sunday morning

i've successfully stayed away from all the super-bowl hype.  it's a football game.  none of the players or coaches are brilliant.  none of them have super-human strength or endurance.  i could not care less if the middle linebacker for baltimore, whatever his name is, wins in his last game before retirement. it is cool, however, to be the dad with two of his sons squaring off as the coaches.  i sure hope there's not a 3d son ... probably feeling a little less than an over-achiever.  on balance, it's a football game.  a bunch of guys that've been coddled since grade school.  i wish them all the luck.  i'll catch the first half probably.  i will most certainly be folding laundry or plucking my eyebrows during halftime. maybe i'll wax my bikini line.  that "equipment failure" that showed us the jackson girl's breast was enough for one lifetime of halftime shows.  just nasty.  if i cared, i'd be rooting for san francisco.  used to live there, and had season tickets when i did.  just kinda stumbled onto them, and a friend enjoyed going.  anyway ...

my son turns 23 tomorrow.  bought him this handgun.  not sure which model from the selections underneath, but it looks just like the pic - a 1911.  .45 caliber.  longer barrel than mine.  probably slightly less kick.  bought more ammo, too.  almost ready for the zombie invasion.  need to add an AR-15 or an Uzi or two, then i'll be all set. i want to stick with the same ammo as much as possible, so i'm looking at a .45 acp Uzi.  whew.  nasty piece of metal.

got some snow yesterday that wasn't fun to drive home in.  seemed to be some ice underneath.  my boy told me he was nervous ... in the backseat he could feel the rear end slipping out regularly.  i focused, doubt i blinked for 90 minutes or so, and got all home safely.  being a dad, eh?

so i'm in a bar the other night.  daughter with issues just needed to talk.  i chat it up with the bartender whom i've seen a couple of times (although going to bars is very rare for me, it is a small town).  for some reason he starts railing on the Jews.  i said "you shouldn't oughta go talking about the Jews like that," and hold up my pinky ring.  this ring is the same except my letters are cut into the silver rather than molded on top - same verse, spinner ring, gold inside. Deuteronomy 6:4 - Sh’ma, Yisra’el! Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai echad [Hear, Isra’el! Adonai our God, Adonai is one].  so this guy defends himself about hating "protected classes."  i show him my necklace - a friend made it for me - gold cross with a Star of David in the center.  he doesn't back down, but seems to be explaining himself by adding gays and minorities.  yeow.  to each his own, i guess.  distance is the best defense.  i just don't understand the decision to place energy in just rancid venues.

i'm eating wild-rice sticks, btw.  they're just like sesame sticks, but different base.  bought them at Wegman's.  i think they're just like these.  look the same anyway.  but those are expensive.  i paid $4.69 a pound.  that link is $7.33 a pound.  silly.  oh!  $3.81 a pound.  cool.  yeah, but, 15 pounds?  that feels like a commitment.  i've got enough friends (2-1/2 if i'm counting correctly).  i'll drive up to Wegman's occasionally to grab a pound or two.  the nice part is that they're even uglier in person than the pictures indicate. so no one eats them.  i originally went this morning for a trail mix i bought ... cashews, almonds, raisins, m&m's, and i forget what else.  nowhere to be found.  sucked down some rathole attached to a kid living here.  i'm beginning to understand why old people supposedly horde food.  i haven't implemented it yet, but i think the more accurate description is a "remote pantry."  the problem is that you can't have a remote pantry that looks like a pantry - else the ratholes think of it as a foraging ground and suck everything down.  so it has to appear to be, for example, just a nightstand or a clothes drawer.  the problem is that then you die and people go through your stuff.  while one is busy with "oh cool! chocolate!" another is all "OMFG, dad was a hoarder!" and then the latter gets scarred and goes into therapy and spends just as much on docs as i would've saved buying 15 pounds at a time thus ensuring there'll be some left for me.  getting old is all so confusing.  no wonder old people play the lottery so much.  they yearn for the day - "THERE!  SEE IT!  50 POUNDS OF TRAIL MIX!  EAT - ALL - YOU - WANT!"  it's a vain attempt at aversion therapy.  overload them, Dr. Phil probably said, and they'll stop completely.  it's a lie.  put out 50 pounds and the ratholes with inhale 50 pounds.  then they'll get addicted, and enter elder abuse when you can no longer provide.  never-ending cycle.  brutal.  just fricking brutal.

alright, i've sat here writing and eating these stupid things for so long my belly is expanding.  uggg.

bfn