My hi-def, big screen TV sucks! To be somewhat fair, it didn't always suck. The suckiness started about 2 1/2 years after I bought it. I've now owned it for nearly 4 years, and I'm not sure how much longer it will be living with me. I'm ready to contact TV hospice. I'm not ready, however, to plop down another $1000.00 or so to replace it. So I'm very pissed.
The technology to which I'm referring happens to be a Samsung 46" 1080 LCD Hi-Def TV. I bought it at Best Buy in Coeur d'Alene, Id. where I used to live, about 4 years ago. The retail figure on this beauty was around $2300.00 back then. I agreed to a 2 year commitment with Direct TV at the time of purchase which reduced the price to about $1600.00. I did not buy an extended service plan. You would think that a TV this expensive would last longer than a couple years or so. Especially a Samsung. The TV has a beautiful picture, so I have no complaints there. As I said, about 1 1/2 years ago, things started to go haywire. At first it was the on-off switch. It took 2-3 cycles to get the sound and picture to come on. Then it was 3-4 cycles....then 4-5 cycles....you get the picture, (no pun intended).
I guess part of me was in denial, and hoped it would somehow mysteriously fix itself. Well, that hasn't happened. It continues to deteriorate, and now there are other issues. The picture "tube", if there is such a thing on this beast, has multiple colored vertical lines running through it. I have to turn this turd on and off repeatedly and let it continue to cycle on it's own for nearly ten minutes now before I get sound and a decent picture. Let me repeat.....I'm really pissed!! I had a TV repair company come out a few weeks ago, and for $35.00, they told me what I already knew. This TV is almost kaput. It would cost several hundred dollars to repair it. I'm stupid sometimes, but not this time.
So what's been happening is this: As I sit on the couch fiddling with the remote trying to turn this piece of dung on, I have found myself daydreaming and wishing for simpler times. Like when I was a kid, with no computer, no cell phone, no navigation, nothing but AM radio to listen to, and simple black and white TVs with just 2 or 3 stations to watch. Hell, I remember going with my dad to the local drug store to test the various tubes which were easy to remove and replace on our Sylvania. And that set lasted years. And it was cheap. I even barfed all over the inside of it one time when my dad was taking it to the repair shop. It was in the back of our Chevy pickup and so was I. Man I got car sick easy when I was a kid. I don't remember who cleaned it out, but the point is, it worked fine again when we got it back home a few days later. Imagine trying that with one of these hi-def gadgets today.
So for me, the question seems to be whether or not today's technology that we buy for ourselves really improves our lives and makes us happier. Yes and no. I don't like spending a gob of cash on anything, but I''ll admit, there is a brief ether cloud that seems to accompany these purchases. That would have to be the "YES" part of this equation. But it doesn't last long man. Having your $1600.00 TV take a dump on you in less than three years is the "NO" part of the equation. And it's a much more powerful and longer lasting feeling then the "YES" will ever be.
Most of us likely have similar stories, but I've got to say again, this really, really pisses me off. Enough of this rant. I've got to go online and start researching which hi-def TV I'm going to buy next. It's a technology thing. I can feel the ether taking effect......
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Canine Coincidental
Although I've been retired from law enforcement for nearly twenty years, some people occasionally ask me if I was ever involved in any shootings. Actually, the question is usually phrased like this: "Did you ever kill anyone?" The answer to that is thankfully, "No!" I did however get involved in "gun play" three times during my career. I seriously wounded a car in one of them, I scared a guy real bad, but missed in another, and the third incident involved one of "man's best friends".
I was working as a patrol officer for the Bakersfield Police at the time, and I was investigating a silent burglar alarm at a residence in an upscale neighborhood. When I arrived at the house, I could hear multiple large dogs barking in the back yard. "Oh great", I thought. I definitely wasn't going to try to go back there. While I was waiting for dispatch to give me an ETA on the owners, a neighbor from across the street approached me. He explained that he was good friends with the owner of the house, and said that he had already gone into the back yard to check things out. He was on friendly terms with the German Shepherd dogs that I heard barking, and he felt the home was secure. I told him I still needed to wait for either the owners or someone from the alarm company to ensure the home hadn't been burglarized. I had no sooner explained my intent to him when he suddenly went to the backyard gate and opened it, apparently wanting me to follow him into the rear yard. Out came two full-grown, snarling German Shepherds, and they charged me.
I also happened to own a German Shepherd named Turbo, and being familiar with his moods and mannerisms, I was quite sure that these two doggies weren't playing. It all happened so fast that I didn't have time to draw my 9 mm for protection. I was able to pull my baton out of it's belt ring and I figured I was going to have to use it on these dogs. They both stopped only a couple of feet from me. They were barking ferociously, and the fur on their backs was standing up straight. Not a good omen for me. Then the neighbor started berating me and told me that I should put the baton away because it was just making the dogs angrier. That's about the same mentality our government had which helped lead to our defeat in Viet Nam. I couldn't believe it. I ordered this clown to get control of the dogs and put them back into their yard, and he continued to argue with me about my baton. The dogs slowly began to circle back towards the neighbor who was standing on the opposite side of the driveway, but they were still agitated. I put my baton back into the ring, pulled my pistol from it's holster, and repeated my order to get rid of the dogs or I may have to shoot them if they charged me again. More arguing. And that's when the female Shepherd came at me. And I shot her. And she pissed and bled and yelped and stumbled around in circles. The male Shepherd must have run back into it's yard because I never saw or heard it again.
The neighbor began screaming at me and making the usual "trigger happy cop" accusations, but fortunately, the owner of the home arrived a few minutes later and calmed him down. He was very apologetic about his well-meaning, but stupid neighbor. The happy news is that the Shepherd survived the gunshot to it's neck without any major ill effects and made a full recovery. The alarm was false, as most of them are. The shooting was ruled justifiable and I lived happily ever after. Well, not quite. This is where it gets a little weird.
Fast forward about two years. I had divorced my first wife and I was casually dating a woman I had met. During a dinner date at my house one evening, she mentioned that her boss owned a female German Shepherd and that he was considering breeding some Shepherd puppies. As I mentioned earlier, my dog Turbo was a pure-bred, papered German Shepherd, and he was gorgeous. Bingo....it was a potential match made in doggie heaven. My lady friend talked to her boss about the possibilities the next day, and he agreed to bring the dog to my home and leave her with me to see if our dogs could start a family. A few days later, he arrived with his dog, and I immediately sensed I had met him somewhere before. I sure had. It was in the front yard of his home a couple years earlier while he was trying to calm down his asshole neighbor who almost got me attacked by two German Shepherds that didn't even belong to him. That's right. I was about to welcome into my yard the dog that I had to shoot at that burglar alarm call. Astronomical odds or canine Karma?
When the initial surprise of the situation wore off, my girlfriend's boss left the dog with me and I put her into my back yard with Turbo. Here's the thing though. Breeding dogs isn't as easy as it might seem on the surface. I'm not really sure why, but that female wouldn't let Turbo near her for three days. And he really tried his little heart out. He exhausted himself. It was pathetic. I'm really glad that I wasn't living vicariously through my dog. I just wanted to communicate to him somehow that "Hey man, she's no good for you anyway. She's a tramp, a slut, a whore. You don't know where this bitch has been. She's got a scar on neck from a bullet wound for cryin' out loud! There are plenty of fish in the sea, Turbo. You'll get over this. I'll help you. That's what buddies do for each other." Only Turbo didn't understand. Probably because I didn't think it in German. And while I was at work on day four, the female escaped the confines of my yard and ran away....with Turbo right on her tail. Luckily, I was able to get the dogs back after chasing them around my neighborhood in my patrol car while on-duty.
The female was returned to her owner later that afternoon, and that was the end of my dog-breeding career. My relationship with my lady friend didn't last much longer either. That's what happens when you go to Club Med for a week without your girlfriend. But that's another story.
I was working as a patrol officer for the Bakersfield Police at the time, and I was investigating a silent burglar alarm at a residence in an upscale neighborhood. When I arrived at the house, I could hear multiple large dogs barking in the back yard. "Oh great", I thought. I definitely wasn't going to try to go back there. While I was waiting for dispatch to give me an ETA on the owners, a neighbor from across the street approached me. He explained that he was good friends with the owner of the house, and said that he had already gone into the back yard to check things out. He was on friendly terms with the German Shepherd dogs that I heard barking, and he felt the home was secure. I told him I still needed to wait for either the owners or someone from the alarm company to ensure the home hadn't been burglarized. I had no sooner explained my intent to him when he suddenly went to the backyard gate and opened it, apparently wanting me to follow him into the rear yard. Out came two full-grown, snarling German Shepherds, and they charged me.
I also happened to own a German Shepherd named Turbo, and being familiar with his moods and mannerisms, I was quite sure that these two doggies weren't playing. It all happened so fast that I didn't have time to draw my 9 mm for protection. I was able to pull my baton out of it's belt ring and I figured I was going to have to use it on these dogs. They both stopped only a couple of feet from me. They were barking ferociously, and the fur on their backs was standing up straight. Not a good omen for me. Then the neighbor started berating me and told me that I should put the baton away because it was just making the dogs angrier. That's about the same mentality our government had which helped lead to our defeat in Viet Nam. I couldn't believe it. I ordered this clown to get control of the dogs and put them back into their yard, and he continued to argue with me about my baton. The dogs slowly began to circle back towards the neighbor who was standing on the opposite side of the driveway, but they were still agitated. I put my baton back into the ring, pulled my pistol from it's holster, and repeated my order to get rid of the dogs or I may have to shoot them if they charged me again. More arguing. And that's when the female Shepherd came at me. And I shot her. And she pissed and bled and yelped and stumbled around in circles. The male Shepherd must have run back into it's yard because I never saw or heard it again.
The neighbor began screaming at me and making the usual "trigger happy cop" accusations, but fortunately, the owner of the home arrived a few minutes later and calmed him down. He was very apologetic about his well-meaning, but stupid neighbor. The happy news is that the Shepherd survived the gunshot to it's neck without any major ill effects and made a full recovery. The alarm was false, as most of them are. The shooting was ruled justifiable and I lived happily ever after. Well, not quite. This is where it gets a little weird.
Fast forward about two years. I had divorced my first wife and I was casually dating a woman I had met. During a dinner date at my house one evening, she mentioned that her boss owned a female German Shepherd and that he was considering breeding some Shepherd puppies. As I mentioned earlier, my dog Turbo was a pure-bred, papered German Shepherd, and he was gorgeous. Bingo....it was a potential match made in doggie heaven. My lady friend talked to her boss about the possibilities the next day, and he agreed to bring the dog to my home and leave her with me to see if our dogs could start a family. A few days later, he arrived with his dog, and I immediately sensed I had met him somewhere before. I sure had. It was in the front yard of his home a couple years earlier while he was trying to calm down his asshole neighbor who almost got me attacked by two German Shepherds that didn't even belong to him. That's right. I was about to welcome into my yard the dog that I had to shoot at that burglar alarm call. Astronomical odds or canine Karma?
When the initial surprise of the situation wore off, my girlfriend's boss left the dog with me and I put her into my back yard with Turbo. Here's the thing though. Breeding dogs isn't as easy as it might seem on the surface. I'm not really sure why, but that female wouldn't let Turbo near her for three days. And he really tried his little heart out. He exhausted himself. It was pathetic. I'm really glad that I wasn't living vicariously through my dog. I just wanted to communicate to him somehow that "Hey man, she's no good for you anyway. She's a tramp, a slut, a whore. You don't know where this bitch has been. She's got a scar on neck from a bullet wound for cryin' out loud! There are plenty of fish in the sea, Turbo. You'll get over this. I'll help you. That's what buddies do for each other." Only Turbo didn't understand. Probably because I didn't think it in German. And while I was at work on day four, the female escaped the confines of my yard and ran away....with Turbo right on her tail. Luckily, I was able to get the dogs back after chasing them around my neighborhood in my patrol car while on-duty.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Tips For Visiting a Nudist Beach
The title on this post alone ought to get some attention, don't you think? I'm sure some readers may blush while others will laugh out loud. The following is a fairly accurate description of my brief foray into the misunderstood and overrated world of nude beaches....at least from my vantage point.
My experiences and observations occurred when I was in college back in the early 70's. That would be the 1970's. It was a different time and social attitude then, but I don't think that really matters a great deal. Since day 1 of our shared humanity, there have been individuals who find it to be great fun to frolic in the buff with people they don't even know. I guess it's supposed to be liberating or some such nonsense. More on that in a bit.
As I said, I was a young college student, full of piss and vinegar, when some buddies and I hatched a plan to check out a nude beach near Zuma Beach in southern California. I don't remember how we found out about this place or what it's name was, or if it even had a name, as some of the more popular nude beaches of the day did. It wasn't too far to drive there from Bakersfield where we lived at the time, so after several weeks of discussing the pros and cons of nude beach combing, we gave it a go. After all, we couldn't really think of any negatives. We figured the beach would be filled with smokin' hot chicks, except with no clothes on.
Back in those days, in high school and in college, all the guys and girls were required to shower after P.E. everyday, and of course the athletes also did after practice and games. So nudity in front of your buddies wasn't really any concern to any of us. Lets face it, the only reason we wanted to go to this place was to check out the plumbing on the opposite sex....for free. As I recall, the walk to this beach from the parking area was fairly difficult, with plenty of jagged rocks and narrow trails to walk on. As we neared our destination, we could look down from a steep hill onto the beach below, and I think we fully expected to see a beach party in full swing, one without bathing suits. Oh boy, were we in for a surprise.
There were a handful of other people down on the beach, and it was very apparent that most of them were of the male variety. Naked ones. Ugh!! Not at all what we were looking for. And I think, at least for me, some unease started to set in. We mustered up our final bit of courage, and traipsed down onto the sand to see if we were missing something, or looking in the wrong place. Ah, no. There were maybe 20-30 people scattered about on beach towels, mostly minding their own business. About 90% of them were guys, and they were the only ones looking back at us. Yikes! I wondered if this was how a turkey felt just before Thanksgiving. We really had the yips at this point, but what the hell, we stripped anyway. I'm not sure if the sensation of total nudity in front of strangers, outside in broad daylight, was a liberating feeling or not. It was definitely draftier. It sure didn't feel like this was a normal thing to do, but peer pressure prevailed.
Two of my friends immediately ran into the surf, acting like they had done this a million times. My other buddy and I opted to "hang out" on the beach, and laid stomach-down on our towels. You've got to keep some mystery in this, after all. We nervously looked around for a while, and I finally got up the nerve to walk around and check things out more carefully. There were a handful of lone, very tan, fairly unattractive, and much older naked females lying about, mostly just reading books and soaking up the U.V.'s. They weren't remotely interested in any of us, and I recall being too nervous to even care. The other fellows on the beach, however, sure seemed to have a keen interest in us though. "Crap", I thought, "I've got to get off of this beach and into the water".
So into the crashing surf I sprinted with a "devil may care" attitude....and I mean it was cold. Unseasonably cold. I was probably making more noises than a pregnant woman at Lamaze classes, and I quickly decided that I'd be more comfortable back on that warm beach laying on my towel. But there was one, very small problem that suddenly became quite obvious to me. As I stood there turning blue with kelp slithering up my butt crack, I realized that a vanishing act had occurred the moment I entered the frigid Pacific. Houdini would have been proud of this disappearing trick. A certain appendage of mine had shifted into reverse and buried itself somewhere deep in my loins. And I don't think it planned on shifting back into forward until I got out of the ice water and raised my core temperature about 20 degrees. So, back onto the beach I sprinted, hoping no one would notice my "shortcoming". Whew, that warm towel felt good, and before long, I was back in drive. Aahhh.
After we had regrouped and shared a few laughs, we decided we'd had enough of this action. Besides, certain areas of our bodies had already started to turn red. We hadn't had the foresight to apply tanning lotion to previously unexposed areas of our bodies before we arrived. It's certainly not something you'd want to do out in public either....even if it was a nude beach, especially if it was a nude beach. I actually visited this beach one more time about a year later with some classmates from the college I was attending in Thousand Oaks. Nothing really had changed. Same basic male to female ratio which was unacceptable to us. Same uncomfortable sunburn, and I could still perform that disappearing trick....right on cue. This was an experience that should have been left a fantasy. But if you insist on visiting one, here's a tip: Always wear some dark sunglasses.
My experiences and observations occurred when I was in college back in the early 70's. That would be the 1970's. It was a different time and social attitude then, but I don't think that really matters a great deal. Since day 1 of our shared humanity, there have been individuals who find it to be great fun to frolic in the buff with people they don't even know. I guess it's supposed to be liberating or some such nonsense. More on that in a bit.
As I said, I was a young college student, full of piss and vinegar, when some buddies and I hatched a plan to check out a nude beach near Zuma Beach in southern California. I don't remember how we found out about this place or what it's name was, or if it even had a name, as some of the more popular nude beaches of the day did. It wasn't too far to drive there from Bakersfield where we lived at the time, so after several weeks of discussing the pros and cons of nude beach combing, we gave it a go. After all, we couldn't really think of any negatives. We figured the beach would be filled with smokin' hot chicks, except with no clothes on.
Back in those days, in high school and in college, all the guys and girls were required to shower after P.E. everyday, and of course the athletes also did after practice and games. So nudity in front of your buddies wasn't really any concern to any of us. Lets face it, the only reason we wanted to go to this place was to check out the plumbing on the opposite sex....for free. As I recall, the walk to this beach from the parking area was fairly difficult, with plenty of jagged rocks and narrow trails to walk on. As we neared our destination, we could look down from a steep hill onto the beach below, and I think we fully expected to see a beach party in full swing, one without bathing suits. Oh boy, were we in for a surprise.
There were a handful of other people down on the beach, and it was very apparent that most of them were of the male variety. Naked ones. Ugh!! Not at all what we were looking for. And I think, at least for me, some unease started to set in. We mustered up our final bit of courage, and traipsed down onto the sand to see if we were missing something, or looking in the wrong place. Ah, no. There were maybe 20-30 people scattered about on beach towels, mostly minding their own business. About 90% of them were guys, and they were the only ones looking back at us. Yikes! I wondered if this was how a turkey felt just before Thanksgiving. We really had the yips at this point, but what the hell, we stripped anyway. I'm not sure if the sensation of total nudity in front of strangers, outside in broad daylight, was a liberating feeling or not. It was definitely draftier. It sure didn't feel like this was a normal thing to do, but peer pressure prevailed.
Two of my friends immediately ran into the surf, acting like they had done this a million times. My other buddy and I opted to "hang out" on the beach, and laid stomach-down on our towels. You've got to keep some mystery in this, after all. We nervously looked around for a while, and I finally got up the nerve to walk around and check things out more carefully. There were a handful of lone, very tan, fairly unattractive, and much older naked females lying about, mostly just reading books and soaking up the U.V.'s. They weren't remotely interested in any of us, and I recall being too nervous to even care. The other fellows on the beach, however, sure seemed to have a keen interest in us though. "Crap", I thought, "I've got to get off of this beach and into the water".
So into the crashing surf I sprinted with a "devil may care" attitude....and I mean it was cold. Unseasonably cold. I was probably making more noises than a pregnant woman at Lamaze classes, and I quickly decided that I'd be more comfortable back on that warm beach laying on my towel. But there was one, very small problem that suddenly became quite obvious to me. As I stood there turning blue with kelp slithering up my butt crack, I realized that a vanishing act had occurred the moment I entered the frigid Pacific. Houdini would have been proud of this disappearing trick. A certain appendage of mine had shifted into reverse and buried itself somewhere deep in my loins. And I don't think it planned on shifting back into forward until I got out of the ice water and raised my core temperature about 20 degrees. So, back onto the beach I sprinted, hoping no one would notice my "shortcoming". Whew, that warm towel felt good, and before long, I was back in drive. Aahhh.
After we had regrouped and shared a few laughs, we decided we'd had enough of this action. Besides, certain areas of our bodies had already started to turn red. We hadn't had the foresight to apply tanning lotion to previously unexposed areas of our bodies before we arrived. It's certainly not something you'd want to do out in public either....even if it was a nude beach, especially if it was a nude beach. I actually visited this beach one more time about a year later with some classmates from the college I was attending in Thousand Oaks. Nothing really had changed. Same basic male to female ratio which was unacceptable to us. Same uncomfortable sunburn, and I could still perform that disappearing trick....right on cue. This was an experience that should have been left a fantasy. But if you insist on visiting one, here's a tip: Always wear some dark sunglasses.
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