Tony's Finch Diner Emerges From Bankruptcy

Tweet, tweet! Tony decided to give his Finch Diner another go. After firing the Chef and splurging on some fresh thistle seed, the Diner is ready for a comeback. As I write this there is a finch gorging himself at the feeder. I have the High Primal to thank for this reversal of fortunes. She kept harping that the thistle I had was too cheap. It was thistle given to me. I not sure of the donor's ethnicity but in the future it will pay to beware of Greeks bearing gifts.

About Short People And Automobiles

At an inflated 5'2", the High Primal considers herself part of a downtrodden segment of our society known as short people. In this household her feelings about being short leave nothing to the imagination. A countless number of times she has made it clear that " they don't give a Fuck about short people". "They" is anyone over 5'2".

According to the High Primal, today's automobiles are a classic example of the short shrift given to short people. She will angrily point out the evolution of the gear shift in automobiles. In no uncertain terms she claims that short people are more comfortable driving an automobile with the shift lever on the steering wheel rather than on the floor. If this Low Primal could find such a vehicle in operating condition I'm sure he would be elevated to the status of a High Primal In Training. If he found a vehicle with a gear shift on the wheel and a bench seat not only would he join the ranks of High Primals, he would be revered as a God.

Of course all the pedals on the the floor of an automobile were purposely laid out to be out of reach from the legs of a short person. Why else would a short High Primal find it necessary to mount her rear end on a thick cushion and push the seat forward so that she is practically sitting on the hood of the car. Not even a bench seat would compensate for this gross failure of car design. How many times has the High Primal let it it be known that Detroit not only doesn't give a shit about the comfort of short drivers, they just plain do not give a Fuck.

That brings me back to where I started. I would add however, that not all short people are intimidated by today's automobiles. I daresay that only the high primal type who are prone to being Luddites find it comforting to bad mouth every new technological achievement in automobile design.

( The High Primal just read this and has given it her blessing. If I publish this post, I will have confirmed that I'm a Low Primal. Oh what the hell, Click!)

On Aging And Caregivers

As life expectancy keeps inching up, it follows that health issues will become increasingly challenging. A ninety year old wracked with pain from arthritic,  barking knees and a back on its last few discs, finds it a bit difficult to celebrate victory over actuary tables. The problems of old age are further compounded when one's lover is no longer in the picture. Those fortunate enough to be sharing the challenges of old age with their spouse at their side, find the battle easier to cope with. The priorities of a relationship change. As the High Primal shared in her blog, "The older you get, the more you become a caregiver rather than a lover". A loving caregiver is worth two lovers anytime, anywhere.

This is not to say that longer life expectancy goes hand in hand with a debilitating illnesses. On the contrary, having a high primal, loving caregiver throughout life can indeed make a crotchety, low primal the envy of his juniors. More importantly, becoming a loving caregiver in turn, is a sure way to tolerate old age. In the meantime, the hell with the actuary tables.   

More About Low Primals

Occasionally in my posts I have used the term "Low Primal" when making a distinction between low and high primal thinking (What is a high primal thinker? Check the link). I recall writing a post explaining the origin of this term. A search of this blog revealed no such post. Of course, considering my frequent changes it may very well have ended up on the scrap heap. The later is a hint about a disease common to Low Primals - Obsessive Compulsive Disorder concerning the status quo. My OCD could very well be the subject of another post unless I change my mind. Just what is a Low Primal? Well it turns out that a characteristic of Low Primals is that they keep good records. In this case I kept a hard copy of the the aforementioned lost post so I have decided to resurrect it.

In this household I’m referred to as the Low Primal. Who would give me such a moniker? The High Primal Thinker, of course. I discovered this quite by accident. OK, I was peeking at some notes the High Primal wrote to herself (short term memory problems require that a High Primal have notes). There staring me in the face was: "need to discuss this with the Low Primal". Low Primal? I know what a High Primal is but what in hell is a Low Primal? It turns out that a Low Primal thinker is - surprise - the opposite of a High Primal Thinker.

A Low Primal Thinker is prone to make decisions, thus the note. A Low Primal is also very practical and pragmatic. The High Primal would also have me emphasize that a Low Primal tends to embrace new technology. Unfortunately, as the term would imply, a Low Primal shies away from historical facts and can watch a movie he saw a month ago and think he is watching it for the first time. Even worse, a Low Primal thinks that a neat desk is a virtue and that after loading a dishwasher the door does not need to be meticulously cleaned. All in all, a Low Primal is a very normal person. (If a Low Primal is normal, what does that make a High Primal? No Low Primal worth his salt would answer that question.) Most importantly a Low Primal is attracted to a High Primal and together they manage to survive in life’s jungle. How’s that for low primal thinking?

Now that I have set the record straight, there is a distinguishing trait between High Primals and Low Primals that should be noted. Its about the grin that takes place after a blunder on the part of a Low Primal or a High Primal. The Low Primal will respond with a smirk but the High Primal will break out with a shit-eating grin. Both demonstrate smugness but the High Primal's grin is much more devastating. Is this important? Not really - just some trivia.

Now that the record has been set straight I can return to some "serious blogging". On the other hand (my favorite cliche), why not forget about the "serious blogging" for awhile and just have some fun writing. Considering the mess that the world is in right now this isn't such a bad idea. Low Primals know their limits. At the moment this Low Primal is overwhelmed with the intricacies of controversies internationally and domestically. Any ranting on his part would be an exercise in futility. Solving the world's problems does not a Low Primal make.

You can't make a silk purse out of a Sow's ear

Saddam Hussein's statue came down and Bush declared, "Mission accomplished". Actually the mission was closer to demolished and Obama had to pick up the pieces. The pieces went together in a make shift fashion and Obama finally announced that the mission was as accomplished as it could be and the Iraq War was over. ISIS (Islamic State of Iraq and Syria) raised its bloodthirsty head and said 'hold the fort, nothing is over until Iraq is destroyed'. And thus began another Iraq War. This one would be different . We would not have American boots on the ground ( neither would the Iraq security force). Only advisers - 300 of them. Wow! Three hundred advisers will accomplish what thousands of combat troops were unable to accomplish. Bull shit! I have to agree with Rand Paul - we should never have been involved in the first place and we should not be involved now. Iraq with its rival religious sects is a poor excuse for a country. At best it is a coalition of religious antagonists posing as politicians. As the High Primal has reminded me a number of times, when the British carved up The Ottoman Empire they used a dull knife. As other nations before us, we were unsuccessful in picking up the scraps they left. It is time to admit that as far as Iraq is concerned, you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear ( I trust that the clerics will not consider that as blasphemous). Our involvement  should be confined to making our democracy as strong as we we possibly can, both economically and militarily.

More About Newspapers

I used to enjoy my morning paper. Actually I still do whenever The Plain Dealer sees fit to deliver one. I have noticed, however, that where once I eagerly awaited the morning paper, I now could care less. The non existence of home delivery of The Plain Dealer three times a week has weaned me away from newsprint dependence. As I plunk that cup of coffee on the table, out comes the smart phone full of all the news that's fit to be browsed. Even if it's a day that a newspaper is at the garage door, the smart phone news comes first. Once I get the newspaper indoors, it takes about ten minutes to discover that a lot of the news in print is already stale. Yes Plain Dealer, you have convinced me that news delivery is undergoing a big change. I'd cancel my subscription and get the latest smart phone but The High Primal still prefers newsprint. I must admit that we get our moneys worth as far as she is concerned. I doubt that there is a story or a classified ad that escapes her attention. Not so with her low primal spouse - even the paper's baseball news plays second fiddle to what he gets on his phone. This whole subject was discussed with my granddaughter who agreed whole heartily with her grandfather. That made me feel ten years younger. Now if I can wean The high Primal from CNN's Situation Room, I can knock off a few more years.

The House of Cards and Machiavelli

The High Primal and I have been watching Netflix' House of Cards. We are hooked on it. After watching twenty-six episodes I'm convinced that the screenplay was written by Machiavelli, the father of modern politics. Frank Underwood, the central character in the House of Cards, makes "the end justifies the means" his rallying call as he manipulates colleagues and legislation in Congress while maneuvering his way to proprietorship of The Oval Office. Only Machiavelli could have come up with a scenario featuring the outrageous activities of Frank and his wife Claire as they ruthlessly maximize their power and squash their enemies. House of Cards is all about the seamy side of politics complete with raw sex, murder and high stakes shenanigans, all a testimony to Machiavelli's words: "Of mankind we may say in general they are fickle, hypocritical and greedy of gain".

A quote from  "The Prince" fits Frank Underwood perfectly: “The lion cannot protect himself from traps, and the fox cannot defend himself from wolves. One must therefore be a fox to recognize traps, and a lion to frighten wolves.” Frank Underwood is an astute politician to be feared and not to be underestimated. One cannot help but wonder how politics bordering on treason can payoff with "the lion" becoming the 46th President of The United States after devouring the incumbent President he served as Vice-President.

The political corruption, misuse of PACs, blatant power of lobbyists, lascivious sex and violence which are the foundation of Frank Underwood's house of cards beg for a third season. There is a weak link waiting to burst and bring down the house. As Machiavelli wrote: “A man who is used to acting in one way never changes; he must come to ruin when the times, in changing, no longer are in harmony with his ways.” Underwood cannot be allowed to survive  - or can he? If Machiavelli could have  anything to say about the script, the house of cards will turn into a fortress.

"You're an Engineer,why can't you fix it!"

For the record, I'm a graduate of  Cornell University's College of Engineering and proud of it. Also for the record, I'm the unhandiest handyman that was ever granted an engineering degree. While I'm at it, let it be known that I get very irritable whenever my inability to correct a household mechanical or electrical failure is associated with an error on the part of Cornell to bestow upon me the title of Engineer.

Case in point. While on a break from the school "far above Cayuga's waters", I returned home for a visit. My father was especially proud that he had a son who had taken a course in refrigeration and had long awaited my visit. After devouring a meal of "pasta  e faggioli" I found out the real reason for my welcomed visit. Apparently the refrigerator was malfunctioning. Rather than calling a serviceman, my father had decided to wait until his son, the engineer in training, was home. After supper (I learned to have dinner after graduating), he patiently explained there was a problem with the refrigerator which he would like me to take care of. In turn, I patiently explained that I did not know how to fix the damn thing.  My father's disappointment was obvious as he exclaimed: "You mean to tell me that you took a course in refrigeration and can't fix a refrigerator? What kind of an engineer are you?"

Of course, once I completed my education and was hired as an engineer with a major corporation, my inability to fix a refrigerator was forgiven. After all. someone thought I was qualified to take on the responsibilities of an engineer and was willing to pay me a salary.

I've written this post to reflect the disappointment of those I love, who over the years have had to come to terms with the inability of an engineer to tackle some of the simplest mechanical and electrical malfunctions in the household.  Correction - all but the High Primal have come to terms. To this day, after I inform her that we had better call a serviceman to fix an appliance, she takes me down a peg or two with the words: "I thought you were an engineer, why can't you fix it".

As I said at the outset I do have an engineering education. It served me well for many years in the world of cutting edge technology. Unfortunately, it never came in handy with household tasks but I'm willing to live with that.

Fountain of Youth In A Bottle

As many times as I have been around the High Primal’s toilette collection, I failed to notice one particular Jergens lotion dispenser. Holy Cow! She had purchased the fountain of youth in a bottle. The fountain of youth eluded Ponce de Leon but not the shelves of Wal-Mart.

 Make no mistake about it, the label plainly proclaimed the lotion as “age defying”. Age defying to me means that the aging process is held in check. I wonder how long she has been caressing her body with this age defying lotion? Can’t be very long. She’s an attractive woman and doesn't look a day over seventy but the aging process is definitely there.

A glance at the fine print on the dispenser answered my question. The damn lotion only helps to turn back the clock on the signs of aging. The stuff wasn't even around when the High Primal and I first noticed those signs of aging - that first grey hair, a loose tooth, a need for glasses, short term memory decline - on and on.

So what is an age defying lotion doing in our house? If I were forty years younger I might come up with a reasonable answer. In the meantime, “hope springs eternal” will have to do.

Nice guys always finish last

The High Primal and I are often greeted at a  check out counter with " how are you guys". You guys? The last time I looked, the High Primal was a gal -a doll in fact. What's with the "you guys" bit? Perhaps the younger generation knows something I don't ( a survey, I'm sure, would result in an overwhelming "Yes"). In the hopes that indeed my disdain for this salutation is not misplaced, I consulted that wizard for all ages, Google. The oracle confirmed that guy is a noun, the plural of which is "guys'. So far so good. A guy is a man. Bingo- the High Primal is not a guy. Synonyms of guy - man, fellow, gentleman. Two out of three in my case is not bad as far as I'm concerned. Guess which one does not apply? So what should the response be to the hip cashier? Any gentlemen would respond with "Fine, thank you". I'll try that next time. Then I'll be a guy on all counts.

I realize that this post comes under the category of  "much ado about nothing" and I could well be accused of being a wise guy. Be that as it may, I would rather be a wise guy than a nice guy. Nice guys always finish last.

About OCD

My favorite TV show --- make that one of my favorite TV shows --- or would it be more accurate to say ---- actually write ---- I liked watching Monk on TV. For some reason or other, which I can’t recall, he reminded me or better yet I associated with him. I didn’t really associate with him, so perhaps I should leave it that he reminded me. That still does not make the point. He reminded me of me. Is that too many me’s? If I pose a question do I need to answer it? Oh my, that’s two questions so far and I really don’t know how to answer them without looking stupid. I wish I hadn’t posed the questions. I could delete them but I’m too far along. Monk would have deleted them. Maybe I should delete them - they really do not have anything to do with what I’m writing. Or do they? I do want this short essay to be perfect. Getting something perfect just drives me nuts. I know this isn’t perfect but it’s much better than the first draft. If I keep typing it will get better but that could go on all night. As a matter of fact, I probably have made my point. I hate “probably”. Either I did or I didn’t. Why don’t I call this my second draft and leave it at that. I have all day tomorrow to work on it. Some of the grammar and punctuation sucks. Is that a cliché? Clichés are trite and I sure don’t want this to be trite. I’ll ask the High Primal to check my grammar and punctuation. Yes that’s what I’ll do. Even if everything is grammatically correct this will need a lot of work. Someone once told me that anyone with an obsessive compulsion disorder should not be a writer. Actually that’s not true. How else can a perfect essay be written? 

　

One more for the road

No, I'm not on a binge. Just one more rant about The Plain Dealer and home delivery before I put the whole subject to bed.

Today is Wednesday and true to their promise The Plain Dealer distribution people deposited a hard copy of the paper at my garage door. Breakfast with a newspaper. Life is good.

My euphoria lasted through half a cup of coffee. The news in the paper was as stale as the piece of toast on my plate. Indians got clobbered by the Tigers for the umpteenth time - knew that before they played. Al-Qaeda threatening to bring us to our knees again - already knew all that Washington is willing to tell me. Browns training camp news galore - boring as all hell. Obesity down in the country except for Ohio - don't need a newspaper to tell me that; just walking down the street does the trick. One whole section devoted to food (Taste) - proving that Ohio is committed to leading the nation in the number of fat people (according to the High Primal, if you want a body that does a lot, you must put up with the bulk). I could go on and on but that would bore me as well as anyone who may be reading this. Suffice to say that the Wednesday edition of the PD should have been labeled "All The News You Already Know".

Being without the hard copy of a newspaper the past two days was no big deal. That Bezos guy is right. Within the next twenty years there will no longer be newspapers as we know them today. He's spent 250 million for The Washington Post to prove that.

One more for the road. The Plain Dealer e-edition was obviously designed for an iPad. Since that's the device of choice I think the PD's marketing gurus could have come with an iPad giveaway promotion. Not so, butt thank goodness for The New York Times e-edition. It's friendly with all my devices.

I need a smart phone like a hole in the head

In a moment of weakness, I dumped my dumb phone and got myself a smart phone. What’s so bad about that? Nothing other than I need a smart phone like I need a hole in the head. Let me be clear about my smart phone. It’s an Android, not an iPhone. There is too much “I” in everything we want or do these days. Besides it is also more expensive than the Android. Family members who have iPhones expected no less from me. The High Primal was elated, especially when I convinced her that her dumb phone and my smart phone would be able to communicate in a crowded mall.

I’ve had the phone for over a month now and have only made a couple of phone calls with it, both of which were “no answer“. I’ve been too damn busy trying to understand what makes it so smart. I’m at the point now that I’m comfortable with enough Apps that I can relax and start treating it like a phone - oops, a smart phone.

My phone tells me where I’m at and even pinpoints it on a map. I’m sure that the folks at NSA like this feature. It also navigates but I don’t really need this App - my High Primal can get me lost a lot easier. It plays music but I’d rather sit in my easy chair and listen to the radio. All in all it has more Apps than I can possibly absorb.

I now have an appreciation of why Androids (and of course iPhones) are called smart phones. They are smart - very smart. Their IQ, I’m sure, exceeds that of most users ( yours truly excepted). I’m amazed - I can walk around with a computer in the palm of my hand.

(I go back to the days of having to write a Basic program in order to get some information out of a dumb computer. My first personal computer was the TRS-80 (better known as the Trash80). If you weren’t acquainted with MS-DOS, there was no way that the machine could spit out any information. My point is that now have a computer, aka a smart phone, in the palm of our hand which outperforms most personal computers of the past.)

As far as walking around with a smart phone is concerned, I have so far avoided looking like a zombie with a box held to his ear. The smart phone remains in my pocket except when I‘m comfortably seated somewhere. With all these caveats about the use of a smart phone, one might ask why I got one in the first place. Probably because I actually do have a hole in my head.

I wish I could say that this post is being sent to Blogger via their blogging App but I can’t. The procedure appears to be too complicated. Hell, I haven’t even learned how to take a decent picture, never mind posting to this blog.

I’ve got to bring this post to an end - my phone is talking to me. Oh yes, I didn’t mention that these things have something called voice recognition. If the High Primal finds out, I’m sure she will want one. She loves to make small talk.

A Movie And Free Dishes

The High Primal ,as I've noted before, is a fountain of knowledge when it comes to movies. Halliwell's "Film Guide" never strays far from our TV set. One would think we venture out to a movie theater frequently. Not so. For some unknown reason (the fact that I'm not a movie buff may be a clue) we get our fill of movies via Netflix, an occasional DVD purchase and Turner Classic Movies on the boob tube.
 
While watching a vintage movie, ”Footlight Parade”, on TCM, I couldn’t help going back in time when it was a treat to go to the neighborhood theater for a night at the movies.

Dish night at the Family Theater in the 1930's is especially memorable for me. If it wasn't for china set giveaways, I doubt that neighborhood theaters would have survived at the height of the depression era. A free piece of tableware was handed out as you gave your 15 cent (as I recall) ticket to a grouchy theater owner. My mother and my aunt competed as to whose set of china would be completed first. The highlight of the evening was not the movie but the sudden crash of a dish as someone scrunched through a row of seats to get to an empty one in the middle.

It's amazing that in the midst of a deep depression, people found the few pennies to get to a movie in order to get something free. Amazing but understandable. It's the American way. Just think, in the midst of the sequester the very rich are looking for a free pass on taxes. But I digress.

 Maybe the High primal and I would get to a movie more often if they gave away something like Marx Brothers bobble heads. Hmmmm, just when was the last time we saw the inside of a movie theater? Don't get me wrong. I'm not too cheap to venture out to a movie, but to be honest, I'm scared shitless of vampires.

You're next trip may be sooner than you think!

I received an offer today (along with a few million other consumers) from an unnamed credit card company. Action was requested on my part ASAP in order to take advantage of all kinds of deals and rewards on my travel plans. Not being a frequent traveler or a fellow traveler for that matter, I quickly decided to relegate this "offer I could refuse" to my favorite trash can. As I was doing so , my eyes focused on a dramatic plea obviously meant for non-frequent travelers - "You're next trip may be sooner than you think". My God, that's true, but why do I need a credit card when that trip rolls around. I know that funeral directors take every penny that they can but do they take credit cards? Anyway, my plans are to put off that last trip for awhile. As for the credit card company, their application was properly cremated and the ashes were unceremoniously flushed down the toilet.

ed note: The High Primal received the same offer but chose to tell the credit card company to stuff it up their ass.

About Lists

Lists are what keep a household functioning. There are shopping lists, grocery lists, to do lists, short lists, Christmas card lists, phone lists and the dreaded shit list. To my surprise, I recently found out that there is a “list to stay” and a “list to go“. This knowledge was acquired when I looked over the list that the High Primal composes every morning. In our household this list is pretty much an orders of the day list. As usual, I found the list confusing but this time I challenged the High Primal to explain what the hell she had planned for the day - the list didn’t make any sense. I was informed in no uncertain terms that I was looking at the wrong list. Stupid me, I had tried to decipher what she referred to as a “list to stay“. I should have consulted the “list to go“. Apparently a “list to stay” is merely a draft of the final list. The “list to go” is the list that leaves the house.

Preparation of a “list to go” is something the President‘s Chief of Staff would do well to observe. The High Primal not only makes out lists but manages lists. She actually makes a draft of a list or I should say drafts of a list. The drafts are massaged several times before a final draft is made. The final draft is left sitting on a kitchen counter while the High Primal completes her toilette which is in its self a complicated process the description of which I would not touch with a ten foot pole.

Once the toilette is completed the list progresses from a “list to stay” to a “list to go” and becomes a working document. Unfortunately, more often it becomes a lost list buried in the bowels of a High Primal purse.

Gone to the dogs

High Primal and Griffin

Butters

Its been almost a year since our grandog Thurston went to the land of endless treats. We still miss him but a new grandog, Griffin, has entered our lives and is filling the vacuum admirably. I should  mention that we are also the proud great grandparents of Butters who has a shoe fetish. You might
say that we have gone to the dogs in our "golden years".

Dia Nacional de Siesta

I feel guilty as all hell. Today of all days, I missed my daily afternoon nap. What hurts is that watching the local news tonight, I learned that today was "National Nappers Day". I never knew that there was such a day. If I had known , I would have napped this morning as well as this afternoon. For good measure , I would have napped while in the blogosphere.

As an avid napper I was disappointed that no one sent me flowers or even a card as a reminder of this important day. Those who ordinarily care about my well being were probably napping. National Napping Day in this country should not be taken lightly.

 Our neighbors to the south have been observing it every day for centuries. They prefer to call it "Dia Nacional de Siesta". The fact that we have joined our sleepy compadres in the celebration of naps, is evidence of the growing influence of Latinos in our national affairs. The next thing you know, Cinqo de Mayo will become a national holiday. Of course everyone in Washington is too busy napping while Spanish becomes our national language by default.

I don't know whether or not "Il Giorno di Sonnonino" is celebrated in Italy. If it is , I hope its not on Tuesday. One hundred Cardinals taking a snooze during their Conclave to elect a Pope would not bode well for the Catholic Church. Come to think of, they must have gone into a deep sleep when they elected the last Pope.

All this musing about naps has taken its toll on me. One more shot and I'm off to bed. Who the hell keeps track of all these days. It seems like they all run into to each other. Oh my God, Sunday is St. Patrick's Day and my High Primal will be pissed if I don't come with some sort of a celebration. I'll never get any sleep now. Wonder if she would go for a case of green beer?

The Internet Has No Soul

Recently the High Primal decided that we should send some "get well" flowers to a dear niece of ours. As High Primals are prone to to do, she instructed the Low Primal to get his ass on the Internet and accomplish the task ( which was obviously not worthy of the intellect of a High Primal). The Low Primal went to a web site specializing in delivery of flowers to all corners of the earth.  After much one way discussion , a suitable flower arrangement was picked out for delivery to our niece in Rochester, N.Y. The High Primal left to dream up other tasks to keep the Low Primal occupied during the day.

As instructed, the Low Primal started to navigate the floral web site hoping to eventually place a bona fide order. He finally concluded that Columbus had an easier job navigating to the Indies. It became obvious to the Low Primal that he could not place an order without divulging all sorts of personal information designed to harass him in the future. True to the traditions of Low Primals he made a monumental decision. The hell with the Internet- get in the fucking car with the High Primal and drive to the local florist.

Once at the florist, the High Primal and the Low Primal were assisted by a little old lady with heavy mascara around her wrinkled eye lids. When it came time to write up the order it became obvious that perhaps ordering the flowers via the Internet wasn't such a bad idea. The tip off was the little old lady trying to make out a printed address ( in large type) that the Low Primal had given her. She was having trouble because she couldn't see! Finally the glasses hanging around her neck were put to use and some semblance of an order was written up. Noticing the consternation of the Low Primal, she informed him that she had macular degeneration in one eye and a cataract in the other. She planned to do something about the cataract in the near future. Defensively, she was quick to add that her opthamologist had informed her that her vision was fine (he probably told her that her vision was fine except for the cataract and the macular degeneration.). The order finally got written up. More accurately, the order finally got scribbled up.



As High Primals are prone to do, she sweet talked the sweet little old lady throughout the whole ordering process. In return, the little old lady made the High Primal's day. After admonishing the Low Primal for not buying flowers for his spouse on International Woman's day, she presented the High Primal with a beautiful rose. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that the flowers we ordered are on their way to Bosnia instead of Rochester. Regardless, I'll have to remember that the sweet little old lady saved my ass on yet another "day" designed to make florists rich.


After much meditation, the Low Primal had to conclude that even if the flowers ended up in Bosnia the whole experience at the florist had proven that although ordering flowers on the Internet might be more efficient, the Internet had no soul.

This post has gone on longer than I had planned, but according to the High Primal, sometimes long is better than short. She quickly added, that less is better than.more, which leaves the Low Primal in a quandry. FINIS!!!!

About adultery in the military

They say that the military can consider adultery a crime. The High Primal made these observations:

•  Condoms were handed out to our troops during WW2. Were they meant only for unmarried warriors?
• The term "hookers" had its origins during The Civil War. It was applied to the  the women following General Hooker's troops. Does that tell us something? 

ed note: If the military insists on classifying adultery as a crime, it should issue scarlet "A" patches to the guilty to be worn on their uniforms. That should satisfy the Puritans.