Dad Jokes III

For the third time in less than...oh, who’s counting? That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, once again I am prepared to publish the very latest, up to the minute collection of the world’s greatest Dad Jokes. Just so we are all aware of the rules...a Dad Joke only qualifies as such when it is super cheesy, while at the same time being...kinda, sorta funny. That’s harder to do than I make it look. Anyway, in no particular order, here they are. I will try my best to refrain from editorial comment:

1. Why was the blond staring so intently at the can of frozen orange juice?

    Because it said...concentrate.

2. Did you hear about the Dad who decided to give away all of his old batteries...free of charge?

3. Son: What’s the leading cause of dry skin?

    Dad: Towels

4. Wife: Honey, can you put the cat out?

     Dad: Sure...But, I didn’t even know he was on fire.

5. Son: Dad, can you put on my shoes?

    Dad: I can try, but I don’t think they will fit me.

6. Have you tried eating a clock?

    It’s time-consuming.

*7. What did one snowman say to the other snowman?

     Do you smell carrots?

8. Son: Dad, do you know where I left my sunglasses?

    Dad: No. Do you know where I left my dad glasses?

9. I would tell a Chemistry joke...but I’m afraid of the reaction.

* Sorry, but this one is really funny.

A Morning Not Fit For Man Nor Beast

I’m not sure if in the entire history of civilization dogs have ever been more popular than they are at this moment. They are celebrated everywhere, from Twitter to Hollywood to the newly ubiquitous dog parks which have sprouted up all across the fruited plane. I could not be happier. With the notable exception that many newly married millennials are much more interested in purchasing a dog than they are in presenting grandchildren to their impatient parents, I believe this new love of dogs is a beautiful thing.

Except on mornings like this...

Yeah, Short Pump has been inundated with record amounts of rain over the past 12 months, to the point where our fenced in back yard is an oozing, sodden, quagmire. With the recent sub-freezing temperatures, we have finally been able to let her back there for her morning constitutional. She has loved the cold and stays out there forever, doing her business, but also running around manically and sniffing all of the new smells she has been missing of late. Then, when she comes back in her paws are merely cold, with not a drop of moisture or mud to be found. It is a glorious.

Of course, this being Short Pump, Virginia...suddenly its 60 degrees outside and pouring rain. So, the back yard is out. At 6:15, Lucy plods down the stairs and stares me down as I sit on the sofa getting ready to take my first, magical sip of coffee. I cannot win a stare down with Lucy. Nobody can. She focuses those gigantic brown eyes at you and within minutes you are putty in her paws...Do you need to go pee, girl?... I ask, a ridiculous question, since we both know the answer. She immediately runs over to the back door, turns around and answers YES with those eyes. It is then that I inform her that we will not be going into the back yard today. No no...we will be trudging out into the front yard, in the driving rain and darkness for her first bathroom trip of the day. I put on my Columbo overcoat, grab a poop bag and launch out into the storm.

This is the part of dog ownership which makes you question your blind devotion. Lucy is fascinated by the rain. It must release a treasure trove of new smells, because when its pouring down outside she becomes obsessed with sniffing. Sometimes she even stands perfectly still and sniffs the same inch of ground for over a minute...which seems like an hour in dog years. I can plead all I want for her to get a move on. I can say, While we’re young, Lucy...while we’re young until I’m blue in the face, but it will not hurry her. She will simply not be rushed. By the time she finally squats, she is soaking sopping wet, her paws drenched. I look like an extra in On The Waterfront, and both of us smell like wet dog.

Once we’re back in the house, the five minute drying off process beings, towels strewn everywhere. I begin to sweat, I can feel my heart beating. When I finally return to the sofa, my coffee is cold. As annoyed and flustered as I am after all of this, I know that my frustration will have a very short shelf life. Within minutes, she will jump up besides me, flash me a goofy smile, then curl up next to me and let out one of those deep and peaceful sighs. All will be forgiven. I will forgive her for taking forever. She will forgive me my impatience.

See, that’s the thing about dogs. They are incapable of judgement, they don’t know how to hold a grudge. They don’t even know what a grudge is. They never get mad at you, let alone stay mad. Why would they ever get mad at you? You’re the greatest person in the history of the world! How do I know this? The eyes. It’s right there in their eyes.

Referees...Enemies of the People!

I’m not really a big fan of professional football. There isn’t a team that I root for or against. The NFL is basically the thing I fall asleep to on Sunday afternoon. College football is much more fun and enjoyable to watch. But neither the college game or the pros rouse anything approaching the passion in me that baseball does. This, I am fully aware, makes me an outlier, my baseball obsession being the source of many an eye roll from family and friends. That’s ok. It’s a semi-free country.

Despite my lukewarm embrace of the NFL, I do usually watch the playoffs. The games are more intense, and the outcomes more immediate. I watched parts of the second half of the Rams v Saints game. Then, I watched the first and last quarter of the Chiefs v Patriots contest. There were loads of truly awful referee behavior in both games. The infamous no-call on a blatant pass interference against the Rams essentially cost the Saints a trip to the Super Bowl. And, that forearm that flashed by the helmet of Tom Brady might have been the worst roughing the passer call of all time. If that’s roughing the passer, then I suppose bad breath should be roughing the passer as well.

But, as I was watching the ending of both games, it occurred to me that bad calls and missed calls are actually the best ending a game in 2019 could ever have. It fits so nicely into the overwhelming desire we all have now to be outraged. What better way to end an important and consequential game than with an accusation of referee misconduct, better yet...bias. The no call against the Saints wasn’t just a bad call, it was Fake Officiating!! The phantom roughing the passer call wasn’t just the bad judgement of a referee who had a bad angle on the play, but nothing less than a conspiracy to promote the Patriots!! Don’t believe me? Well, there’s a website some where which will spill all the details of the running 19 year plot to promote the false narrative of Tom Brady and Bill Belichick’s alleged greatness. The Patriots wouldn’t have won a single championship without this gigantic and intricate conspiracy, which has involved not just the officials, but hundreds of players over nearly two decades. The amount of bribes paid out to pull of this great scam must run into the billions! I mean, seriously...how else could New England win with so many white guys on offense??

So, now my Facebook feed is lit up with people who claim they won’t be watching the Super Bowl because they are sick of Brady and the Patriots. Another group claims that they are now Rams fans by default. Anyone but the Patriots!!

Fair enough. The Rams are a terrific team, with many outstanding players. In fact, they have better players top to bottom than the Patriots do. So, by all means, become Rams fans for the day and cheer them on. But, whatever you do...don’t wager a dime against Tom Brady.

Score One For the Internet

Like millions of other people, I play this game. It’s essentially an on-line digital version of Scrabble. I’m decent at it, although I lose more often than some of the people I play. Nevertheless, I find it a pleasant enough diversion and a passable mental calisthenic. But, the best part of the game is the opportunity it affords to meet people from all over the world. Take Natalia, for example.

She was suggested as a suitable opponent by the slightly creepy Words With Friends algorithm several months ago. I was assured that she possessed a similar skill level as mine. So, I took them up on their recommendation , something I rarely do. I prefer playing old friends...like Pam Lawrence...who, incidentally, is a beast!

I won our first game rather handily. During our second game, I decided to strike up a conversation using the chat feature. She had a very Russian-sounding last name, so I took a chance and asked her where she was from. I discovered that she was born, raised, and still resides in Moscow. Over the time we have been friends, it has been fascinating to discover things about her life in the old Soviet Union. She has been equally curious about what it is like to live in America. We talk mostly about our dogs and the brutal Russian weather. We have now played almost 30 games. I’ve won 18...Words With Friends keeps a running tally of our competition. But, yesterday a thought occurred to me. She has gotten better and better with each game and now I struggle mightily to beat her...and English is her second language!!! Suddenly, I felt intellectually inadequate. I shared this revelation with her and her reply was classic Natalia...It’s ok, I try to improve skills by playing game!

But, here’s another thought that has occurred to me. Although it is fashionable these days to decry the societal damage being inflicted upon us by the internet, and some of the charges are no doubt true, Words With Friends is an example of something that connects people from all over the world in positive ways. Anyone can play. It doesn’t matter what your politics are or your religious beliefs. There is no violence, virtual or otherwise, no blood and gore. Just two people trying to find a way to use the letter Z on a triple word score tile. While doing so, sometimes conversations develope that bring people closer together by highlighted the many things that we all have in common, our universally held desires for good health, happy family life, a good dog, and better weather.

Score one for the internet.

My Weird Hobby

I have a strange hobby. In my spare time, I enjoy writing stories. It’s terrific fun to create a universe of characters, then propel them along a path of your own design. It’s very much like being God, if you think about it, a heady experience. Sometimes, these stories evolve into full length novels...https://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/2015/09/momentum.html. But, that’s where it always ends. A Life of Dreams sleeps in the bottom drawer of my night stand, neatly typed, unknown and unread.

About a year ago, while sitting at the end of the dock at Loon Landing, the idea for a strange story came into my head, Maine lakes being famous breeding grounds for strange stories...see: Stephen King. I didn’t write a word down until I got back to Short Pump, but once I started, the story came pouring out of my head faster than I could write it down. In no time at all, 25,000 words had brought a dozen characters to life, complete with a gruesome murder. Then, as quickly as the story had come to me, it abruptly left. Whatever reservoir of creativity it had come from suddenly dried up. I haven’t written a word since...over six months now...nothing.

So, I took a chance and sent it to a buddy of mine who writes a little himself and who I trust would have the guts to tell me the truth, asking for his opinion. Is this even worth trying to finish? Is it nonsensical? Are there plot holes big enough to drive a truck through? I must admit that his response surprised me...he loved the thing, unequivocally loved it. Now I want to finish it. I’ve read it through a couple of times trying to get swept up in the narrative and find the loose thread of thought that I lost six months ago. Hopefully I will find it and be able to bring it back to life.

The question is...why? When and if it gets finished, it will move in next to A life of Dreams in my nightstand. I lack the connections and determination required to become anything but a self published writer. Part of the reason for this is that I’m not starving. I run a successful business. I write for fun, not because I need money. But the other part is...the only part of writing I enjoy is...the actual writing. All of the business of publishing bores me to tears. So, as soon as the writing is over, my interest level drops to zero. Maybe one day when I’m retired I’ll become interested in pursuing that part. But for now, I’ll stick to writing. Maybe I’ll publish this current project like a serial on my blog...a new chapter every Monday. That might be fun. I should probably figure out a way to charge readers like 25 cents per chapter, put a pay portal on the blog or something like that. Can that even be done? Ha!

Here’s chapter one...free of charge!!  https://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/2018/07/chapter-one.html

My Companion

4:47 AM and my eyes spring wide open at maximum consciousness. This is seldom a good thing. Sleep is a mysterious thing. I find that when I am the busiest and most exhausted at bed time, that’s when I sleep poorly. On lazy days, I sleep like the dead. So, I  come downstairs, do my morning chores, then sit down with my mug of coffee while it’s still blackest night outside. 

Then, this knucklehead, who normally prefers to lounge at the foot of our bed all morning long until I have to virtually drag her downstairs for her morning constitutional, perambulates down the stairs, and presents herself on the sofa all bright eyed and bushy tailed as if to say...what’s up, dad? I need to pee. I oblige her dutifully. I throw on my coat, grab a poop bag and head out into the culdesac to collect her latest bowel movement. Five minutes later, we are back inside. She takes a drink of water, then plants herself next to me on the sofa...out like a light.

What a life this one has. She sleeps like it’s her job. She probably logs at least 18 hours of shuteye per day. The other 6 hours is divided between eating, sniffing, grooming herself in unseemly ways, playing with me, and being vigilant against a whole host of invisible phantoms that conspire against her sanity. Just because we cant actually see these monsters doesn’t mean they aren’t out there ready to destroy us all if it wasn’t for her diligence. Just to remind us that she is always at work, sometime she will rouse herself from a snoozle nap, lift her eyes towards the ceiling and some unseen thing and let out a soft growl and an inside bark or two. Then, her mission complete, she will settle back again into her nap. Sometimes I wonder what color the sky is in the world where Lucy lives...

Ancient and Strange Memories

A photograph was shared on my Facebook page today from the Friends of James River State Park group. This is the beautiful State park that occupies the piece of land that used to belong to my mother's family, the Dixons. The old house that my great grandfather built and where my grandparents used to live is shown in a grainy black and white photograph, taken from the cow pasture that used to run along the side of the property where the family graveyard was...and still is. Greenhill was the spooky house at the end of a long dusty dirt road.

My first memories of this place were when I was five or six. Other family members reading this might dispute what follows, but after 55 years, its the best I can do. On that little back porch there was some sort of refrigerator which contained small 8 oz. glass bottles of Dr. Pepper, my grandmother's favorite drink. Legend had it that she drank one at 10:00, 2:00 and 4:00, just like the bottle instructed. Whenever we came for a visit, she would give me one. She always wore an apron. Never saw her without one, and whenever she would wrap me in her arms for a hug, I would always breathe in the smell of the last meal she had prepared. The long picnic style table which was in the kitchen, right across from the wood stove would always be crammed with people whether it was meal time or not. Whenever I watched  my grandfather eat a meal it was the most awe inspiring thing in the world for a little boy. Here was this strong bull of a man devouring whatever was placed in front of him like his life depended on it. It was as if he was worried that someone might take it from him before he was done. Never saw any man before or since eat that quickly!! After breakfast he would take me to watch him milk the cows and throw slop into a trough for the pigs. Every once in a while he would let me sit behind the wheel of his Desoto parked in one of the barns. I remember it had a push button transmission. I thought that my grandfather was the greatest man in the world. 

For a little boy, Greenhill was a wonderland. There were animals everywhere. There was fishing to do down by the river. Every second was spent outside, partly because what five year old wouldn't want to be outside?? But part of the reason I spent all my time outside was because I was afraid of the inside of the house. The bedroom where we kids stayed whenever we visited had a single free hanging light bulb which splashed strange shadows all across the dark red walls. Was it dark red or dark green? It's a little hazy, but whichever color it was, it was dark and foreboding. Consequently, I always woke up before daybreak and escaped down the stairs where no matter the hour, I would always find my grandmother, apron in place, busy with something. She would talk to me and pat me on the head. I remember it being so comforting...

This is a picture from the river side of the house way back at the turn of the 19th into the 20th century. The man leaning back in the chair is John A. Dixon, who I believe was my great grandfather. To look at this picture is a strange experience. What would it be like to travel back in time just for one day at that very spot and have a conversation with my ancestors? How amazing would that be?

I'm confident that many of my more family-history aware relatives from the Dixon clan will correct any factual errors in my recollections. But, its been fun today to be reminded from where I came...