Although I took most of the summer off from blogging I didn't stop accumulating overheards. I stealthily captured nearly two dozen of them as I went about my business. I have narrowed that down to these ten, which represent the best of the catch. The rest I have released back into the ether.
"Do you have any idea why the media is here?"
Hospital security guard to a nurse. Kaiser's Emergency Room in Moreno Valley, CA
"He is soooo not into you. He's into Jasmine. I told you that!"
Teenage female speaking rather insensitively to a second female of like age who was sitting down in the dirt and crying. Camp Maranatha- Idyllwild, CA
"It's weird because, like, all night I had the most amazing dreams, and I was, like, just trying to tell this kid about one of the dreams in the morning and he didn't get it. Ya know? I couldn't really, like, find the words I guess. I don't know. Do you know what I mean?"
Male camp counselor in conversation with a female camp counselor on the deck of the Ice Cream Parlor. Camp Maranatha-Idyllwild, CA
"He shoots! He scores!"
Yelled from the open, passenger-side window of a late model Ford pickup truck by a shirtless middle-aged man who had seconds before tossed an empty gatorade bottle from the aforementioned window which landed nowhere in particular and went rolling and clattering toward the edge of the road. As the truck drove off the man gave me a toothy grin before turning toward the truck's driver and asking "Did you see that?"
Maranatha Dirve- Idyllwild, CA
"What are you talking about? I love the smell of pine sap. I just don't like sitting in it."
Thirty-something female in conversastion with a male of like age who I assumed was her husband as the mounted the stairs toward the Red Kettle Restaurant. Idyllwild, CA
"They should post a warning on the way up the mountain that you may not want to go back home again. Seriously, I could live here."
Middle-aged female waxing enthusiastic about her love for Idyllwild and the mountains. Outside Fairway Market- Idyllwild, CA
"Who? Her? No! She's not the one I was talking about."
Twenty something male in conversation about a woman who was walking into the Post Office with a second male of like age outside of Gary's Deli. Gary's Deli- Idyllwild, CA
"Did you see that coyote, kids?"
Excited man speaking through the open window of a car to some kids seated in the back seat. Shell Gas Station- Idyllwild, CA
"Shock-shock! Push-push!"
Male nurse explaining to a patient (who was technically in my care and can verify that this actually happened) that if he didn't urinate he might go into cardiac arrest "or worse." It was weird. Name and location of facility withheld.
"I said I didn't want chocolate! D--- it! I specifically said no chocolate this time!"
Angry thirty-something female to a second female of like age who had run into the store apparently to get her a snack. She went on to explain that what she really wanted were "some wheat thins." Huh. Parking lot outside of Fairway market- Idyllwild, CA.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
If you kill the outboard and let your boat drift into a silent glide that parallels the shore you can almost imagine the place as it may have appeared in antiquity. I imagine dugouts pulled up onto the bank and half-naked savages taking their leisure under the trees. Perhaps even wigwams, with hides and birch bark sheets lashed to stout frames, were clustered along the shoreline. In my mind’s eye the scene may have closely resembled an exhibit I once saw in a natural history museum. In the exhibit a canoe filled with braves hailed the shore where squaws were busily occupied scraping hides and gathering fire wood while naked children ran along the bank or stood knee-deep in the water waiting for the canoe to land. In the village the aged members of the tribe sat Indian-style near the front door of their lodges while industrious looking hunters mended equipment, or strode through the village intent on mysterious errands.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
BATHROOM GUERILLA
That smell! That fresh lavendar smell! Do you smell it?
It smells like...like...vict'ry!
MY OLD COLLEGE POST OFFICE BOX
The full address is:
Current Boxholder
CPO BOX 1666
Houghton College
Houghton, NY
14744
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
SIPPY CUP CHEESE
Monday, September 5, 2011
LATTE ART by my friend, Katie Bayer
Rosette
Jeep
Turkey
Pumpkin
I WANT TO PAY TAXES
It’s a fact that causes me some discomfort and even some embarrassment that I am one of those leaches that conservative ideologues rail against when they wax indignant about the tax code. Not five minutes ago I heard Sean Hannity of FOX news say incredulously, “48% of Americans don’t pay any federal income tax at all!” I am one of those. When filing our federal tax return this past spring, Sarah and I took advantage of the earned income credit as well as the additional child tax credit. Although I am ideologically opposed to the very existence of these credits, rational self-interest requires me to take advantage of them. They amounted to a significant windfall for us. To decline these credits would have amounted to fiscal martyrdom. If I could vote it away I would, but as long as I’m offered free money I have to admit I’ll continue to take it. I’m ideologically compromised on this issue.
Like most Americans I am concerned about our nation’s financial situation, and as I flick back and forth between MSNBC and FOX news I have noticed the not so subtle differences between the ways that liberals and conservatives frame the debate surrounding the national debt. Liberals speak of taxes in terms of fairness. Their narrative is that the proverbial little guy is playing against a stacked deck and needs help, protection and succor from the gubment. This help either takes the form a direct cash infusion (like the one Sarah and I received last spring) or government funded programs designed to help the lowest strata of our society (like Medi-Cal which pays for our kids’ health care). We are such leaches! The flip side of their narrative is that the wealthiest members of our society need to pay their “fair” share. There they go with fairness again. Liberals often portray wealth as vaguely ill-gotten and greedily accumulated on the backs of the aforementioned “little guys.” To them taxes seem primarily designed to right societal wrongs.
Conservatives frame the debate in terms of freedom and opportunity. Taxes, especially taxes that fund social/welfare programs, are viewed as parasitical insofar as they threaten to kill the host by crowding out private enterprise and sapping the national vigor. Get these onerous and burdensome taxes off the backs of “America’s job creator’s,” they reason, and the economy would roar back to life. Perhaps on a more philosophical level conservatives also view such taxes which fund the expansion of government as an insidious threat to personal liberty.
You long-time readers of the BFZ will not be surprised to learn that my sympathies lie with the conservative perspective. I don’t pretend to be a dispassionate third party. No, I am a guy with an opinion, and I write as such. The refund we received (refund being a complete misnomer in this scenario) could only be described as a pornographic sum of money. I can’t blame you tax payers for finding that outrageous and appalling! (…but can I be blamed for taking it?)
The truth is I want to pay taxes, I really do, and here’s why- Conventional wisdom says that Americans express ownership of the political process through the act of voting. I think though that it is the act of paying taxes, not voting, that gives individuals a sense of ownership and concern in national affairs. When I hear the astounding figure that 48% of Americans pay no federal income taxes I am always struck with the idea that 48% of Americans have no skin in the game. The current tax code can only breed a sense of entitlement, and a shabby view of the individual’s obligation to the rest of society. It is my opinion that everyone who makes money in America should pay something in federal income tax.
Even the poor? Yes, even the poor. Liberals will scream about the injustice of taxing the poor (remember it’s all about fairness for them), but through paying taxes I believe every citizen would experience a greater interest in national affairs, and also a greater sense of self-worth. It’s honest and good to be a contributor. It rots the soul of a free man to be subsidized his whole life. Any amount would do! For the lower income brackets taxes would be more of a nominal contribution. Perhaps taxes could even be waived for the poorest Americans if they served on a jury, served in the military, or did some other kind of civic service over the course of the year. It’s the point of the thing really! We should all be contributors.
When I traveled to Quebec to study French at the University of Laval’s immersion program I was warned by a Mexican gentleman named Guillermo, who was in the same program, not to partner with Canadians on any projects. “Pourquoi?” I remember asking. He spoke no English and I spoke no Spanish so we had no choice but to converse in broken French. The gist of his counsel, as conveyed in broken French, was that because the Canadian government was paying their way through the program the Canadian students were famously indifferent to the coursework and should be avoided as partners. In other words they had no skin in the game and, with nothing on the line, they had consequently become horrible students. The well-intentioned government subsidies for Canadian students led predictably to a cavalier and lazy attitude toward the program’s demands. In my experience, Guillermo was right. Foreign students like my friend Guillermo had paid their own way to Laval with hard-earned pesos and so they took a greater interest in getting everything they could from the experience. They were good students. It was a valuable lesson in economics for me. My point is this- The American public, or at least 48% of it, is beginning to resemble a great mob of Canadian students. Laissez les bon temps roulez!
Although issues of fairness, freedom, and opportunity are important and worthy of discussion, for me, the issue of paying taxes should be focused primarily on ownership of the society in which we live and being a contributor. I have no doubt that paying taxes would make 48% of us better citizens. Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. So true.
Like most Americans I am concerned about our nation’s financial situation, and as I flick back and forth between MSNBC and FOX news I have noticed the not so subtle differences between the ways that liberals and conservatives frame the debate surrounding the national debt. Liberals speak of taxes in terms of fairness. Their narrative is that the proverbial little guy is playing against a stacked deck and needs help, protection and succor from the gubment. This help either takes the form a direct cash infusion (like the one Sarah and I received last spring) or government funded programs designed to help the lowest strata of our society (like Medi-Cal which pays for our kids’ health care). We are such leaches! The flip side of their narrative is that the wealthiest members of our society need to pay their “fair” share. There they go with fairness again. Liberals often portray wealth as vaguely ill-gotten and greedily accumulated on the backs of the aforementioned “little guys.” To them taxes seem primarily designed to right societal wrongs.
Conservatives frame the debate in terms of freedom and opportunity. Taxes, especially taxes that fund social/welfare programs, are viewed as parasitical insofar as they threaten to kill the host by crowding out private enterprise and sapping the national vigor. Get these onerous and burdensome taxes off the backs of “America’s job creator’s,” they reason, and the economy would roar back to life. Perhaps on a more philosophical level conservatives also view such taxes which fund the expansion of government as an insidious threat to personal liberty.
You long-time readers of the BFZ will not be surprised to learn that my sympathies lie with the conservative perspective. I don’t pretend to be a dispassionate third party. No, I am a guy with an opinion, and I write as such. The refund we received (refund being a complete misnomer in this scenario) could only be described as a pornographic sum of money. I can’t blame you tax payers for finding that outrageous and appalling! (…but can I be blamed for taking it?)
The truth is I want to pay taxes, I really do, and here’s why- Conventional wisdom says that Americans express ownership of the political process through the act of voting. I think though that it is the act of paying taxes, not voting, that gives individuals a sense of ownership and concern in national affairs. When I hear the astounding figure that 48% of Americans pay no federal income taxes I am always struck with the idea that 48% of Americans have no skin in the game. The current tax code can only breed a sense of entitlement, and a shabby view of the individual’s obligation to the rest of society. It is my opinion that everyone who makes money in America should pay something in federal income tax.
Even the poor? Yes, even the poor. Liberals will scream about the injustice of taxing the poor (remember it’s all about fairness for them), but through paying taxes I believe every citizen would experience a greater interest in national affairs, and also a greater sense of self-worth. It’s honest and good to be a contributor. It rots the soul of a free man to be subsidized his whole life. Any amount would do! For the lower income brackets taxes would be more of a nominal contribution. Perhaps taxes could even be waived for the poorest Americans if they served on a jury, served in the military, or did some other kind of civic service over the course of the year. It’s the point of the thing really! We should all be contributors.
When I traveled to Quebec to study French at the University of Laval’s immersion program I was warned by a Mexican gentleman named Guillermo, who was in the same program, not to partner with Canadians on any projects. “Pourquoi?” I remember asking. He spoke no English and I spoke no Spanish so we had no choice but to converse in broken French. The gist of his counsel, as conveyed in broken French, was that because the Canadian government was paying their way through the program the Canadian students were famously indifferent to the coursework and should be avoided as partners. In other words they had no skin in the game and, with nothing on the line, they had consequently become horrible students. The well-intentioned government subsidies for Canadian students led predictably to a cavalier and lazy attitude toward the program’s demands. In my experience, Guillermo was right. Foreign students like my friend Guillermo had paid their own way to Laval with hard-earned pesos and so they took a greater interest in getting everything they could from the experience. They were good students. It was a valuable lesson in economics for me. My point is this- The American public, or at least 48% of it, is beginning to resemble a great mob of Canadian students. Laissez les bon temps roulez!
Although issues of fairness, freedom, and opportunity are important and worthy of discussion, for me, the issue of paying taxes should be focused primarily on ownership of the society in which we live and being a contributor. I have no doubt that paying taxes would make 48% of us better citizens. Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. So true.
OVERHEARD
“I told him ‘go ahead,’ and he was like, ‘Did you just call me a doh-doh-head?’ and I was like ‘NO!’ Can you believe that? He actually thought I called him a doh-doh-head! So embarrassing!”
Giggly man to a second man who wore a bemused expression on his face as they exited Fairway Market- Idyllwild, CA.
Giggly man to a second man who wore a bemused expression on his face as they exited Fairway Market- Idyllwild, CA.
PENS MOVE IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS
I can’t recall the last time I purchased a pen and yet I have loads of them. I am at a loss as to where they all came from. They’re crammed into a broken mug on my desk at work and heaped higglety-pigglety in drawers throughout the house. This one advertises a car dealership in San Diego, and this one tells me to do my banking with Bank of America. I have plastic pens, metal pens, cheap pens and expensive pens. I have pens with blue, black, red and even purple ink.
Where did they all come from? I didn’t buy any of them.
Nothing speaks as poignantly to me of the largesse of our society as these pens. We hold them so cheaply that no one really thinks to lay a firm claim of ownership on them. We take pens from work, and we leave them there too. We pick them up and lay them down wherever we have need of them. Few would think to return a pen they accidentally pocketed and even fewer would notice, much less care, if one of their pens went missing. Although nobody seems to buy pens nobody seems to want for them either. It is a great mystery to me. They come and go like the wind, exchanging hands, and drifting from owner to owner until one day they fail to complete a phone message or the signature on a credit card receipt. Then they are thrown away. It is strange though that even after throwing pens away we don’t seem to have less of them.
It is truly a mystery.
YOU CAN QUOTE ME
“When people flirt they make caricatures of themselves.
When they break up they make caricatures of their exes.”
When they break up they make caricatures of their exes.”
Sunday, September 4, 2011
SUPERBOWL PREDICTION for the 2011 SEASON
Washington, Redskins VS. San Diego, Chargers
And who will prevail in this contest? Why, the Redskins of course. Silly question.
And who will prevail in this contest? Why, the Redskins of course. Silly question.
SECRET SPOT
If you follow the river upstream along its meandering course you will eventually come to a place where it tapers to a thin ribbon in the midst of an ancient hemlock forest. Along the south bank there’s a grove of old-growth trees whose lofty, layered boughs block out the sun. The perpetual shade caused by the hemlocks keeps the ground beneath free of undergrowth. The generous spacing of the massive trunks, uncluttered by brush in between, and the open, park-like feel of the place has invited passersby for untold generations to pull their boats out and pass the night. Even today, if you dig a boot heel into the duff at the base of the old pillars you will find the charcoal signature of the ancient ones. How many thousands of forgotten fires had been lit there? I have often wondered about all of the faces and stories which have been swept away by the unsentimental current of time. If only the trees could talk.
Nowadays the old hemlock grove is an abandoned, lonely sort of place. Only one thing evidences that modern man has not completely forgotten the spot. In a clearing beneath a particularly impressive hemlock specimen there stands an ornate metal bed frame with white marble balls at each of its four corners. The bed first arrived in the grove 65 years ago. Ron Dimple, the town barber, salvaged it from the Grand Western Hotel after it burned. The hotel’s owner, Tom Skerring, lost everything in the fire and shortly thereafter took his own life. So nobody was around to object when Ron dragged the bed free of the debris, disassembled it and loaded it into his truck. At first he intended to clean it up and bring it home as an anniversary gift for his wife, Izzy, but in a flash of inspiration he decided to take it up to the hemlock grove where he had asked her to marry him two years prior. On their first anniversary Ron surprised Izzy by bringing her to the grove where she found the bed set up on the very site where he had asked for her hand. Izzy was delighted by the grand romantic gesture, and for years and years thereafter it became their custom to celebrate their anniversary by sleeping in the hemlock grove. They followed the same cherished traditions every year. While Ron unloaded the box spring and mattress, gathered firewood, and threw a couple of fishing lines out into the river, Izzy set up the clearing. She would make the bed and hang strings of Japanese lanterns from the surrounding trees. Sometimes she would gather wild flowers and arrange them in an empty beer bottle. As night fell, the lanterns pushed back the darkness with a soft, yellow light, and lent an elegant, whimsical air to the clearing. Ron and Izzy would celebrate their union while the moths beat their dusty wings against the lanterns and the wind played its old tune through the hemlocks.
Ron Dimple passed away eight years ago and Izzy moved away to a retirement community outside of Seattle. Occasionally a hunter or hiker will happen upon the old bed and wonder about its origins, but otherwise the grove remains an abandoned, lonely sort of place.
But hanging above the bed in Izzy’s room are some old battered Japanese lanterns.
Nowadays the old hemlock grove is an abandoned, lonely sort of place. Only one thing evidences that modern man has not completely forgotten the spot. In a clearing beneath a particularly impressive hemlock specimen there stands an ornate metal bed frame with white marble balls at each of its four corners. The bed first arrived in the grove 65 years ago. Ron Dimple, the town barber, salvaged it from the Grand Western Hotel after it burned. The hotel’s owner, Tom Skerring, lost everything in the fire and shortly thereafter took his own life. So nobody was around to object when Ron dragged the bed free of the debris, disassembled it and loaded it into his truck. At first he intended to clean it up and bring it home as an anniversary gift for his wife, Izzy, but in a flash of inspiration he decided to take it up to the hemlock grove where he had asked her to marry him two years prior. On their first anniversary Ron surprised Izzy by bringing her to the grove where she found the bed set up on the very site where he had asked for her hand. Izzy was delighted by the grand romantic gesture, and for years and years thereafter it became their custom to celebrate their anniversary by sleeping in the hemlock grove. They followed the same cherished traditions every year. While Ron unloaded the box spring and mattress, gathered firewood, and threw a couple of fishing lines out into the river, Izzy set up the clearing. She would make the bed and hang strings of Japanese lanterns from the surrounding trees. Sometimes she would gather wild flowers and arrange them in an empty beer bottle. As night fell, the lanterns pushed back the darkness with a soft, yellow light, and lent an elegant, whimsical air to the clearing. Ron and Izzy would celebrate their union while the moths beat their dusty wings against the lanterns and the wind played its old tune through the hemlocks.
Ron Dimple passed away eight years ago and Izzy moved away to a retirement community outside of Seattle. Occasionally a hunter or hiker will happen upon the old bed and wonder about its origins, but otherwise the grove remains an abandoned, lonely sort of place.
But hanging above the bed in Izzy’s room are some old battered Japanese lanterns.
STORY TIME- "HUMAN CRAP F'REAL!"
Pull up a chair. Make yourself comfortable. Big Josh wants to tell you a story.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
COMING SOON...
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