve of the election. Wait,. . .what???

"During a divisive time in our country, Starbucks wanted to create a symbol of unity as a reminder of our shared values, and the need to be good to each other," offered CEO Howard Schultz in way of explanation. Sounds reasonable to me.

Ok, I get the fact that Schultz is a big liberal and supporter of Democratic candidates. But, it's his company, and he can promote whatever he wants to promote. Now, if he introduced a cup with VOTE Hillary emblazoned across the thing and her picture smiling back at me, yeah, that would probably give me yet another reason never to enter a Starbucks. But, here's the thing. . .I'm a capitalist, and as such, I'm a big fan of the whole free exchange thing, whereby I don't want anyone or anything to interfere with my ability to exchange my money for your product. So for me, boycotts seem like stupid and ineffective annoyances. People who organize them seem small and overly strident for my taste. It's a form of group-think. If you disagree with "X" you can't buy "Y" or you must not really disagree with "X." Listen, nobody is going to pressure me to buy or not buy anything based on politics! Are you kidding me? Do you boycott people realize how ridiculous you sound, and how hypocritical? "Let's boycott Starbucks because their cup is liberal," says the angry lady as she pulls into the Citgo station to buy gas. . .a Venezuelan company, then whips out her Chinese made cell phone to Google the closest ABC store so she can buy a fifth of Russian vodka. Please.

No, I will not be purchasing any coffee from Starbucks in these subversive cups. But not because of some paranoid craziness that assumes that everything in the world is about politics. I will not be buying coffee from Starbucks for purely market based reasons. . .their coffee stinks.

Game Seven vs. Election Day

Tonight, America will be treated to the ultimate winner take all sporting extravaganza, the seventh game of a World Series. Roughly a week later, America will experience the ultimate winner take all political extravaganza, Election Day. Let's compare and contrast, shall we?

Tomorrow night, either the Cleveland Indians or the Chicago Cubs will become world champions. If it's the Indians, it will be their first such championship in 68 years. If it's the Cubs, it will their first in 108 years. Either way, there will be great, unbridled joy unleashed throughout the land. Someone will be chosen as series MVP for their outstanding play. Fans of the losing team will be crushed, having come so close after all those many years only to come up short. A minority of them will rail against the umpires, others will bemoan the bias of Fox Sports for unashamedly rooting against their team. But most of them will take the loss in stride since they have so much experience dealing with defeat and disappointment. We will be treated to images from inside the winning clubhouse of grown men giddy with victory, dousing each other with expensive champagne, acting for all the world to see like teenage boys after a victory over a cross town rival on Homecoming night. Baseball fans will rejoice to see the entire nation focused on "our" game. But as the clock strikes midnight, and all of the commentators have finished giving us their take on the game, we will all be a bit sad since pitchers and catchers don't report to spring training for another three and half months!

Next week this time either Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump will become President of the United States. An election that took what seemed like years and took us to depths never before probed in our moral and ethical history will finally be over. Either way, there will be no joy, unbridled or otherwise released throughout the country, only profound relief that it is finally over. There will be no MVP selected. Supporters of the losing candidate will be enflamed with anger. A majority of them will rail against the entire rigged process and claim that the election was stolen from them, others will rail against either Fox News or the mainstream media for their blatant bias. Hopefully, only a minority of them will take to the streets, Molotov cocktails in hand. We will be embarrassed to see the winning candidate make his/her victory speech. But, when the clock strikes midnight, nobody. . .and I mean nobody will be sad that the 2020 New Hampshire primary is 39 months away. Why? Because for the next four years we will be lead by either this. . .

Or, this. . .

We will have far more immediate things to be sad about.

My Wife's Only Flaw

This blog is for men only. Women just won't understand. If you happen to be a woman and are offended by this notion that there are some things in this world that are beyond your comprehension, I apologize in advance.

Some of you who read this blog faithfully might be quietly annoyed by the unalloyed praise that I am constantly heaping on my wife. The truth is, she is an amazing woman, so it comes easy. But, today, I am here to let you know that she is not perfect. There's this one thing she does that drives me crazy. I never complain about it because. . .well, why?  But, as a man, and I think I'm not alone in this matter, this time of year it's especially egregious. By now, I'm sure that all of you are fascinated as to what the beautiful and sainted Pam could possibly have done to cause me to write a critical blog post. Ok. . . here's the problem:

Several times a year my wife heads off to a truly vile establishment called Bath and Body Works and comes home with a bag full of this stuff. . .gentle foaming hand soap. I mean, she loves this stuff. Apparently this is a seasonal purchase, since every three months I get tortured by a new set of scented  hand soap. Pump the handle and get lost in the fragrant allure of "sunny mandarin, autumn leaves and blonde woods." (What the devil is blond woods??) Whatever it is, these three fragrances combine to produce something called Golden Autumn Day. Not to be outdone, I could choose a second fragrance, Marshmallow Pumpkin Latte featuring the frolicking combination of "creamy pumpkin, toasted marshmallow and warm praline. Thank goodness, since there is truly nothing worse than cold praline!

Ok, listen. I enjoy pleasant smells as much as the next guy, but when I'm washing the filth of the day off my hands, I don't want to smell anything.  When I was a kid, I would go into the downstairs bathroom to wash up. That's where there was a bar of Lava which felt like washing your hands with sand paper and smelled like. . .absolutely nothing. It didn't come in a container with a pump. It just laid there in the soap dish waiting for your dirty hands to pick it up. This new age hand washing pump top soap is just trying too hard. Take this stuff, for example:

Fall Lakeside Breeze exhorts me to "Pack a picnic. Grab a sweater. Get ready for gorgeous leaves and crisp fall air. YOUR AUTUMN ADVENTURE STARTS NOW." I'm not making this up, its right here on the back of the bottle. Look, I just picked up an entire week's worth of Lucy's bowel movements, I'm about to eat dinner, and I am taking no chances. All I want to do is clean any poop residue off of my hands. I'm not looking for an autumn adventure, even though this particular soap treats me to the heavenly fusion of blue sage, basil and sandalwood! I just want to wash my hands without smelling like I just spent an hour in a French whore house.

So, there you have it, my wife's only flaw, obnoxiously scented hand soap. I suppose I'll survive.

Foiled by a Weiner?

James Comey, the director of the FBI, has managed something quite remarkable in this day and age. He has become the most hated man in America, at a time when Donald Trump is his competition. The  amazing part of it all is that he has become hated precisely by the people who just three months ago were fitting him for a halo. You see, when you essentially clear Hillary Clinton of mishandling classified communications in a way that would have had any other State Department employee in prison, you instantly become a paragon of judicial virtue. . . to Democrats. But, when you stumble upon thousands of her emails on the home computer of her top aide's husband's laptop while investigating him for being a pervert, then reopen the investigation because of the new emails, you transform yourself into a monster intent on interfering in an election for the benefit of your enemy. Hell hath no fury like a Democratic woman scorned.

But, the Republicans are no better. When Comey announced his decision to exonerate Mrs. Clinton in July, the howls and insults were thick and heated. Comey was a "Hack" and part of a conspiracy to protect Hillary. The FBI he runs had become a laughing stock, proof of the far-reaching tentacles of Clinton Inc. corruption. Some even suggested that Comey was part of a determined strategy to rig the election for Hillary, he was probably even on the Clinton Foundation payroll! Now, many of those same voices are now praising him for his commitment to justice and the rule of law, and lauding him for his bravery in the face of the deadly Clinton machine.

So, it would seem that one's reputation in Washington these days depends very much on who's ox is being gored.

For me, I'm not sure what to think of this. It isn't known exactly what is in these new emails. Could be about Yoga and wedding plans for all I know. But there is one delicious irony, inescapable to anyone paying attention for the last 30 years. This guy!!

If Hillary Clinton's quest for the White House ends up being torpedoed by this guy, it won't be the first time her ambitions have been foiled by a Weiner!!

The Gift of Saturday

By all accounts, today should be gorgeous out, sunny and pleasant with a high temperature of 76. While that is a little hot for late October, I will fight the urge to slink into the fetal position and wet my pants worrying about global warming. Instead, I have a full day planned. My sainted wife will be in Williamsburg with her Mom and sisters shopping and lunching most of the day, leaving me alone with Lucy and a to-do list of my own making. It's going to be great!

First, I will spend two or three hours in the yard getting up leaves, cutting grass, removing a week's worth of Lucy's bowel movements, etc. Then I'll rustle up some lunch. Odds are high that the leftover container of creamy Cajun sausage pasta will do the job quite nicely. At some point after lunch, this girl...

will require an extended session of frisbee catching and retrieval. Afterwards, she and I will both settle in for a brief afternoon nap. Upon completion of this siesta, I will clean the bathrooms and vacuum the house, and maybe throw in a little dusting for good measure. Then maybe a late afternoon perambulation with Miss Lucy while we await Pam's return. We will both hope that she will be pleased with our efforts.

At no point in this day will the television be tuned onto a news channel. It will be on college football most of the day as background and then, baseball tonight. This Saturday is simply too nice, too full of potential to be mucking around in the sewer of politics. I'll just have to leave Trump and Clinton to themselves for the day. Same goes for tomorrow, the Lord's day. Come Monday morning, they will still be with us. I'll check back in then.

You should do the same.