Father Time

Ca$h Patel?  A Nigerian Prince?  A convicted felon?  Trump's Clown Car is getting pretty packed.  If you haven't been following along, though. . . no matter.  They will come to you. 

I'm sure to be on the hit list.  

But. . . and this one really stuns me. . . Biden is getting a truck load of shit for pardoning his son.  Truly?  I asked my conservative friend looooong ago, "If your son was convicted on those charges and facing over ten years of getting raped in one of our safe and pristine prisons, would you pardon him or give him a bar of soap on a rope and tell him good luck?"  What kind of father would Biden be to let his son rot in prison for lying on a form?  

"Are you a drug addict?"

"Nope."

"GUILTY!"

It's not that I'm on Hunter's side.  I'm not.  I'm just saying. . . as a parent, what would you do?  I'd be chastising Biden full bore if he didn't pardon his son.  

Meanwhile, friends. . . Trump fill his cabinet with sexual predators, swindlers, and "special" people.  

I went to the Factory Brewing Company to meet the kids yesterday.  I feel more and more disconnected from them as time passes, though.  Half of the old crowd has moved.  Things change.  It is a little like watching old shows in rerun now.  And the woman who never quite asks me out showed up with her new boyfriend yesterday.  WTF?  

He must have asked her out.  Actually, I heard they met on one of those dating sites.  

I can't imagine.  

"Oh, yes. . . I saw his profile and my heart went pitter-patter, you know?"

O.K, O.K, I know that it doesn't go pitter patter until you meet them.  But doesn't going on a dating site just seem. . . desperate?  Really?  You want to date someone who nobody who knows him likes?  

Oh, wait. . . pot calling the kettle black.  Ha!  I've been sitting in my boxers waiting for a knock at the door for how long now?

When I said Trannies got Trump elected, I kind of lost some points with the Woke.  But there has been a recognition in print by "the movement" that maybe they were a little too aggressive.  And even Martina Navratilova condemned the N.Y. Times for calling female athletes "non-transgendered women."  Whoa!  That, I think, is a good one.  

I've decided I'm a "non."  Whatever it is, I'm "non."  Or anon.  

"So. . . you've been going out a lot, eh?"

"No.  Hardly ever.  I mean, I go to see my mother every day.  I have a group of gymroids I go out with every couple of weeks or so for early drinks.  Other than that, not much.  I don't go out by myself.  Sometimes, like this week, things pick up.  When I don't have anything to do, I get kind of bummed, then when I have a bunch of things like I do now, anxiety kind of takes over, and I think I don't really want to go.  I start stressing and shit.  Really, I can't win. I'd feel better with my own true love, but. . . . "

When I walked into the bar, I got a rousing greeting, people standing, hugs, etc.  But my buddy's wife, always a smart ass, yelled, "Father Time."  My hair has gotten long and I'm a general mess right now, walking like Frankenstein. . . I don't know.  None of them have ever seen me with hair this long and since it has been many months since my last hair appointment, there is a lot of gray showing through the blond.  Getting ready, I was a bit paranoid.  So I'd thought about it.  

"You look like fucking shit. . . did you know that?" I retorted without missing a beat.  I guess I was ready.  She was taken aback, I guess.  

"No. . . I meant that in a good way."

"Fuck you, you don't tell old people they look like Father Time in a "good" way."

I could never have said this as shop foreman, so nobody there had ever seen the rough and rowdy side of me.  But generally, I think they were pleased.  I had to take a lot of shit with a shit-eating grin for a long time.  

Later that day, the woman texted me to make amends.  

I don't think I care much about a lot of things anymore.  

Country Club College has its annual Vespers concert this weekend.  I haven't been in years.  The chapel is a classic, medieval in style, and when they perform by candle light, it is really something to see.  I don't know if they do real candles any longer, though.  I seem to remember the last time I was there, they didn't.  Still, I think my mother would like it.  

The photo at the top is one I came across yesterday as I went through old files.  Everybody liked the Polaroids.  I'd shoot, pull the film, toss it aside, and then after finishing a pack of ten, we'd stop and peel them.  Then the ooos and ahhs.  It was always a whole lotta fun.  

Forty degrees and sunny.  The weather continues.  My "good" knee is really bad now.  I had trouble just standing at the bar yesterday.  I need to test it a bit now and see if I think it will get better on its own with a little help from me.  

Of course it will.  

Ho!

Hey. . . have I ever told you this one before?