Preface Whine:

The two poems included here have been bouncing around in my head in one form or another for about six months. Two nights ago as i was attempting to go to sleep, they came front and center into my sleepy brain almost in their entirety. They are in keeping with my being a curmudgeon.

The first one, “Titans” is not, not specifically about Trump, although he certainly fits this mold from my perspective. It is more a comment on many, if not all of our political, corporate, and military leaders, not just in our country, again from my perspective. With our leaders today, we need less ego and more humanity. Period.

Titans

titans roar,
but
it’s all inflated ego,
bluster;
titans kill,
but
only kill those who are not in their class,
perceived in a lower caste,
better, more human folks;
titans scream
but
always down,
never up;
titans manipulate their followers
to believe
lies;
titans don’t have a clue
as to what they are doing
except to make themselves
feel more powerful
and
that is a lie to themselves.

Sins

i loved my sins;
i pursued them with perverse abandon,
“but,”
as Wayon Jennings intoned,
“i’ve never intentionally hurt anyone;”
now,
my sins are verboten:
the phalanx of do-gooders along with the medical cadre
poke me, measure me, smell my urine (or something),
take my blood, check my stability, hah,
dictating i shouldn’t drink
or cuss,
or look at women who are not my own
even if there is no intention of evil on my part,
or
eat anything i like to eat
or
go where i want to go
or
run with the wind
or
sail the seas
or
slalom down a brilliant white trail,
or
dive for a line drive at shortstop,
or
swing a bat driving the ball
down the left field line for a double
or worse,
not allow me to put on my pads
and
tackle the runner cutting through the line,
hitting his gut with my shoulder,
driving him into the ground:
oh, what a glorious feeling
gone.

Post Script Whine: After watching for several years, i have determined that folks who back into parking spaces rather than going in forward as designed, are afraid to back out slowly and carefully because they are bad drivers. And most of them prove that when they block traffic while backing, turning, going forward, and turning again, taking inordinate time while blocking the traffic lanes for those who are good drivers and park in spaces going forward.

We met just shy of two weeks before her thirty-first birthday. Today, she turns seventy-five. She is very beautiful at seventy-five, and her beauty is deep in many ways. As i have noted many times, i am a very lucky, lucky man.

The story below of how we met Monday, March 15, 1982 has been repeated her annually for several years. This year, we will celebrate with events that occupied most of our relationship during the first year after meeting: we dined out.

In March 1982. i was the Weapons Officer of the USS Okinawa (LPH 3) home ported in San Diego. The Weapons Officer billet was titled “First Lieutenant” on other amphibious helicopter carriers. Regardless, it meant i was charge in pretty much everything not aviation, engineering, operations, or supply related.

One of those responsibilities was being in charge of the quarterdeck where all visitors entered the ship. From previous regimes, we had a large red torah that spanned the entrance into the helicopter deck below the flight deck. It was impressive, but Captain Dave Rogers called me to his cabin one afternoon. “Jim, I want our quarterdeck to be the best quarterdeck on the base. I want it to be the most impressive and known to be the best by everyone home ported here.”

I, of course, replied, “Aye, Aye, Sir!”

i discussed how we could make the quarterdeck renowned  across the waterfront with my division officers and Boatswain Warrant Officer 4 (CWO4) Ellis. The Bosun had a bit of a beer gut. He was married to a wonderful Filipino woman who created a lovely macramé lanyard for the boatswain pipe the bosun gave me when i was transferred. She was about 4’8″ and almost that wide. Great lady, just a bit wide.

My team came up with the idea of a sitting area next to the quarterdeck. At the time, when guests or visitors came aboard, they had to wait for the watch to contact whomever they were there to see. That sailor or officer would have to come to the quarterdeck to escort the visitor. Often, the time it took to get to the quarterdeck was lengthy. The visitor had to stand around in a very industrial setting until his escort arrived.

So we decided we could create a sitting area with panels, some chairs, maybe a sofa, and hang framed photographs about the Oki on the walls. That way, the visitor wouldn’t have to stand around in the working bay of the helicopter deck. Great idea.

We had to decide where and how to get panels. Since the Bosun and his first class were going to make a supply run Friday, the next day, i asked them to check out panels while they were on their run. Liberty call was early and the Bosun and his first class left around 1300. They were dressed in their standard liberty civies. The Bosun had on Levis with a blue tee shirt with his thick black hair combed back as much as it could to resemble a ducktail. His first class had on his biker’s jeans, white tee shirt with a leather jacket and a silver chain dangling down from the jeans. He had straw blond hair also combed back and the gap of a missing tooth was the final touch. They left for their mission.

Around 1800, i had a bunch of paperwork to work through and continued after liberty call. The bosun came into the office with several boxes of toilet paper (i never understood why he didn’t get it through supply).

“i didn’t think you would be coming back to the ship, Bosun,” i remarked.

“Well, i didn’t want to keep this stuff at home over the weekend,” he replied.

“Did you find any panels?”

“Well sir, we went to Dixieline (a local lumber and home center). They didn’t have them, but they told us to go to Parron-Hall.”

“Parron-Hall?” i puzzled.

“Yes sir. They’re an office furniture place downtown across from the county admin building. We went there, but that place was way too classy for us. They had desks in the showroom worth more than my house.

“So, you are gonna have to go down there and see about them panels.”

Aww, come on, Bosun, i have a lot on my plate.”

“No sir, you are gonna have to go down there. It’s on Ash Street.”

Then he added, ” You know sir, the woman who waited on us was really pretty. i noticed she didn’t have a ring on her finger. i’m pretty sure she’s single.

“And she’s way too skinny for me.”

Epilogue

Midday on the next Monday, i drove down to Parron-Hall Office Materials. i asked the receptionist to see the person who had given her business card to Bosun. i stood at the entrance to the showroom. Maureen came walking across the show room with the sun shining in the window behind her (think Glenn Close in “The Natural,” only prettier). She claims i had my piss cutter on my head. That, of course, is not correct: i am a country boy from Lebanon, Tennessee raised correctly by my parents, Army ROTC at Castle Heights, a Naval career, and, by the way, an officer and a gentleman. My hat was off.

We had numerous discussions about the panels, which required about four or five “business” lunches over the five or six weeks for the panels to arrive. When the deal was done, i asked for that date to see John Lee Hooker at the Belly Up Tavern and added a request to see Doc Watson at the venue on the following Monday. We attended several events over the summer including sailing with JD in the “Fly a Kite” race where we became (or at least JD became) a legend. We went out to dinner too many times to count.

Then, on July 30, 1983, we were married in her father’s backyard.

TA DA, and now she is a beautiful 75 and i am older.

Happy Birthday, Maureen.

one of those things
i’d like to do
when i cross that bridge
is
walk through the woods
at the foot of that bridge
to a small lake;
there, i would sit on the shaded bank
with my father, brother, and Henry
with old cane poles with floats,
fishing for crappie
and
swapping tales
of loves,
of the things we have done;
telling our funny stories,
and
chuckling, of course.

Except for sports, good documentaries, local news, weather reports, and a few others that are our favorites, i’ve pretty much quit watching television, smart or not (and i’m talking about the TV, not me).

And even those continue to frustrate me. Here’s why:

Any show i watch, there are approximately twenty or so commericials for injury lawyers. They are all bad and make some pretty doubtful claims. They all claim they are the best for acquiring several million dollars for a sore thumb or something. There is one that claims the firm was voted “The Best.” It doesn’t say who voted. I’m thinking they called their staff together and held a poll for the best law firm with the warning if anyone didn’t vote for them, they would be fired. One of these clowns, who along with his family of attorneys even as John Daly hitting balls for him.

Like i’m gonna hire a lawyer who relies on John Daly.

♦︎ ♦︎ ♦︎

Then, there about 2,636,800 commercials for prescription drugs. They show actors posing as old folks in their seventies performing acts that most people i know wisely gave up like i did when i was 46. And that was way too late.

They show diseased people recovering from incurable diseases saved by their miracle drug, which, of course, those watching can never buy. They must convince their doctor, who knows more about what is best for them, to order it. Finally, the commercial ends with a two-minute disclaimer spoken so fast no one can understand what side effects this drug might have, most of which can kill you.

Oh, yeh, i’m gonna tell my doc i want that drug and throw a hissy if he or she says no…even if it kills me.

♦︎ ♦︎ ♦︎

i wonder if any commercial tells the truth. i haven’t seen one. They all claim they are the best with no problems and show actors and athletes (who, i’m sure get a hefty pay check for lying) do really dumb things that are supposed to be funny. And even if they are funny, it is only once and not the infinite replays.

If some one ever shows their commercial that’s truthful and only show it once, man, i’m buying it regardless of the price even if i can’t use it.

♦︎ ♦︎ ♦︎

What about the new tactic on television of showing an commercial insert thats bigger than the program with the audio of the commercial. That is flat irritating and ensures i will never buy their product or service ever.

♦︎ ♦︎ ♦︎

How about the internet bombarding me in every fashion with ads of things i just bought…on the internet. Like i’m gonna fill my closet with several dozen of these things, or i’m gonna get a grunch of things, including internet products that i don’t need event though i just bought the ONE i need.

♦︎ ♦︎ ♦︎

i am old. Therefore, i don’t understand. i’m just tired of being manipulated by the marketing geniuses (not).

So, i’ll just whine.

After our close friend, Marty Linville, crossed over that bridge, July 5, 2024, the remainder of the Order of Curmudgeons, Rod Stark, Peter Toennies, Jim Hileman, and i, met in Coronado.

The grand old group of golfers have been playing golf separately or with some of the others for a long time. In May 1991, Marty and i began playing on Fridays, mostly at the Sea ‘n Air golf course on the Naval Air Station, Coronado. The others in the group began to play with us, and we added and subtracted members. Currently, we have a dozen golfers. We reserve two tee times each week, now on Thursdays, and usually fill with eight golfers. Rod is the driver for the tee times and counting heads.

Of the orginal corp group that were labeled curmudgeons by the Sea ‘n Air staff, it’s the five of us. At that meeting two years ago, we voted who would take Marty’s place as the Grand Whiner of the Order of Curmudgeons. i was surprised the other four voted for me.

i take this job seriously.

For several years now, i have been known by folks that read my posts, here and on Facebook, for riding sport casters hard. They deserve it. Several things have occurred over the past several months that made me decide to expand my curmudgeon comments.

i began a post about some irritations when i realized it would be a never-ending post. So i decided i would only whine about one or two in a series using the title above. The first of the series is below:

Lately, have you attempted to call a business or a service? i have. It is a most infuriating experience.

A recorded voice (or perhaps an Artificial Intelligence generated voice) takes you or me through an almost infinite number of steps to not reach what we sought: a real, live, human being. While doing so, this supposedly soothing voice that drives me insane, tells me many things i already know and takes his or her sweet time doing it before moving on to the next step. Often, i end up listening to a horrible quality tape of recorded music frequently interrupted with that voice telling me they value me as a client or customer before finally either disconnecting me or i choose to disconnect because i became tired of being on hold for half the morning.

Are these organizations really making more money by firing all of their basic staff? Has it ever occurred to them they might get more business, certainly mine, if they hired one person to answer the phone and direct the caller to the right person?

And why would i want to complete a survey after the call, a survey that doesn’t allow me to comment about how crappy my experience has been, including the survey?

It seems commercial America has decided customer service isn’t worth the time or cost. It seems they are focused on making me miserable.