No Power To The People
I guess it’s a Wednesday thing. Power went out again. Second week in a row. Tiny little shower, one-eighth of an inch in the rain gauge. I figured I should call our provider, Clay Electrical Coop, to get to the bottom of this.
“Hello, Clay Electric—it’s Bill Killeen, one of your important shareholders—or so you always tell me in your literature.”
“Well, good morning, Mr. Killeen—and yes, all of our shareholders are very important to us. My name is Mildred and how can I help you this morning?”
“Well, Mildred, it’s these doggone outages our company is having every time it threatens to rain. I can’t figure out for the life of me why a teensy little shower with no wind is putting us out of commission. Are we using inferior equipment?”
“Oh, no sir! Our equipment is first class, don’t you worry about that.”
“And Mildred, much as I hate to be a malcontent, it does seem that it’s taking our wagons a lot time to get to the trouble sites. Are the horses getting old? Do we need new ones?”
“Well, that’s not my department, sir. But I think a lot of our trouble comes from low-hanging limbs. We have thousands of miles of electrical lines and if we just get one little limb brushing against the line, it’s sometimes enough to knock the power out.”
“But Mildred—if you had ever been out here and seen our efficient crew of tree-trimmers, you’d know they cut everything back to the trunk. I’m not sure any of our trees even have branches.”
“Well, Mr. Bill, and I’m sure you’re not one of them, but some customers are very fussy about us cutting back the trees on their property and they stand over our crews complaining the whole time they’re out there. It’s very difficult to balance efficiency and customer relations.”
“So I guess what you’re telling me, Mildred, is that I shouldn’t expect any improvement in the current conditions?”
“Well now, I didn’t say that, we can’t be putting words in other people’s mouths, can we? But what will probably happen is that as we get further into the rainy season all the troublesome limbs will be discovered and eliminated and the outages will be less frequent.”
“Well, that’s very reassuring, Mildred.”
“No guarantees, though, tee hee.”
‘Twas ever thus.
Summer Is Icumen In….
And everyone is going on vacation. Except us. Our gym pals are off to North Carolina (Sharon & John) and Yellowstone (Barbara & Bruce). Allen even went to Austin. My sister Alice is going to Ireland. And here we are in Fairfield where every afternoon is 100 degrees. Well, almost. Siobhan’s business has taken off like a rocket, however, so we may be visiting beautiful Belleville, Ontario in the near future to hook up with a potential business partner. Our old friend, Karen Brown, is a consultant for this company so we know if she shows up there’ll be some hellraising involved. And Belleville is not far from the Saint Lawrence Seaway, home of the world-famous 1000 islands. I’m not sure who counted all the little islands but it would be remarkable if there were really 1000. Sometimes the funny tour companies make these things up, you know. When we were in Alaska, we took the 26 Glacier Tour of Prince William Sound and we only saw about 12 glaciers. Don’t get me wrong, 12 glaciers isn’t soggy gingerbread but neither is it 26. The tour company blamed the hazy conditions and who are we to argue? They didn’t refund fourteen twenty-sixths of our money though.
If we get lucky and either Juno or Wilson wins a couple of races we still may get to go to Glacier National Park in August (what’s up with all the glaciers, you may ask). But it’s getting late. And Wilson is still at the farm. BUT….
The Further Adventures Of Wilson
Last Thursday, we sent Wilson out with another horse, hoping a little competition would wake him up a bit. The idea was to put Wilson about a half-length in front and let the other horse push him for about half-a-mile. We were looking for something faster than two-minute-lick time (60 seconds) but nothing close to a real work (say 51 seconds or faster). The other horse was fitter and we expected him to catch Wilson at the end. Didn’t happen. After a slow first quarter close to two-minute-lick time, Wilson opened up about a length-and-a-half on the competition and held it to the wire, getting the distance in 55 and change, just what we wanted.
The other rider was surprised. “I try to catch him but he no let me,” he said. Good for you, Wilson. Carrots all around.
Scientology Again
Well, now that we’ve got our very own Scientology Mission in Ocala, the least we can do is to learn a little about it. Okay, then. Scientology is defined as a set of beliefs written by founder L. Ron Hubbard, a science fiction writer. Before you scoff at this remember that somebody has to start these religions and one of the big colossal ones was actually started by a carpenter, of all people. Anyway, Scientology describes itself as the study and handling of the spirit in relationship to itself, others and all of life. One purpose of Scientology as stated by the Church of Scientology is to become certain of one’s spiritual existence and one’s relationship to God, or the “Supreme Being.” Nothing weird so far. But then, “One belief of Scientology is that a human is an immortal alien spiritual being, termed a thetan, that is trapped on planet Earth in a physical body.” Not like ET, though. “Hubbard (says Wikipedia) described these “thetans” in “Space Opera” cosmogony. The thetan has had innumerable past lives and it is accepted in Scientology that lives preceding the thetan’s arrival on earth were lived in extraterrestrial cultures. Scientologists believe that an individual should discover for himself that Scientology works by applying its principles and observing or experiencing desirable results. Scientology claims that its practices provide methods by which a person can achieve greater spiritual awareness. Two primary methods of increasing spiritual awareness are referred to in Scientology as “Auditing” and “Training.” Within Scientology, progression from level to level is often called “The Bridge To Total Freedom.” Scientologists progress from “Preclear” to “Clear” and ultimately to “Operating Thetan.” Scientologists are taught that a series of events, or incidents, occurred before life on Earth and also that humans have hidden abilities which can be unlocked.” Kinda like the X-men.
Scientologists have nice goals, though. “The aims of Scientology are a civilization without insanity, without criminals and without war, where the able can prosper and honest beings can have rights, and where man is free to rise to greater heights….” (Church of Scientology literature).
Au Contraire, Mon Ami….
Not everybody is so taken with Scientology. The city of Clearwater, home of Scientology headquarters, has been engaged in a running battle with the Scientologists for years over claims that members were held as virtual prisoners in Scientology facilities or not permitted medical help in health emergencies. Ex-members have sued for these and other reasons, often for being bilked out of their finances and/or being brainwashed. Reprehensible as all this may be, an individual has a responsibility to use a little common sense before diving into any movement or sect. We had an old friend, Broward, years ago one of the most cerebral and industrious pot growers in Gainesville, who got himself involved with a 15-year-old Indian guru (Circus employee Bob Sturm dubbed him “the baby-faced bullshit artist”), whose movement briefly swept the continent. Broward donated $80,000 in perfectly good marijuana-growing profits to the little shyster’s religion. One day, the baby-faced bullshit artist came to Gainesville for a big to-do and Broward was blissed out of his mind. He went out to the Great Encampment to see his hero and to share in the Vision and Camaraderie of the believers. When he returned, however, he was a little peeved although definitely enlightened.
“What’s the matter, Broward,” asked Bob Sturm.
“Well,” mourned Broward, head down and disappointed, “somebody stole my shoes.”
It’s Time For Summer; It’s Time For Summer Sports
Alright, we’ve had enough with friends dying, exploration of the afterlife and wacky religions. It’s Summer, time to have some fun. By this time, you’ve probably figured out we’re not always politically correct so there’s no reason to change now. In an earlier episode, we casually mention the sport of Dwarf Throwing when discussing Panama City bars. A couple of you called us on it, protesting there was no such sport as Dwarf Tossing. You poor fools. Of course there is. We have even had Dwarf Throwing in Gainesville bars before the bar-owners were pressured to knock it off by the Propriety Police. But the sport yet lives in the nation's backwaters, where it has been retitled “The Propulsion of Persons of Restricted Growth.”
Anyone can play. The consumption of alcoholic beverages is encouraged by participants but is completely optional. There is an obvious advantage to the thrower having large muscles, strong legs, the strength of an ox and the timing of a magician. The people to be thrown must wear full protective clothing, including some form of helmet and a harness with a handle (as a throwing aid).
The longest dwarf/midget toss is said to have been made by an English truck driver named Jimmy Leonard. He tossed Lenny the Giant (4’4” and 98 pounds) 11 feet, 5 inches. Devotees whisper of an Australian fling of 30 feet but this is probably attributable to the same kind of folks as those who keep inundating us with tales of the Loch Ness Monster. Thirty feet indeed!
Dwarf Tossing, alas, has been outlawed in many states and in several countries with no senses of humor, a fact bemoaned by dwarf/projectile Dave Flood, who says his rights are being violated. “I’m a dwarf and I want to be tossed!” he says. While waiting for action, Dave spends his time in Tampa working as a referee at a strip bar where women pretend to wrestle. And he’s a regular on a local radio show that is fighting a Florida law banning dwarf-tossing. Dave says that he’s a grown man, 37 years old, and he’s capitalizing on what he has. “If I was 7 feet tall,” he says, “I’d get paid to put a basketball through a hoop. I’m not 7 feet tall, I’m 3-feet, 2 inches and a dwarf so I’m capitalizing on getting tossed.”
Rules For Dwarf Tossing
1. If a dwarf is to be thrown through a glass window or door, gloves and a suitable mask must be provided.
2. If a dwarf is to be thrown through a burning hoop, fire extinguishers must be in evidence.
3. If a dwarf is thrown down a well, promoters must guarantee the well bottom is dry and covered by leaves to a depth of three inches.
4. If a dwarf is thrown at night, he must be painted with a phosphorescent paint so that the point of impact may be clearly seen.
5. If a jockey impersonates a dwarf and wins a competition because his light weight allows him to be thrown the farthest, he will be liable to a fine of $1000 and/or three years imprisonment.
That’s all, folks….
