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Sunday, September 14, 2014

Fringeville #121, September 14 2014

SAY OUR NAME

...next time, Kyle, none of this TTFP crap. It just pisses them off...

I think we got us a big, fat, new-old rivalry.

...sometimes, you just gotta say the name...
 * * *

Friday, September 12, 2014

Fringeville #120, September 12 2014

Pilot to Bombardier...Fire at Will!


Due to basic anatomy, guys learn as kids that there are some things they can do that the girls just can't. One of the first things we learn is that males can gain remarkable control of their urinary streams. This seems to be a skill reserved for humans. Dogs, for instance, just raise their legs and fire.

Not so, males of the human species. Early on, we get coached on how to make sure we're not missing our target: the toilet bowl. The coaching goes (with variation) something like this:

Dad: C'mon son. Time to pee.
Son: Oh, boy! Cheerios!
Dad: We're not eating these.
Plop!
Dad: Aim at the hole.
Son: Cheerios in the toilet!
Dad: Yes. Aim. Sink one.
Son: Really???
Dad: Mom doesn't want to mop the floor every time you have to pee.
Son: Are we still gonna eat it?
Dad: No! Just sink the damned thing.
Mom: (from the other side of the door): What the hell is going on? Do I need the mop again?
Dad:  We're playing sink the Bismark. Aim son!
Son: I missed!
Dad: Yeah, you did. Next time, I'm not wearing sandals. Try again!
Son: I did it! I did it!
Dad: Great job. Go tell Mom. She's in the kitchen.
Dad washes feet. Mom enters the room.
Mom: What did you do in here?
Dad: You didn't want him peeing on the floor. I had him sink some Cheerios.
Mom: That explains it.
Dad: Explains what?
Mom: He just tried to pee in a box of Krispy Kremes.

After fits and starts, guys get pretty good at fire control. By elementary school, they can write their names in the snow. The skill remains pretty much intact until they hit college age and discover fraternities and/or alcohol, when the skill degrades temporarily.

And then there's prostate cancer, which plays all kinds of havoc on the male urinary system. If you get that bad boy removed, you find yourself relearning all the basic skills, including dancing the Watusi when you have to absolutely go the bathroom this very second.

But one day, if you are patient and the gods of healing are friendly to you, it all comes back. Cheerio Mojo. But I will not, under any circumstances, relive grade school and write my name.

And your Krispy Kremes are safe.

* * * 


Monday, September 8, 2014

Fringeville #119, September 08 2014

Saturday: a really, really, REALLY, bad day for the B1G

Crash. Burn.

Buckeyes: Bombed.
Wolverines: Whipped
Spartans: Speared.
Boilermakers: Boiled alive.

And the rest of the B1G: Many of the wins were not pretty, and some could have/should have been losses. I mean... Nebraska nearly losing to McNeese State? I remember when they'd hang 50 on a team like that before halftime.

Hey, but Penn State beat Akron so I had a good weekend. Rutgers won, too. So come Saturday, an undefeated B1G team will win.

Put the wings on!


* * *
** UPDATE**

Suddenly, that upcoming Rutgers game takes on all kinds of significance.  With the Big Ten already written off by some folks, the NCAA (in their own inimitable style) just turned everything on its head: they immediately revoked Penn State's bowl ban and restored its football scholarships.

Penn State could conceivably win the Big Ten crown. Realistically, that would be a stretch as they are still very, very thin due to the scholarship reductions placed on them.

But with much of the conference having apparently degenerated to turtle-poop, this season instantly became a helluva lot more interesting.

I gotta go dig out my buffalo dip recipe. I might have me a bowl game to watch this year!

* * *

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Fringeville #118, September 07 2014

Political Blog of the Year?

To my very great surprise, Fringeville is one of the blogs up for the NEPA BlogCon "Political Blog of the Year" award.

I'm surprised because not only do I not blog every day, but most of my posts this year have been centered around my war with prostate cancer. But there are folks out there who really live and breathe politics. My personal favorite is David Yonki. He keeps churning out excellent work, and he does some great features to change the pace now and again.

My prediction is Yonk will capture the award. I'll seize last place, just as I did in my 2013 bid for a seat on the Wilkes-Barre Area School Board.

The Yonk, author of the Lulac Political Letter
* * *

Elise Mosca

Speaking of the Wilkes-Barre Area School District: Now that I'm a big-shot political blogger, I will speak my mind on something. I've read some really nasty comments about Elise Mosca from the usual spineless and anonymous folks who dwell in the comments sections of our local newspapers. Mosca, for the three people within 100 miles who don't know who she is, has requested multiple leaves of absence to appear on reality shows and such.

The folks who deserve all the blame for this sit on the Wilkes-Barre Area School Board. Their loosey-goosey practice of letting folks take time off for, apparently, just about anything is inexcusable. 

Taking time off for illness, military service, or parenting is one thing. To land a mate on national television ...umm ... no. It's not what their policy states, but by gosh they let her do it anyway. They granted two consecutive leaves because of "past practices."  That's a euphemism for "anything goes 'round here."

Those folks who want to give Mosca a hard time should direct their broadsides at the folks who granted the leave. And while they're at it, they should ask how the search for all that missing scaffolding is going.

I don't know why we should expect better from this district. When I ran last year, I compared their anti-nepotism policy to the NFL's prevent defense. Why? Neither works.


And now for your hot political newsflash: None of the above is a warmup for another run for office. For any office. I'm done. I've discovered it's a heckuva lot more fun to work behind the scenes.


Ciao for now. And next post will likely be about chicken wings. I haven't written a lick about them in days.


* * *

Monday, September 1, 2014

Fringeville #117, September 01 2014

...my vast pile of Blogger Moolah is growing...

Happy Labor Day.

Today, I plan to labor. First, I am taking a moment to reflect upon the fruits of my Internet enterprises.

The month of August I got the most traffic here at Fringeville since August of 2010. This drove a huge, huge spike in my Google ad revenue.

I earned eight cents in August.

This puts my balance at $4.59. I am closing in on a wing order here, folks.

On a more serious note, now that I have clear sailing on the health front, I can look at picking up some additional work. I have a day job, and it's a great one. I do some side work once a month, and that's a help. But in today's economy, if you're not working 2-3 jobs you're basically a slacker. What's the point of celebrating Labor Day if you're not on the edge of complete and total physical exhaustion?

Not knowing if I faced additional treatment for my prostate cancer held me back from looking for additional work. Now the shackles are off, so to speak.

...Maybe a third shift cooking chicken wings somewhere. No ..wait ...I'd eat the merchandise.

Have a safe and happy Labor Day, all. Then quit slacking and get the hell back to work.

* * *

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Fringeville #116, August 30 2014

...manning his watchtower

I get up every morning long before anyone else. Sometimes I'm up at 3AM or so. Sometimes I laze around until 5 or 6. But as soon as my feet hit the floor, our cat Psycho dashes out to the kitchen and waits impatiently for me to make coffee. We then trot off to the living room together to watch whatever political nonsense is on MSNBC (I like my comedy early in the day). Once my butt is on the couch, he jumps up on the armrest. He circles around and around about a dozen times to find the perfect spot ...stopping occasionally to nuzzle me ...then he mans his watchpost while I drink coffee.

He has captured the high ground. He will defend it against his two brothers or any other creature that dares approach.

This routine developed mostly over the last year. If I broke it for any reason; if I dared just leave the house without sitting a bit with him ...he held me in low regard the rest of the day.

But next morning I would find him waiting for me. All was forgiven.

I went out last evening to get cat food. By the time I got home, he was gone. He simply died with no warning.

I couldn't sit at the couch this morning. I made my coffee and went to my work table to post this.

Why do we have pets? Why do we knowingly invest so much into them emotionally when odds are we will lose them and not vice-versa? Why do we intentionally set ourselves up for pain?

Well, I think it is because our pets love us unconditionally. When the whole damned Universe is falling on our heads, our pets are there at our side. Or at our feet. Or manning a post on the couch.

I hope there is an abundance of small beads for you to chase across the floor wherever you are now, Psycho. Sleep well, dear friend.

* * *

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Fringeville #115, August 28 2014

...A Cheese Steak Day?

Today is Philly Road Trip Day. It's the first of a number of visits over which I will learn if I am still on the curable curve for prostate cancer, or if I have meandered into having a "treatable" disease.

So, ever the optimist, I'm going to try to get the most out of a couple of hours in Philadelphia. There may be a cheese steak on the agenda, depending on the mood after my doctor's visit.

I'm going to make this a multi-post day, so this edition of Fringeville will be a little different. Stay tuned.

* * *

The verdict from my doctor: I remain very firmly on the curable track. I am doing exceptionally well. The all-important PSA level is undetectable. I was particularly worried about the first post-surgery PSA result. If that showed a biochemical failure, then part of the visit may have covered options for "salvage" therapy.

Salvage therapy.

Like I'm a '57 Ford being rescued from the crusher at a junk yard. Prospects of radiation therapy with some hormones tossed in to keep things interesting. An uncertain future. 

Pardon me for not wanting to be "salvaged." I don't want to be treatable. I want to be cured.

In other good news, my post-surgery progress is excellent. My weight has stayed down. My urinary system is healing and I'm not dashing to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Really ...the news could not have been better.

I made the offer to be a resource for other men facing this disease. I do that kind of thing now as a cochlear implant volunteer. It just seemed like the natural thing for me to do.

Other than parking in the wrong damned lot and paying $21 for less than two hours to stable the Neon, nothing about the trip was a downer. But $21 bucks? Sheesh! That's two wings-and-suds meals up here in NEPA. I love Philly, but some things down there ain't cheap.

As to the rest of the day in Philadelphia:  I wanted to blog live using my phone, but I couldn't login to blogger. I have some cryptic password I cannot remember and I don't have a local copy of it on my phone. So I settled for posting a picture of a Geno's cheese steak on Instagram.

Here are some other all-important cheese steak pics:

...this might make a dent in my weight. Frankly, I don't care.

Geno's was busy but not crazy.

...I think the missus is texting she'll kill me if she ends up on the Internet...

* * *