Grouchy Buckets

Early yesterday evening I got my tail-end handed to me in a game of Horse, H to say bye-bye, Loser. My 8-year-old protagonist shot dying quails from 8’ out, no spin, just dead weight that either swished or did the slow, rolling death spiral into the net.

Me? I’m out 10-14’ clanging shots that ricochet off the base of the goal and shoot off toward the street, which is a steady downhiller to the end of the cul-de-sac. So I’m flagging down misses—and not just mine—wearing jeans and slip-on Sketchers so worn down they have been consigned to the yard shoe bin.

After not shooting hoops, much less playing, since ’94. Idjit.

More than an hour of said foolishness later, I’m home, limping around, muscles strained where muscles no longer exist. And this morning? Hobbling to the kitchen, making a note to myself. Never again.

So what kind of mood am I in today. Foul? Sore? Well, let’s see.

Hey! If you’re tailgating me for miles in the left lane on the interstate until I can barely slip between two highballing semis down a long, steep hill, you better disappear like Roadrunner over the horizon.

No! I’m not running for any elected office. Ever. First, I’m unelectable. Second, I’m not taking campaign contributions from anyone. Not even my family. Not that they would go there. Which would make be beholden to no one. Roll that phrase around a bit in your head. Beholden to no one.

You! It’s an acceleration lane, so accelerate. Forty is not going to get you into the flow of traffic, which on highways around here pushes 80 to see how far can be traveled before tapping the brakes.

Professional golfer Phil Mickelson, with a net worth pegged $375 million, in an ad touted The Greenbriar resort in West Virginia for, among other amenities, offering falconry. Yep, falconry in the state that is one of the worst for opioid-related deaths in the US. Falconry in one of the 10 poorest states in the nation. Falconry. Sheesh.

Plant more trees. Yes, in your yard. And not 3’ from your house. Hate pines? Fine, just remember they suck carbon out of the air like sponges. Plant shrubs. Plant flowers. Stop growing grass that will never be used as a soccer pitch by your kids.

And I’m still cranky about a Range Rover driving up the steps to Heaven’s Gate. That ad campaign really got up my nose.

Listen! If you watch a 15-minute video presentation or lecture on black holes or Spinoza’s philosophy or ocean acidification, do not leave a comment to the effect that so much information was left out. It’s 15 minutes. De facto, it’s an introduction. Which is why I have started leaving comments for said miscreants like Would you please add a link to your video presentation. Thanks!

Yes, that politely. I’m not a barbarian, you know.

It was the humidity while shooting hoops yesterday.

Oh, look. Half a dozen bluebirds out back. Later.