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Flight & A Crash
In stock
Product Code:
Vinyl LP
Label Name:
Epitaph / Ada
Limited colored vinyl LP pressing. A Flight And A Crash is a sonic exploration of the pain and triumph of life with an energy and emotion seldom heard. With some of the most intricate yet hard-driving rhythms the band has ever produced, this album pulls at your gut, head and heart all at the same time. It's easy to see why Magnet magazine called them "the best punk band on the planet!" at the time.
- A Flight and a Crash
- Jack of All Trades
- Paper Thin
- Instrumental
- Swinger
- A Clear Line
- Choked and Separated
- Old Rules
- Sons and Daughters
- Sunday Suit
- She Takes It So Well
- One More Time
- In the Gray
- Call It Trashing
- So Many Days
Write Your Own Review

subset: commoncrawl


text:
This will be the home page for the Forquer Family Reunions held in Rutledge, MO every year on the last Sunday in September at the hall.
See see the pictures in a larger size, simply click on them. To return to this page, select your 'back' option.
I have labeled the pictures as well as I can. Please help me correct
them. Email me at firstname.lastname@example.com
or write to me at
Billie Jo Wiley-Garner
PO Box 22
Fairfield, IA 52556
Found this on the web, but Earl Henry does not believe it is our Isaac...
I think it is...
Here is Isaac's decendants as I have them. I would love more details
and people and so on to make this more complete.
This is all of the genealogy information I have. I would love it if everyone could help me fell in the blanks. Birthdates, deathdates, stories, spouses, children, lives...
1. Isaac Armstrong Forquer
Notes: I found an Isaac Forquer on FamilySearch.com born about 1836 in Maryland and married Sarah E. Chaney on 7/4/1860 in Scottland, Missouri and that he was christened in Sandhill, Scotland, Missouri. Ancestry.com ... he may have served int he Civil War from Missouri. See picture IsaacForquer.jpg
Spouse: Mary J.
Children: Eugene William
Sherman Carroll
Harrison Russell
1.1 Eugene William Forquer
Notes: married between 1851&1900
Spouse: Eliza
Children: Eva
Barbara Ellen
Henry Patrick
1.1.1 Eva Forquer
1.1.2a Frances Forquer*
Spouse: Dalton
Children: Theresa
Other spouses: Brooks
1.1.2a.1 Theresa Dalton
1.1.2a.2 Edgar Dalton
1.1.2a.3 Joe Dalton
1.1.2b Frances Forquer*
(See above)
Spouse: Brooks
Other spouses: Dalton
1.1.3a Martha Forquer*
Spouse: Jessie Stone Sr.
Children: Anna Mae
Other spouses: Brown
1.1.3a.1 Anna Mae Stone
Spouse: Burford
1.1.3a.2 Jessie Stone Jr.
Children: David
1.1.3a.2.1 David Stone
Children: Jason
1.1.3a.2.1.1 Jason Stone
1.1.3a.2.2 Philip Stone
Children: Shelly
1.1.3a.2.2.1 Shelly Stone
1.1.3a.2.2.2 Ryan Stone
1.1.3a.2.2.3 Shannon
1.1.3b Martha Forquer*
(See above)
Spouse: Brown
Other spouses: Jessie Stone Sr.
1.1.4 Walter Forquer
Notes: Found a Walter Forquer who was born 10/4/1914 and died 10/1984 and had the ssn of 498-12-5862 that was issued in Missouri... last residence was Carman, Henderson, IL 61425
Children: Waneva
Bea Rossi
22.214.171.124 Waneva Forquer
Spouse: Carlin
22.214.171.124 Eugene Forquer
184.108.40.206 Fern Forquer
Spouse: Tery
22.214.171.124 Bea Rossi Forquer
Spouse: Smith
220.127.116.11 Ella Forquer
Spouse: Murphy
188.8.131.52 Leo Forquer
Spouse: Betty
Children: Ronald Dean
18.104.22.168.1 Ronald Dean Forquer Sr.
Children: Ronald Dean
18.104.22.168.1.1 Ronald Dean Forquer Jr.
126.96.36.199 Esther Forquer
Spouse: Lorntzen
188.8.131.52 Jessie Forquer
Children: Christy
184.108.40.206.1 Christy Forquer
184.108.40.206.2 Jeffrey Forquer
1.1.5 Barbara Ellen Forquer
Birth Date: Feb 12, 1886
Death Date: 1968
Spouse: William Walter Stone
Death Date: About 1935
Spouse Notes: Hazel says that he died when she was about 5. I wonder if her memory is not off and that these dates are accurate for his birth and death... October 15, 1882 and October 28, 1941. Another possibility is that he had a sister named Sarah Josephine, father's name was William Arthur and mother was Ella Irene Bucknam. His maternal grandparents may have been Dexter Bucknam and Eliza Shay.
Children: Elma Alta
Cora Irene
Hazel Margaret
Charley Hubert
Rosy Nelle
184.108.40.206 Elma Alta Stone
Notes: Born on April 26 or 27. Died of some sort kidney infection when she was 20 something.
18.104.22.168 Cora Irene Stone
Birth Date: Sep 6, 1929
Notes: Died when she was about 30 according to Francis Garrett.
Spouse: ? Overfield
188.8.131.52a Hazel Margaret Stone*
Birth Date: Jun 14, 1930
Birth Place: Bible Grove, Scotland County, Missouri
Occupation: Factory Worker
Notes: Boyfriend...Thomas Michael Dunning 11-28-31. Father died when she was 5. At age13, she was hired as a housekeeper by Edward Francis Garrett. Hazel got pregnant, so she had to marry him. After Lee was born, they divorced. Remarried when she got pregnant again. Divorced after baby Rose. She lived with her mother, brother , and sister during the marriages while Francis lived with Edna. Gave the babies up to Francis' mother, Grace when Rose was 4 months old.
Medical: In labor with Rose from Friday until Monday, when they finally took her to Kirksville to deliver. Rose was her heaviest baby at 8lb 4oz.
Spouse: Edward Francis Garrett
Birth Date: Oct 1, 1912
Birth Place: North of Memphis, Missouri
Spouse Father: Ebenezer Garrett (1881-1923)
Spouse Mother: Grace Alice Pearl Cline (1889-1965)
Spouse Notes: Tamp was his nickname because he hoarded his money. As of 2001 has a gun that he got when he was 13 years that he gave $7. Its a 410. Got the $7 by working for 25¢ and 50¢ a day. Used for hunting rabbits and squirrel. Spanked dogs and tom cats with it. Very proud of this gun because he's had it so long. Age 16 Centerville Hospital had double pnuemonia and had to be operated on. Missing a piece of rib. Had to learn to walk again.
Children: Edward Lee
Rose Mary
Other spouses: William Robert Arnold
184.108.40.206a.1 Edward Lee Garrett
Birth Date: Sep 13, 1945
Medical: 5 lbs at birth
Children: Brian
18.104.22.168a.1.1 Brian Garrett
188.8.131.52a.2a Rose Mary Garrett*
Birth Date: Jan 20, 1947
Birth Place: GrimSmith Hospital, Kirksville, Missouri
Occupation: Professional House Cleaner
Education: 10th grade
Medical: Mother in labor with Rose from Friday until Monday, when they finally took her to Kirksville to deliver. Rose was her heaviest baby at 8lb 4oz.
Spouse: Delbert Craig, never married
Birth Date: Oct 22,
Children: Eddie Dean
Other spouses: Rex Dean Harward
Joseph Warren Wiley Sr.
22.214.171.124a.2a.1 Eddie Dean Harward
Birth Date: May 31, 1964
Birth Place: Memorial Hospital, Keosauqua, Iowa
Occupation: Factory worker at Dexter, in Fairfield, Iowa
Notes: He was raised as one of Rex's kids. Delbert has never had anything to do with him. They have only met a handful of times.
Medical: born at 10:35am, 8lb 2oz
Spouse: Tamara Louise Nunez
Birth Date: Nov 4, 1969
Children: Aaron Christopher
Amanda Louise
Brooke Nichole
22.214.171.124a.2a.1.1 Aaron Christopher Harward
Birth Date: Oct 19, 1988
Birth Place: Memorial Hospital, Keosauqua, Iowa
18.104.22.168a.2a.1.2 Amanda Louise Harward
Birth Date: Nov 3, 1990
Birth Place: Memorial Hospital, Keosauqua, Iowa
22.214.171.124a.2a.1.3 Brooke Nichole Harward
Birth Date: Nov 14, 1992
Birth Place: Memorial Hospital, Keosauqua, Iowa
188.8.131.52a.2b Rose Mary Garrett*
(See above)
Spouse: Rex Dean Harward
Birth Date: May 27,
Marriage Date: 1953/1954
Children: Rickie Allen
Carla Dee
Other spouses: Delbert Craig
Joseph Warren Wiley Sr.
220.127.116.11a.2b.1 Rickie Allen Harward
Birth Date: Feb 9, 1966
Birth Place: Memorial Hospital, Keosauqua, Iowa
Occupation: Self Employed Carpenter
Medical: born at 9:25pm, 9lb 4oz
126.96.36.199a.2b.2a Carla Dee Harward*
Birth Date: Sep 2, 1969
Birth Place: Memorial Hospital, Keosauqua, Iowa
Medical: born at 6:03am, 9lb 9oz
Spouse: Robert Wayne Bohannon
Birth Date: Jun 16, 1962
Marriage Date: Mar 1986
Children: Stormy Dawn
Sabrine Odess
Tiffany Lynn
Seth Anthony
Other spouses: Kenneth Waters, never married
184.108.40.206a.2b.2a.1 Stormy Dawn Bohannon
Birth Date: Dec 27, 1986
Birth Place: Memorial Hospital, Keosauqua, Iowa
184.108.40.206a.2b.2a.2 Sabrine Odess Bohannon
Birth Date: Jun 3, 1989
Birth Place: Memorial Hospital, Keosauqua, Iowa
220.127.116.11a.2b.2a.3 Jeremy Bohannon
Birth Place: miscarried at 4 months
188.8.131.52a.2b.2a.4 Tiffany Lynn Bohannon
Birth Date: Nov 1, 1991
Birth Place: home in Cantril, Iowa
126.96.36.199a.2b.2a.5 Seth Anthony Bohannon
Birth Date: Nov 29, 1994
184.108.40.206a.2b.2b Carla Dee Harward*
(See above)
Spouse: Kenneth Waters, never married
Children: Samantha Catherine
Other spouses: Robert Wayne Bohannon
220.127.116.11a.2b.2b.1 Samantha Catherine Waters
Birth Date: Aug 15, 2000
Birth Place: Ottumwa Regional Hosp, Ottumwa, Iowa
22.214.171.124a.2c Rose Mary Garrett*
(See above)
Spouse: Joseph Warren Wiley Sr.
Birth Date: Feb 3, 1939
Birth Place: Mt. Sterling, Iowa
Death Cause Place: Smoke Inhalation, Completely Burnt
Death Date: Nov 10, 1996
Death Place: home, Scabery Place, Cantril, Iowa
Burial Date: Nov 12, 1996
Burial Place: Maple Grove Cemetary, Cantril, Iowa
Occupation: Laborer for 25 year at Iowa Mallable in Fairfield
Education: High School Graduate
Spouse Father: Frank Raymond Wiley Sr. (1905-1977)
Spouse Mother: Violet Cloris Grimes (1916-2001)
Spouse Notes:
Named after the man who delivered him. His mother said that when the baby was placed in her arms the doctor asked what his name was and she said she hadnt thought of that and the doctor made the comment that she should name him after a good man. So she named the baby after him. When he was younger, he was allergic to cow milk and had to drink goat's milk, Billie thinks she remembers him saying. Any way he hated goat's milk. Factory Worker at Iowa Malleable Iron & Steel in Fairfield for almost 25 years, before that he worked for a factory in Keosauqua. Died in a house fire. The general belief is that there was faulty wiring in the trailer or that there were animals playing with an extention cord. The fire started in the kitchen. His body was found in the hallway. The first person to notice the fire was Kevin Michael Kennedy, one of Joe's nephews. He and Kelly, his brother, tried to break into the blaze to get Joe out but it was not use.
ssn 480-48-36876 also has erronously listed his death as 11/12/1996
Spouse Medical: Alcoholic
Marriage Date: Jan 1, 1974
Marriage Place: Kahoka, Missouri
Divorced: Apr 1978
Children: Billie Jo
Other spouses: Delbert Craig
Rex Dean Harward
184.108.40.206a.2c.1 Billie Jo Wiley
Birth Date: May 28, 1975
Birth Place: Memorial Hospital, Keosauqua, Iowa
Occupation: Computer person
Education: 1 year of Computer Science at Indian Hills Community College
Notes: born at 5:50pm
Married name is Wiley-Garner
Spouse: Steven James Garner
Birth Date: Oct 19, 1956
Birth Place: St. Helens Hospital, Wellington, New Zealand
Occupation: Systems Integrator, Information Specialist
Education: lotsa college
Spouse Father: David McNiven Garner (1928-)
Spouse Mother: Edna Jean Ramsden (1929-)
Spouse Medical:
born at 11:30 pm just 2 minutes before or after a full moon and weighed 9 lbs 1 oz
Marriage Date: Aug 20, 1995
Marriage Place: 3JCW, Iowa City Hospitals and Clinics, Iowa City, Iowa
Children: Dannidyn Montana Christine
Zaya Asim
Abyni Marin
188.8.131.52a.2c.1.1 Dannidyn Montana Christine Garner
Birth Date: Mar 17, 1995
Birth Place: Tsisarurahkariku, 2696 Highway 34, Fairfield, Iowa
Death Cause Place: poorly differentiate carcinoma
Death Date: Aug 20, 1995
Death Place: 3JCW, Iowa City Hospitals and Clinics, Iowa City, Iowa
Burial Date: Aug 21, 1995
Burial Place: Creamated in Iowa City, have ashes
Medical: died at age 5m 3d, of an unknown agressive cancer
22.214.171.124a.2c.1.2 Zaya Asim Garner
Birth Date: Jun 8, 1999
Birth Place: Tsisarurahkariku, 2696 Hwy 34, Fairfield, Iowa
126.96.36.199a.2c.1.3 Abyni Marin Garner
Birth Date: Jul 4, 2001
Birth Place: 306 W Jefferson Ave, Fairfield, Iowa
184.108.40.206b Hazel Margaret Stone*
(See above)
Spouse: William Robert Arnold
Children: Bobby Eugene
Other spouses: Edward Francis Garrett
184.108.40.206b.1 Bobby Eugene Arnold
Birth Date: Jul 25, 1948
Spouse: Linda
Birth Date: Jun 8,
18.104.22.168 Charley Hubert Stone
Birth Date: Sep 27, 1931
Has never been married. Seems to be a little slow mentally. Hazel, his sister, seems to take care of him quite a bit.
18.104.22.168 Rosy Nelle Stone
Birth Date: Nov 2, 1932
Notes: Lived 100 miles from the World Trade Centers that fell to terrorists in Sept 11, 2001.
Spouse: Henry? Kumcler
Children: Anna Jane (Janie)
220.127.116.11.1 Anna Jane (Janie) Kumcler
Spouse: Newkirk
1.1.6 Henry Patrick Forquer
Birth Date: Feb 10, 1892
Death Date: May 1981
Notes: There is a possibility that the birth and death day and this SSN of this person is wrong. ssn 486-42-1687 and last residence Rutledge, Scotland, MO6
Children: Earl Henry
Mary Dean
Raymond Eugene
Wallace Pearl
18.104.22.168 Earl Henry Forquer
Children: Ernestine
Marilyn (Twin)
Carolyn (Twin)
18.104.22.168.1 Ernestine Forquer
Spouse: Poling
22.214.171.124.2 Marilyn Forquer
Spouse: Beske
Children: Christina
Rae Ann
22.214.171.124.2.1 Christina Beske
188.8.131.52.2.2 Erika Beske
188.8.131.52.2.3a Rae Ann Beske*
Spouse: Baker
Children: James Alexander
Other spouses: Mason
188.8.131.52.2.3a.1 James Alexander Baker
220.127.116.11.2.3b Rae Ann Beske*
(See above)
Spouse: Mason
Children: Hayley Cheyanne
Other spouses: Baker
22.214.171.124.2.3b.1 Hayley Cheyanne Mason
188.8.131.52.3a Carolyn Forquer*
Spouse: Dromey
Children: Michael John
Melissa Ann
Other spouses: Swigart
18.104.22.168.3a.1 Michael John Dromey
126.96.36.199.3a.2 Melissa Ann Dromey
220.127.116.11.3b Carolyn Forquer*
(See above)
Spouse: Swigart
Other spouses: Dromey
126.96.36.199 Mary Dean Forquer
Spouse: Farr
Children: Roland
22.214.171.124.1 Roland Farr
Children: Amanda Renee
Gregory Ryan
188.8.131.52.1.1 Amanda Renee Farr
Spouse: Lay
Children: Alyssa Faith
Preston Wade
188.8.131.52.1.1.1 Alyssa Faith Lay
188.8.131.52.1.1.2 Preston Wade Lay
188.8.131.52.1.2 Gregory Ryan Farr
220.127.116.11.2 Robey Farr
Children: Randy Lee
Tyler Joe
Robin Lynn
184.108.40.206.2.1 Randy Lee Farr
18.104.22.168.2.2 Tyler Joe Farr
126.96.36.199.2.3 Robin Lynn Farr
220.127.116.11.3 Rhonda Farr
Spouse: Whittaker
Children: Douglas Anthony
Geoffrey Lee
18.104.22.168.3.1 Douglas Anthony Whittaker
126.96.36.199.3.2 Geoffrey Lee Whittaker
220.127.116.11 Raymond Eugene Forquer
Children: Nancy Kay
Dennis Ray
Judy May
Twila Fay
126.96.36.199.1 Nancy Kay Forquer
Spouse: McKim
Children: Melody Joy
188.8.131.52.1.1 Melody Joy McKim
188.8.131.52.2 Dennis Ray Forquer
22.214.171.124.3 Judy May Forquer
Spouse: Thomas
126.96.36.199.4 Twila Fay Forquer
Spouse: Jones
Children: Alisha Faye
Nathaniel Ray
18.104.22.168.4.1 Alisha Faye Jones
220.127.116.11.4.2 Nathaniel Ray Jones
184.108.40.206 Wallace Pearl Forquer
1.1.7 Martin Forquer
Birth Date: Sep 19, 1897
Death Date: Aug 1987
Notes: There is a possibility that the birth and death day and this SSN of this person is wrong. ssn 486-38-5118 & last residence: Lewistown, Lewis, MO6
Children: Ernest
126.96.36.199 Ernest Forquer
1.1.8 James Forquer
Birth Date: Mar 20, 1904
Death Date: Dec 1970
Notes: There is a possibility that the birth and death day and this SSN of this person is wrong. ssn 486-14-1916 and last residence Granger, Scotland, MO6
Spouse: Velma
Death Place: 1998
Children: Dale
Arthur Lee
Verda Jean
22.214.171.124 Dale Forquer
Birth Date: Aug 11, 1926
Death Date: Nov 1968
Notes: There is a possibility that the birth and death day and this SSN of this person is wrong. ssn 492-24-11276
18.104.22.168 Loyd Forquer
220.127.116.11a Arthur Lee Forquer*
Birth Date: Nov 23, 1933
Birth Place: Bible Grove, MO
Death Cause Place: Heart attack
Death Date: Mar 18, 1999
Notes: There is a possibility that the birth and death day and this SSN of this person is wrong. ssn 500-36-2989 and last known residence was Baring, Knox, MO6
Spouse: Irene
Children: Clayton Eugene
Lisa Ellen
Other spouses: Helen Roeller
18.104.22.168a.1 Clayton Eugene Forquer
22.214.171.124a.2 Clinton Forquer
220.127.116.11a.3 Clifford Forquer
220.127.116.11a.4 Christopher Forquer
Birth Date: Dec 7,
188.8.131.52a.5 Curtis Forquer
18.104.22.168a.6 Lisa Ellen Forquer
Birth Date: Dec 14, 1966
Spouse: Terry Lee Huston
Birth Date: Oct 15, 1962
Marriage Date: Jul 30, 1987
Children: Jonathan Ray
Kala Marie
Timothy Lee
Andrea Cathleen
22.214.171.124a.6.1 Jonathan Ray Huston
Birth Date: May 26, 1986
184.108.40.206a.6.2 Kala Marie Huston
Birth Date: Jul 5, 1990
220.127.116.11a.6.3 Timothy Lee Huston
Birth Date: Sep 19, 1992
184.108.40.206a.6.4 Andrea Cathleen Huston
Birth Date: Dec 30, 1997
126.96.36.199b Arthur Lee Forquer*
(See above)
Spouse: Helen Roeller
Birth Date: Aug 27, 1930
Marriage Date: Jul 1974
Other spouses: Irene
18.104.22.168 Kenneth Forquer
Children: Larry
188.8.131.52.1 Larry Forquer
22.214.171.124 Verda Jean Forquer
Spouse: Wilcox
1.2 Sherman Carroll Forquer
Children: Vida
1.2.1 Vida Forquer
Spouse: Bertram
Children: Phyllis
18.104.22.168 Phyllis Bertram
Spouse: Alderton
18.104.22.168 Margaret Bertram
1.2.2 Russell Forquer
1.2.3 Gertrude Forquer
Spouse: Gibbs
Children: Leo
22.214.171.124 Leo Gibbs
18.104.22.168 Bruce Gibbs
1.2.4 Imogene Forquer
1.2.5 Hazel Forquer
1.3 Mary Forquer
Notes: I wonder if she was not Mary Alma Forquer who married George Washington Stockham.
1.4 Mattie Forquer
Spouse: Eaton
Children: Lydia
George Isaac
John Robert
1.4.1 Lydia Eaton
Spouse: Springer
1.4.2 George Isaac Eaton
1.4.3 John Robert Eaton
1.4.4 Pauline Eaton
Spouse: Womack
1.5 Nancy Forquer
Spouse: Copper
1.6 Harrison Russell Forquer
Spouse: Maggie
Children: Maxine
1.6.1 Maxine Forquer
Spouse: William Grabowski
Birth Date: Aug 14, 1910
Death Date: May 27, 1999
Spouse Notes:
ssn 491-40-00696
Marriage Date: Sep 28, 1935
Children: Clarine
Harry Lee
184.108.40.206 Clarine Grabowski
Death Date: Before 1997
Spouse: Rush
18.104.22.168 Harry Lee Grabowski
Spouse: Judy
Children: RoxAnn Ruth
22.214.171.124.1 RoxAnn Ruth Grabowski
188.8.131.52 Sammy Grabowski
1.7 Dora Forquer
Spouse: Hocking
Children: Sylvia Guiles
1.7.1 Sylvia Guiles Hocking
Spouse: Garrison
1.7.2 Olive Hocking
Spouse: Bull
1.7.3 Jean Hocking
Spouse: Miller
1.8 Roberta Forquer
1.9 Lena Forquer
Reference Note 6 - Social Security Death Index at RootsWeb on the internet at http://ssdi.genealogy.rootsweb.com/
, Shannon 1.1.3a.2.2.3
Arnold, Bobby Eugene 220.127.116.11b.1
Baker, James Alexander 22.214.171.124.2.3a.1
Bertram, Margaret 18.104.22.168
Bertram, Phyllis 18.104.22.168
Beske, Christina 188.8.131.52.2.1
Beske, Erika 18.104.22.168.2.2
Beske, Rae Ann 22.214.171.124.2.3a
Bohannon, Jeremy 188.8.131.52a.2b.2a.3
Bohannon, Sabrine Odess 188.8.131.52a.2b.2a.2
Bohannon, Seth Anthony 220.127.116.11a.2b.2a.5
Bohannon, Stormy Dawn 220.127.116.11a.2b.2a.1
Bohannon, Tiffany Lynn 22.214.171.124a.2b.2a.4
Dalton, Edgar 1.1.2a.2
Dalton, Joe 1.1.2a.3
Dalton, Theresa 1.1.2a.1
Dromey, Melissa Ann 184.108.40.206.3a.2
Dromey, Michael John 22.214.171.124.3a.1
Eaton, George Isaac 1.4.2
Eaton, John Robert 1.4.3
Eaton, Lydia 1.4.1
Eaton, Pauline 1.4.4
Farr, Amanda Renee 126.96.36.199.1.1
Farr, Gregory Ryan 18.104.22.168.1.2
Farr, Randy Lee 188.8.131.52.2.1
Farr, Rhonda 126.96.36.199.3
Farr, Robey 188.8.131.52.2
Farr, Robin Lynn 126.96.36.199.2.3
Farr, Roland 18.104.22.168.1
Farr, Tyler Joe 220.127.116.11.2.2
Forquer, Arthur Lee 188.8.131.52a
Forquer, Barbara Ellen 1.1.5
Forquer, Bea Rossi 220.127.116.11
Forquer, Carolyn 188.8.131.52.3a
Forquer, Christopher 184.108.40.206a.4
Forquer, Christy 220.127.116.11.1
Forquer, Clayton Eugene 184.108.40.206a.1
Forquer, Clifford 220.127.116.11a.3
Forquer, Clinton 18.104.22.168a.2
Forquer, Curtis 184.108.40.206a.5
Forquer, Dale 184.108.40.206
Forquer, Dennis Ray 188.8.131.52.2
Forquer, Dora 1.7
Forquer, Earl Henry 184.108.40.206
Forquer, Ella 220.127.116.11
Forquer, Ernest 126.96.36.199
Forquer, Ernestine 18.104.22.168.1
Forquer, Esther 22.214.171.124
Forquer, Eugene 18.104.22.168
Forquer, Eugene William 1.1
Forquer, Eva 1.1.1
Forquer, Fern 184.108.40.206
Forquer, Frances 1.1.2a
Forquer, Gertrude 1.2.3
Forquer, Harrison Russell 1.6
Forquer, Hazel 1.2.5
Forquer, Henry Patrick 1.1.6
Forquer, Imogene 1.2.4
Forquer, Isaac Armstrong 1.
Forquer, James 1.1.8
Forquer, Jeffrey 188.8.131.52.2
Forquer, Jessie 126.96.36.199
Forquer, Judy May 18.104.22.168.3
Forquer, Kenneth 188.8.131.52
Forquer, Larry 184.108.40.206.1
Forquer, Lena 1.9
Forquer, Leo 188.8.131.52
Forquer, Lisa Ellen 220.127.116.11a.6
Forquer, Loyd 18.104.22.168
Forquer, Marilyn 126.96.36.199.2
Forquer, Martha 1.1.3a
Forquer, Martin 1.1.7
Forquer, Mary 1.3
Forquer, Mary Dean 18.104.22.168
Forquer, Mattie 1.4
Forquer, Maxine 1.6.1
Forquer, Nancy 1.5
Forquer, Nancy Kay 184.108.40.206.1
Forquer, Raymond Eugene 188.8.131.52
Forquer, Roberta 1.8
Forquer, Ronald Dean Jr. 22.214.171.124.1.1
Forquer, Ronald Dean Sr. 184.108.40.206.1
Forquer, Russell 1.2.2
Forquer, Sherman Carroll 1.2
Forquer, Twila Fay 18.104.22.168.4
Forquer, Verda Jean 22.214.171.124
Forquer, Vida 1.2.1
Forquer, Wallace Pearl 220.127.116.11
Forquer, Walter 1.1.4
Forquer, Waneva 22.214.171.124
Garner, Abyni Marin 18.104.22.168a.2c.1.3
Garner, Dannidyn Montana Christine 126.96.36.199a.2c.1.1
Garner, Zaya Asim 22.214.171.124a.2c.1.2
Garrett, Brian 188.8.131.52a.1.1
Garrett, Edward Lee 220.127.116.11a.1
Garrett, Rose Mary 22.214.171.124a.2a
Gibbs, Bruce 188.8.131.52
Gibbs, Leo 220.127.116.11
Grabowski, Clarine 18.104.22.168
Grabowski, Harry Lee 22.214.171.124
Grabowski, RoxAnn Ruth 184.108.40.206.1
Grabowski, Sammy 184.108.40.206
Harward, Aaron Christopher 188.8.131.52a.2a.1.1
Harward, Amanda Louise 188.8.131.52a.2a.1.2
Harward, Brooke Nichole 126.96.36.199a.2a.1.3
Harward, Carla Dee 184.108.40.206a.2b.2a
Harward, Eddie Dean 22.214.171.124a.2a.1
Harward, Rickie Allen 220.127.116.11a.2b.1
Hocking, Jean 1.7.3
Hocking, Olive 1.7.2
Hocking, Sylvia Guiles 1.7.1
Huston, Andrea Cathleen 184.108.40.206a.6.4
Huston, Jonathan Ray 220.127.116.11a.6.1
Huston, Kala Marie 220.127.116.11a.6.2
Huston, Timothy Lee 188.8.131.52a.6.3
Jones, Alisha Faye 220.127.116.11.4.1
Jones, Nathaniel Ray 22.214.171.124.4.2
Kumcler, Anna Jane (Janie) 22.214.171.124.1
Lay, Alyssa Faith 220.127.116.11.1.1.1
Lay, Preston Wade 220.127.116.11.1.1.2
Mason, Hayley Cheyanne 184.108.40.206.2.3b.1
McKim, Melody Joy 188.8.131.52.1.1
Stone, Anna Mae 1.1.3a.1
Stone, Charley Hubert 22.214.171.124
Stone, Cora Irene 22.214.171.124
Stone, David 1.1.3a.2.1
Stone, Elma Alta 18.104.22.168
Stone, Hazel Margaret 188.8.131.52a
Stone, Jason 1.1.3a.2.1.1
Stone, Jessie Jr. 1.1.3a.2
Stone, Philip 1.1.3a.2.2
Stone, Rosy Nelle 220.127.116.11
Stone, Ryan 1.1.3a.2.2.2
Stone, Shelly 1.1.3a.2.2.1
Waters, Samantha Catherine 126.96.36.199a.2b.2b.1
Whittaker, Douglas Anthony 18.104.22.168.3.1
Whittaker, Geoffrey Lee 18.104.22.168.3.2
Wiley, Billie Jo 126.96.36.199a.2c.1


text: Flower Child Model: Kimberly WHeaddress by Bubbles and Frown Habberdashery Sign up for email updates on the latest artworkand follow @roustan on Leave this field empty if you're human: Looks like a wetsuit, but it's body paint! Your eyes deceive you! Sharks Are People Too The Sea Shall Set You Free! When Cosplay and Body Paint Collide Geeks everywhere rejoice! City Lights view from Littlebow Night time view of SoCal. Love Yourself magic in the water The Nymph of La Ferla Manor Fresh Frolicking Filigrees By Roustan | May 23, 2017 | Uncategorized | ← Running Away with the Circus City Lights view from Littlebow →


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Outdoor Kitchen / July 29, 2018 / Amaury Dubeau
It can enhance your social life Having an outdoor kitchen can help enhance your social life in several ways. First it will give you a good excuse to invite your friends over for dinner. Youll want to show off your new kitchen and everybody loves checking out new home improvements. Secondly youll see more of your neighbors. If theyre outside grilling too its the perfect opportunity for some overthefence chit chat. Husbands become grilling buddies and wives can swap recipes.
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Brushed stone moderately rough brushed surface with a certain ruggedness to it. The natural stone countertop will have a wispy texture that will not become slippery when wet. A brushed stone countertop balances the formal honed finish and the natural flamed finish. The brushed finish has a natural texture but presents this texture in a consistent formal way. Use low voltage lighting on the backsplash and under the countertop of your outdoor kitchen. Dont assume that you will only use your outdoor kitchen and grill during the day.
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tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147771547921371342019-02-20T07:56:48.439-08:00An Angry Old Man Reviews BooksAngry Old Manhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-39166114966974907382019-02-15T08:29:00.000-08:002019-02-15T08:29:03.312-08:00On The Come Up by Angie Thomas

Well, Valentine's Day came and went again. I guess it won't surprise you to learn that I was never really a fan of Valentine's Day to begin with. That's not because I wasn't romantic - Eleanor and I were always good about showing each other our feelings. But that's none of your business! Valentine's Day always just felt commercialized, and then you were supposed to have valentines for your teachers and all your kids' friends and your mailman and your dentist and your neighbor's stupid yippy schnauzer, and I just got sick of it. So these days I just pretty much ignore it and maybe buy myself a pickle-shaped cupcake or something. But this year my granddaughter Tina (god bless that child) invited me to go on a coffee book date with her. And she even picked a book for us to read! Oh, how I love that girl. Have I mentioned that she can talk to animals? She told me the other day that she had a 15 minute conversation with a squirrel. I didn't have the heart to ask what the squirrel told her, and I imagine it was pretty much a one-way conversation. When she gets on a roll, it can be hard to stop her, especially if she starts talking about her dreams. "You were there, grandpa, only you weren't you, you know? You were like you but a different you and so when you started talking it wasn't your voice but I still knew it was you, right? So you were saying you stuff, but not really like you say it. Understand?" I swear there was one time she was telling me about a dream in which she had to repeatedly take a math test and I fell asleep in my la-z-boy and when I woke up, she was still talking about fractions and didn't seem to notice I had taken a nap. But bless her heart, I can not say no to her, so I read the book and didn't even complain when she wanted to go to Starbucks. Which is not to ignore the fact that that infernal chain drove all my favorite coffee shops out of business and now that idiot CEO is on the news all the time thinking he can be president because he is rich (I wonder where he got that idea). I'm not sure I had ever actually set foot inside a Starbucks before, and it looked kind of nice until I started talking to the clerk (if you ask me to say 'barista', I will stab you with my swizzle stick). I asked for a small coffee, and he asked if I meant a 'tall' coffee. I assured him that I did not, just a small coffee. He said that a small coffee is a tall coffee, and laughed as if that made perfect sense. I told him that was the stupidest damn thing I ever heard and asked him if small was tall, what the hell was a large coffee? Tina suggested to him that he didn't want to start with me, but I hushed her, and he said that medium was 'grande' and large was 'venti'. I asked if he spoke Spanish, and he said no, so I explained that grande actually means large, and I apologized for saying that his previous statement was the stupidest thing I had ever heard because he had just surpassed himself. He was getting flustered at this point, so I decided to have mercy and just pointed to a bagel. He says - and I shit you not - "do you mean the 'chonga' bagel?" At that point, I had no choice. I really let him have it, and I may have mentioned how Cuppa Joe went under and something about Howard Schultz being an entitled piece of shit. Tina told him that I have dementia (which I do not) and ushered me to one of those purple chairs, which are really quite comfortable, I have to admit. But screw their purple chairs! I will never set foot in a Starbucks again. I think Tina was a little bit embarrassed, but I think she was proud of me too. And in the end, we really did have a great time. There are some things that can be hard for an old white guy to talk about with his granddaughter, and race issues in America is on that list. But this book helped make that conversation possible, and while we didn't necessarily solve anything, it felt good to dig into something meaningful with her. So I am grateful to Angie Thomas for that. On the down side, Tina now wants to become a rapper. Those poor fucking squirrels.Angry Old Manhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-81507314756408525582019-02-08T05:49:00.000-08:002019-02-08T05:49:08.387-08:00The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides

In this highly readable psychological thriller, a famous painter shoots her husband repeatedly in the face and then clams up and refuses to talk to anybody. How rude! I certainly do not endorse that kind of behavior. I also do not endorse all this nonsense about 'organic foods.' And believe me, I am pissed off at people on all sides of this. My Uncle Ray was a farmer, and if he knew that people were changing the genes of their crops or squirting hormone cocktails into their cows, he would absolutely shit himself. Which he actually did once, after a dinner party featuring Aunt Martha's meat loaf, but that is beside the point. When I was growing up, we had a word for what is now called organic food. It was, 'food.' Nobody even thought of creating Frankenfood in a lab somewhere. So I am pretty angry at all these mad food scientists that have made this debate necessary. But here's another thing. When I was a kid, we would go to the market, and we knew who had good tomatoes and who had crap tomatoes. You just looked at them, and it was obvious. Now, if you check out the tomatoes, and they look good, you assume they've been injected with steroids or grown hydroponically in a pesticide bath or something. So you have to have an awkward conversation with some farmer who got up at 2am to schlep his vegetables all the way into town and then you walk away like a total snob, which you are. And meanwhile, the guy who sold the crap tomatoes still sells crap tomatoes, only now he gets to call his 'organic' crap tomatoes and charge 5 times as much. So screw him too! Ah, but how can we tell what is really organic? We need a whole new crop of bureaucratic middlemen, of course! These are people who couldn't grow weeds on shit but they now have the power to bestow the gilded title of 'organic' on those who meet their whimsical standards or are willing to pay bribes. Oh, pick your jaw up off the floor. You think there is no corruption in this business? It is business, after all. But today, I am most angry at supermarkets. They are laughing all the way to the bank about this tomfoolery, because it means they get to charge 4 dollars for a cauliflower just by intimating that if you buy a non-organic cauliflower, you will either grow a third arm or drop dead in the parking lot before you even reach your car. So I walk in to get some apples, and there are two bins. A bin of regular apples, and a bin of identical apples with bright orange 'organic' stickers. I thought it might be a fun experiment to peel off some of those stickers and see if the mopey teenager at the cash register whose parents forced him to get an after school job because he was playing 8 hours of Fortnite a day could tell the difference between the two apples. But the stickers don't come off that easily, and they leave a thick, slimy residue on the apple. Is that glue organic, I wonder? Was it made from the hooves of free range horses who eat bruised local kale salads? I think the act of putting those stickers on the fruit actually renders them no longer organic, but I will probably have to bribe someone at the USDA to find out if I am correct or not. In the end, I bought a banana. It was not satisfying.Angry Old Manhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-61611760700752250482019-02-04T05:50:00.002-08:002019-02-04T05:50:58.454-08:00Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens

Animal abuse alert! And no, it is not the crawdads. It appears that my neighbor Margaret is dressing her schnauzer in clothes again. I have mixed feelings about this - both anger and fury. First, let me be clear - I do not like that dog. It yips, it snarls at me when I get my mail, it stares at my house for no reason, and it is ugly (yes, a bit of the pot calling the kettle black here, but being cute is part of the point of a dog, not of me (admittedly not entirely sure about the point of me at this juncture, but that is for another post altogether (now wondering if it is acceptable to use multiple parentheses in a sentence like this, as if it were math))). In any case, that dog has created significant hardship. Perhaps not as much hardship as is suffered by Kya, the Marsh Girl and protagonist of this novel, but pretty close. And if she had had to deal with a dog like this, she probably would have left the marsh much sooner and had a more normal and fulfilling existence and not gotten wrapped up in the whole murder thing. But that is less important than the current pet abuse I am observing. There is no question that that dog is miserable. And who wouldn't be? There is no human or animal that could possibly maintain an ounce of self-esteem wearing that outfit. It is the kind of Elvis meets Santa Claus ensemble that could only be worn by a being with no agency. Surely there is a 1-800 number or something for people to call when they witness this kind of animal maltreatment. Still, I have to admit that there is part of me that experiences a little bit of schadenfreude watching that little mutt have to prance around in a frilly sweater - perhaps it is nothing more than it deserves. But the smug look on Margaret's face is too much to take. She clearly thinks that she is both doing the dog a favor and impressing everyone with her haute canine couture. Well, not this guy! I know inanity when I see it, and I just saw it walk by with a fake rhinestone collar. For those of you unfamiliar with dogs, they have fur! They survived for millions of years without being domesticated, fed organic goat liver, and dressed up like Christmas ornaments. They do not need clothes. And they certainly do not need to be paraded back and forth in front of my house in a taunting manner by a neighbor who is clearly coaxing that dog to do its business on my lawn. And she'll probably clean it up afterward, but she'll smile at my window when she does, because she knows the traces remain. It makes me wonder how much it would cost to get a pet coyote.Angry Old Manhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-46923090076143155002019-01-28T14:34:00.001-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.432-08:00River Queens by Alexander Watson

Well, here's a shocker for you. While I was just minding my own business on Twitter (oxymoron noted), a real person, who is an actual author - I shit you not - asked me to write a review of his book. Clearly he hadn't read my inane ramblings before asking, so that was one strike against him from the start. So I told him to read some of my reviews and reconsider, and after doing so, he still wanted me to write it! So there's strike two for poor judgment. I considered the possibility that this was one of my grandson's friends putting me on, but sure enough, the book arrived in the mail with no traces of airborne pathogens or explosives, and I was gearing up to pan it as creatively as possible. But unfortunately, River Queens turned out to be pretty good. The basic plot of this highly readable memoir is this: two gay gentlemen from Texas and a dog fix up a classic wooden boat (the dog has a minimal role in that part) and travel together by river to Ohio. I'll admit that it is not the most circuitous of plot lines, but hell, we can't all write Harry Potter. Still, the book has a number of things going for it. Foremost, the protagonists are endearing and admirable in many ways. They are complex and imperfect, but eminently likable. Their journey is far from easy, and you can't help rooting for them the entire way. The other best part of the book is the glimpse it gives the reader into river culture, a subculture of America that few ever get to experience. I should more appropriately say river cultures in the plural, because as Alex and Dale travel through different parts of America's waterways, their experiences are vastly different. The people they meet are striking in myriad ways, and their brief encounters have lasting effects. I also learned that most boats are either a) broken, b) recently fixed, or c) about to break, and often two or three of those things at once. It reminded me of a cruise that Eleanor and I went on one time. We were with the Millers, and it won't surprise you that I didn't really want to go on the cruise to begin with. Eleanor and Marge were always close, and I liked Donald well enough, but he always struck me as a bit of an alcoholic who liked to gamble and talk too much. Well sure enough, there was a poker room on the boat, and within the first two hours, Donnie had wagered away his week's worth of spending money, and guess who it fell to to buy him daiquiris for the majority of the Caribbean? In any case, that turned out to be the least of our problems. Somewhere between Saint Who The Hell Knows and Isla del Get Me Out Of Here, the boat broke down. Some kind of electrical fire or something, down below where they keep the drugs and indentured servants. At first, it didn't seem like a big problem, because the weather was good and the view was nice. But as the days went on, things started to get hairy. And hot. Without being able to get into port, we started to run low on food and water. For two days, it was nothing but dry cereal and pineapple juice. Carnival, my ass! Then the plumbing reached capacity. Next thing you knew, it was like Lord of the Flies meets Cocoon, with all kinds of old rich people battling for what corner of the hallway they could shit in. We had helicopter drop-offs of water and supplies, and the whole thing was on the news! And I'm pretty sure that at some point, some old geezer fell off the side of the boat, but it's possible that I'm confusing my memory with that Jonathan Franzen book. Hell, let's just go with it. A guy fell off the boat. By the time we got tugged to safety, I had resolved to never get on a boat or talk to Donnie again. And I have kept one of those two resolutions. Maybe if we had had Alexander and Dale on our cruise, the boat would have been fixed faster and we could have spared everyone all the conversations about under what circumstances cannibalism is acceptable. So the point is, read this book.Angry Old Manhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-23433798705269651532019-01-22T06:32:00.000-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.395-08:00The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan

Who the hell is responsible for the way we package cauliflower? It's completely ludicrous! I mean, the carrot industry managed to figure out that they could use a bag shaped like...wait for it...carrots! Said bag can be opened and closed at will with the help of a twist tie or plastic clasp. Want a carrot? Open the bag! Realized that you actually wanted a pickle? Good for you! Earn one point for taste, then put the carrot back and close the bag. Easy as pie. But the nefarious minds over at Big Cauliflower twirled their waxy mustaches and delivered a truly cynical and offensive product. "I know," they said, "let's misshape the bag, take a couple random corners and roll them up haphazardly like a kindergarten art project, then cover the whole thing in industrial strength packing tape! Mu ha ha ha ha ha ha ha." There is literally no way to remove the cauliflower and still have a functioning container. Perhaps I am meant to leave it in the fridge or on the counter unwrapped? Do moldy edges on a cauliflower confer a soupcon of musty aroma that only refined palates can appreciate? Or perhaps I am always meant to eat an entire cauliflower in a single sitting, and no bag is necessary! My doctor told me that more vegetables might help a bit with the plumbing, but eating whole cauliflowers seems a bit excessive, and he is probably on the take from Big Veg anyway, so I'll stick to my gin and donut breakfast, thank you very much. In this book, Mr. Pollan makes important observations about how we obtain and eat food, and I am fully on board with his suggestions. I will no longer eat meat unless the animal has given informed consent to volunteer its life for my nutritional benefit and has been offered deep tissue massage at least thrice weekly in a free-range bovine spa. But Pollan neglects to address the cauliflower packaging issue, and that is a major omission. He scarcely even mentions those crinkly english muffin packages that virtually disintegrate on touch. Perhaps he will take on these vital concerns in a much-needed sequel.Angry Old Manhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-1981703320263422502019-01-14T11:41:00.000-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.391-08:00Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss

Well, I'm home. I have to say that this hospital stay was definitely more pleasant than my last. Tina snuck me in a pastrami sandwich, and that made all the difference. To be honest, I think she was feeling guilty about the whole Harry Potter debacle. I reassured her that it was mostly not her fault, and I think she felt better. And on the way out, I "borrowed" this book from the hospital library (actually just a cart, but that's what they call it), so at least I'll have something tangible to show for my ridiculously overinflated hospital bill. When Truss is done with her grammatical vigilantism, maybe we can set her loose on the health care system. Oh, and I also made off with a pair of those hospital pants they give you - perfect for lounging around the house with a book. Just put my trousers on right over them and walked out like I was in Shawshank Redemption. See ya, suckers! In any case, I appreciate someone who can get worked up in righteous anger over things most people think are silly (no, not you, Trump), and so I must admit to having a little punctuation crush on Ms. Truss. And of course, I imagine her rantings with a great British accent as well, because only a British person could write this book. There simply aren't people in America who care enough about English to do it! If we are a melting pot of culture, we are a Vitamix of language. We just dump it all in and destroy it! We make up ridiculous words like hangry, bromance, and chillax. We have literally destroyed the word 'literally'. And America is the land where grammar goes to die. It doesn't help that everyone has a cell phone, and "talking" now means texting, which people have no patience for, so all text conversations look like a bomb went off in an alphabet soup factory. But even when we are speaking, we have pretty much given up. No, Gerry, you don't shop at Kroger's. The store is called Kroger. There's no one in there named Kroger, and it is not his store. If you must know, Kroger is owned mostly by Cerebus Capital Management, who happen to bankroll a bunch of jackass politicians, but I understand that you need your discount cottage cheese, so no judgment. Meanwhile, it felt wholly satisfying to find someone as ready as I am to get pissed off about commas. Walking around these days is subjecting yourself to an assault of syntax no matter where you go. The examples are myriad, but I will summarize the inanity of the status quo with a sign I saw on a bathroom that read, "For disabled elderly pregnant children only." And as much as I was moved with sympathy for the poor kids who also happen to be disabled, old, and with child, I was even more sad for the irretrievable state of affairs of our language that made them that way. Maybe, just maybe, if everyone reads this book, we can salvage something. But I doubt it.Angry Old Manhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-89045285642949124072019-01-08T06:29:00.000-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.539-08:00The Harry Potter Series by J.K. Rowling

I hardly even know where to begin to describe the incredible recent series of events. I should start by saying that I had absolutely no interest in reading Harry Potter, for obvious reasons. But my granddaughter Tina, to whom I have a hard time saying no (despite her manners), came over with her complete set and insisted, tearfully (I may have made a pejorative comment about the fantasy genre as a whole), that I read one. So to make her happy, and because I felt a little guilty, I started the first one - not because I planned to read them in order, mind you, but just because it was the smallest. But then the strangest thing happened - the book was good! Really good. I read the whole thing in my La-z-Boy in one sitting, and I went right on to the next one. And that one was good too! I became immersed. I read at a frenetic pace and lost track of time. I felt...happy! However, about halfway through The Prisoner of Azkaban, I had a realization. It suddenly dawned on me that everything I had read as a child was complete and utter crap. All of it. All my favorites, so hollow and thin and simple. I was angry again. I lumbered up to the attic, found a dusty box full of books from my youth, and dumped the entire thing in the recycling bin. Maybe they'll make more Harry Potters out of them, I thought! I made a brief stop in the kitchen for a deviled egg, then went right back to reading. I read until I fell asleep. As it turns out, it was only 4:00 in the afternoon, but after a brief nap, I finished The Goblet of Fire before bed. I slept better than I have slept in years. I woke up refreshed and determined. I poured a large black coffee with only half my customary whiskey in it, and I sat down to read. It was incredible! What amazing combinations of humor, wonder, and drama. What deftness in dealing with death, dating, and destiny. What years of my youth wasted reading Doctor Doolittle and Mister Popper's Penguins! But there was no time to worry about that now. I read like the wind, like a man possessed, like I had nothing else in the world to do (in truth, I had nothing else to do). I read all day, skipped lunch, pissed in a bottle so I wouldn't have to get up (just kidding, but I thought about it), and turned the final pages of the Deathly Hallows in the early evening. You would think I was exhausted, but no! I felt exhilarated, inspired - all was well! I decided that it was time for me to go out for a walk and admire the sunset. I was thinking that I should be more appreciative of the world and enjoy the sights and sounds of nature. But when I got out there, all I could hear was my neighbor Margaret's little schnauzer yipping away like crazy. God damn that dog! Oh, the many times I have imagined slipping some Xanax into a burger and chucking it over her fence. It would be completely justifiable. That little cur was ruining my bibliographic ecstasy, and I was not going to have it. I started walking over there, but in my agitated state, I missed the patch of ice on the sidewalk (Margaret - do you see a law suit coming?) and next thing I knew, I went ass over tea kettle and landed right on my back. It knocked the wind out of me to be sure, and I needed a few moments to catch my breath. After I did, though, came another realization. I could not move. My poor old body was rattled and just didn't have the strength. And it was cold. How stupid was I? What had gotten into me? A couple of minutes on the sidewalk were enough to realize that I had no hat, no gloves, and the sun was dipping. Is this to be my undignified end, I wondered? Will I not get to sue Margaret for negligent sidewalk care after all? What a terrible shame that would be! And if she notices and comes out to help, will being in her debt be better or worse than dying on the sidewalk? It was difficult to figure out. Luckily for me, the mail was miraculously late, and Red, my longtime mail carrier, found me on the ground and obtained help. I explained that I was just trying to get a different angle to see the sunset, but he called an ambulance anyway. And so here I am, writing this on my grandson's laptop in a recovery room at the University Hospital. Nothing broken, I am told, just some bruised ribs and a harsh reminder about reality. I should be able to get a lot of reading done in here, although after Harry Potter, why bother? I would consider reading the series over again, but it is clearly too dangerous.Angry Old Manhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-88383544589386440982019-01-04T06:40:00.000-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.534-08:00Every Breath by Nicholas Sparks

Congratulations, you failed! It's January 4, and if you are reading this, you probably have already cast aside your once meaningful new year's resolutions. Wait - let me guess. You resolved to do one or more of the following: spend more time with family, work out more, eat less, write that book you've always dreamed of, spend less time on screens, be more active, blah blah blah. And what are you doing? Surfing twitter and reading book blogs again! And I have a dollar that says you have a cheeseburger in your hand too. Pathetic. Now take it from me, the first rule of resolutions is to pick things you know you can accomplish. My new year's resolutions are to eat more pickles and get angrier. And guess what, I already accomplished them! Two points for me. At this point in my life, I really don't have time for all this pie in the sky, romantic idealism. People like that (meaning you - you are not off the hook here) deserve to read books like this, books that reinforce the goodness of humanity, the power of dreams, the limitless possibilities of the human heart, and all that bullshit. Go read it in a field of poppies under heart-shaped clouds, or something like that. And one more thing, and I hate to point this out, but did you realize that your resolutions are the same ones you made last year? Did you really think it would be different this time? Well, welcome to reality, my friend. Now go eat some pickles and feel good about yourself.Angry Old Manhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-42956725092493305052018-12-30T13:28:00.000-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.428-08:00The Sixth Extinction by Elizabeth Kolbert

I can shovel my own damn sidewalk, thank you very much! You may wonder why every pre-teen in the neighborhood suddenly wants to ring my doorbell and offer me "help" with the snow. It's not the first snow of the year, and I've been out there plenty of times on my own already. And where were they then? Sending dirty pictures on the internet, no doubt! But I know what's going on here. Now it's winter break, and all these damn kids are driving their parents crazy. "What ever shall with do with our little hellians," they wonder... "I know! Let's foist them off on the old guy!" So here they come, one by one, looking to tick off the volunteering box on their college applications. Six years until they apply, but their expensive private tutors have told them they should start logging their hours now and prepping for the ACT. I wouldn't mind so much if I could just give them 5 bucks and send them on their way. But no, their parents have told them not to take my money. They just want to help and spend a little "quality time" with me. Which means that I have to invite them in, pretend to be grateful, give them cocoa, and regale them with made up stories about what the world was like "in my day." "Really, mister? I didn't know you had to eat bark off of trees to survive!" "Damn straight, Johnny! Now when does school start up again?" And if I don't, all those parents have their little passive aggressive ways of exacting revenge. They will park their SUV in front of my house for days at a time, let their schnauzer crap on my lawn (I'm watching you, Margaret!), or hammer those stupid little wooden faces into their trees at an angle that I can't avoid when looking out my front window. Anyway, it won't always be like this. As Kolbert clearly and elegantly describes, we are totally fucking up the world, and soon snow at this latitude will be a thing of the past. It will be a tropical paradise around here, and just imagine what that will do for my property value! We bought this house for 17,000 dollars, and thanks to climate change, it will be a gold mine. That's right - global warming can't come fast enough for me. And I mean that quite literally, because it can't possibly come fast enough for me to reap the benefits before I die. So some other schmo will inevitably get my house and cash in on the misfortune of the rest of the world, and it really chaps my hide that it won't be me. Story of my life, I guess. The other great thing about this book is that I finally understand the scientific evidence behind the asteroid theory of dinosaur extinction. When I think about the number of dinner parties at which I could have used that information, it makes me want to weep into my gimlet.Angry Old Manhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-10340120925585121032018-12-28T06:48:00.000-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.355-08:00A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

A timeless classic for the holidays. In my house, Christmas came and went, along with the whole extended family, and the whole time I was thinking, "Didn't I just have to do all this shit like a month ago?" There is absolutely no sense in putting Thanksgiving and Christmas so close to one another, especially with a family like mine. I mean, really, the photos of kids doing amazing things on the basketball court and their incredible grades have not changed enough to warrant me having to see and hear about them again so soon. True to form, all hell pretty much broke loose, and in the end, I'm sure I will be seen as the villain of the piece, but in truth, that honor should go to Cousin Jim. The crazy thing is - I shit you not - I do not even really know whose cousin Cousin Jim is. Usually adults don't go by Cousin Anything, so that's weird to start with, and I'm pretty sure he married into the family at some point, because I have no memory of him as a child. Although, based on the looks of him, it's hard to imagine him ever having been a child, so perhaps he is some kind of non-human cyborg or something that was created in adult form from the beginning. That would explain his social skills. In any case, he started it, which is important to remember. In fact, you might say he started it years ago, but on this particular occasion, he brought up politics in the first place, and he is the one who brought it to the next level by calling me "racist against white people." In MY house, no less! OK, technically it is my daughter's house and her husband's, but we helped them with the down payment, so that's pretty much the same. And don't forget it, Gerry! You'd still be renting that rat-infested duplex without me! Now then, I tend to be pretty tolerant of people of most political persuasions. I have always said that if you are not a Liberal at age 20, then you have no heart, and if you are still a Liberal at age 50, then you have no brain. At this point, I hardly even remember 50, and I don't know what to do with politics these days. I am certainly no bleeding heart, but Republicans in this country have lost their damn minds, so I'm not sure there's anyplace left for reasonable people like me, but that is not the point. The point is that Cousin Jim is an idiot, and it is possible that I hit him with a chicken wing. Not the wing shaped one, but the drummie one, if it matters. And if I did, he certainly deserved it, and I would think I might get a compliment or two for my arm strength at this age, but no, everyone seemed to think that I had crossed a line somewhere, and I had to go into my fake senility act to escape the marauding hordes. And Jim, with all the righteous outrage of people who have had everything given to them their entire lives, played the victim in the whole affair. So Merry Christmas everyone! I guess it's like Tiny Tim says in the end, "God bless it, get out of my damn house! You should have been a decent human the whole time!"Angry Old Manhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-7936256761759134152018-12-21T06:00:00.000-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.506-08:00Astrophysics for People in a Hurry by Neil Degrasse Tyson

What the hell is the deal with kombucha? Give me a minute here, and let me see if I've got this right. You start with some kind of disgusting mushroom thing called a scoby (which as far as I understand is not even a word), only guess what, it's not a mushroom (phew!), it's a bunch of bacteria and yeast living in a mega-colony preparing to take over the world (oh shit). Then you drop this thing that looks like it came out of the nose of a hippopotamus into an actually edible beverage like tea? While you're at it, it just so happens I have some old milk you can piss in and then take to that party Friday night if you want. Sure to blow the socks off of all those hippies. But here's what really gets me. I can get behind the general idea of fermenting things because then you can get drunk on them. But after choking down a glass of what is essentially homemade vinegar made by my grandson's friend (who I might point out could use a shower) out of pure charity, I was then clobbered with the revelation that there's hardly even any alcohol in this shit! The whole thing makes even less sense than this book. Now I have seen this guy on TV, and he is a funny dude, but this book had no jokes! How can I understand astrophysics with no jokes? I saw Tyson on Jon Stewart's show a couple of times. A short man, that Stewart, but pretty smart. I, on the other hand, must not be so smart, because even this dumbed down version of space science was beyond my vodka-addled brain. Or maybe I was not the intended audience, because I am certainly not in a hurry. Nothing to do today but sit around and puke up kombucha. I was with him for the big bang stuff, but it got away from me quickly. In the end, I was left with more questions than answers. Big questions, like where the hell do the scobies come from anyway? Is there some kind of scoby farm in a cave somewhere, tended to by mountain people who have never seen sunlight? Or goblins perhaps? And how were they discovered? And who the hell thought, when they discovered it, "I think that thing is probably edible." I think that a good rule of thumb is that if people have not been eating something regularly since before you were born, it's probably some made up pseudo-food at least partially responsible for the increase in cancer rates and autism. You want something with vinegar - eat a damn pickle!
Angry Old Manhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-41842864027640648462018-12-17T11:37:00.002-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.423-08:00The Shape of the Ruins by Juan Gabriel Vasquez

My kids signed me up for an exercise class at Anytime Fitness. They told me it would help me "stay healthy" and "meet people my age." The undercurrents of those two comments could carry someone away to sea. But truth be told, it is walking distance from my house and I don't really have a whole lot to do, so I agreed to try it out. I had just finished this wonderful novel, and I was eager to find someone to talk to about Colombian history and conspiracy theories in general. But I figured I shouldn't just jump in with a comment about Rafael Uribe Uribe, so I tried to warm up the crowd with, "Good morning! Do any of you walking corpses like to read?" Cue crickets chirping. I believe I saw someone drool. So no luck there, but all in all, the class was not so bad. It's good to know that my body can still perform most of its basic gross motor functions, albeit in a somewhat slower manner than in the past. And the class leader was not nearly as annoying as one would expect from someone willing to take that job. At the end of the day, I might have gone back if it weren't for the altercation I had with the kid on the way out. This gentleman, if I may profane the term, looked to be about 19, with a baggy shirt that he had cut the sleeves off, seemingly with a pair of left-handed safety scissors. It appeared that he had used a random number generator to determine which parts of his head would be shaved and which would be spared. And as I was getting ready to leave, I distinctly heard him say to his girlfriend, the aspiring Spandex model, "It smells like old people in here." I thought for a few moments about how often I had told my children to ignore people's rude comments and walk away, and I realized, not for the first time, what bullshit advice that is. So I calmly turned in his direction and said, "I'm sorry - did you ask me something?" He said he hadn't and smiled at his girlfriend, but I was not to be deterred. "Oh," I replied, "I thought you had said something about how it smells like old people in here." He stopped abruptly and turned back with an ashen look on his face. Busted, sucker. My daughter has told me that I have an exquisite talent for taking a joke too far. But I see it more like juicing an orange. If you squeeze once or twice, you will get plenty of juice. But if you're willing to push just a little harder, you get that extra bit that makes it all the more satisfying, and you know you haven't wasted anything. So I went totally dead pan and took a deep breath in through my nose. "Oh," I continued, "I smell it now...But I'm not sure it's old person smell. <pause> It's something a little mustier...maybe...sweaty balls?" Then I locked his eyes without smiling, just a quizzical look on my face like we were in it together, trying to decipher this mysterious aroma. His mouth was open, but he didn't say anything, so I shrugged and turned away, but I caught a definite subtle smirk on his girlfriend's face, and I figured that was worth the price of the rest of the classes I won't be attending.Angry Old Manhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-18974259884654495332018-12-11T07:09:00.001-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.387-08:00Becoming by Michelle Obama

It is only December 11, and I have already had it with Christmas music. If I hear the sound of sleigh bells one more time - I shit you not - I will stick pencils in my ear drums. My kids keep telling me I have to get out more, but every time I so much as get into someone's car, I am assaulted by the most saccharine, frivolous musical insults known to man. It is quite a mixed message. Yesterday, on our coffee date, it was so bad that I had no choice but to demand that my daughter stop the car so I could get out and walk the rest of the way to the coffee shop. I recognize that the gesture was slightly juvenile, but I think I made my point. I can guarantee you that Michelle never makes Barack listen to this shit. And vice versa. And when Eleanor was alive, god bless her, she knew how to embrace the holiday season with a little more subtlety and grace than people seem to be able to these days. We observed a variety of holidays in our house, what with our different backgrounds, and we managed to take the best of each and deliver the message of the season to our children without all this materialism, gaudiness, and god damn terrible music that seem to define them today. As I walked down the hill toward the coffee shop yesterday, I was thinking about those holidays when our kids were young. They were good times, simpler times maybe - at least in my memory they were. When I got to the bottom, I was in a good mood, partly from those memories and partly from having given my daughter the business a little bit. And we had a nice time. Short-lived, however, because she had to put me in my place and made me walk back up the hill to the car! And believe me, my back is paying for it today. Thanks Obama.Angry Old Manhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-8673026100982201662018-12-07T06:12:00.002-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.530-08:00Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman

My son came over yesterday and wanted to talk about our favorite childhood memories. I assume he is on some kind of new pop-psychology self-help kick or something. Anyway, his wistful reminiscences about time reminded of me this book, so I re-read it while I was smoking a brisket. It's not too long, which makes it suitable for today's youth. But you have to stop and think at times, so that rules out most of you. In the novel, Einstein imagines all kinds of different worlds where time functions differently - time goes forward, backward, moves out in concentric circles, stops randomly, is a function of altitude, etc. Nice stuff to imagine, actually, although it seemed to lack what may be the true experience of time, which is that it is a function of age. You will possibly understand this when you are older, but no guarantees. As a child, time scarcely even exists. I can remember running home from school, playing stickball in the street until dusk, swinging by the deli to try to get a discount knish before they closed, falling asleep the minute my head hit the pillow, and waking the next day hardly distinguishing it from the last. Time really has no meaning until you have a true sense of the impermanence of life. When Eleanor and I were young, with two babies, we finally knew that feeling. We savored each day with them, but we knew it was temporary and that time was slowly pulling them away from us. And each year it got faster and faster. When Eleanor got sick, it was like a freight train hurtling into the distance, and I never caught up. And what now? When there is less to lose, time slows down again, and you find yourself just waiting around to die. But fuck all that - time for brisket!Angry Old Manhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-49087399797469399322018-11-30T08:19:00.002-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.441-08:00Calypso by David Sedaris

So Jackson tells me I have to be on Twitter. According to him, that is where all bloggers are now. I asked him, "Where exactly is Twitter?" He told me that my question - I shit you not - betrayed "a fundamental lack of understanding." Can you believe this shit? Who talks to their grandfather that way? These kids think that technological knowledge is the same as understanding the world, and they are bent on creating a world in which that is actually true. Well, we are not in that world yet, and I think those of us who have spent a fair bit of time in this one still have a thing or two to offer, if people could divert their eyes from their screens for half a second. It kind of feels like being David Sedaris's father - knowing that at some level, people still care about you, but also having to recognize that even your family sees you like a relic whose best role in life is now as a comic foil. Not an enviable position, I must say. But how do we fight against the tide? The waves of time beat against us and day by day erode our relevance. There is no escape that I can see. So in the end, I told Jackson he could set up a Twitter account for me. See you on the Internets!Angry Old Manhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-84737892982882622382018-11-26T11:25:00.000-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.525-08:00Outlander by Diana Gabaldon

Let me be clear that I don't really value other people's opinions on things. I see no reason why I would want to know how 500 people rated some coffee shop before I go there, and I don't need the hive mind to tell me if I like a steak or not. That kind of thing is for feeble-minded people. On a side note, my grandson has told me to be nicer in these reviews, and Jackson, I would like you to notice that I did not refer to any specific feeble-minded people that you and I both may know. But I have to admit that I was curious when they announced the Great American Read event, and when the final rankings came out, this was the only book in the top 10 that I hadn't read. And so, despite my better judgment, I went ahead and read it. And it wasn't terrible. Certainly not the second best book in American history or whatever, but what do you expect from a system that lets anybody vote? We seem to prize that concept here in America, and just look where it's gotten us. But I digress again. Maybe a good way of putting it is that reading this book is kind of like your parents having sex - you're happy it happened at least once, but you don't really want to have to think about it ever again.Angry Old Manhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-5470733323301237262018-11-19T09:15:00.000-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.463-08:00I, Robot by Isaac Asimov

Well, Thanksgiving is upon us again, and I expect the usual bullshit. Time for all the relatives to crawl out of the woodwork and pretend they have been thinking about you with admiration and gratitude all year. The conversations remind me of the ones in this book with the early development of robots made to serve humans. "Greetings, uncle...It is with great pleasure that I reacquaint myself with you...You, who serve as a leader in our family by virtue of being old...Great blessings be upon you...Do you have candy?" Jesus, please. When you've been doing this as long as I have, you lose patience for these ritualistic displays. But I will hold my tongue, lest the interactions become similarly apocalyptic as those with the robots. Can't get myself in trouble like I did the time I asked my nephew's kid for some details about why he looked up to me. Cat got his tongue at that one, although not so much his mother. At least I don't have to worry about them visiting this year though, so one point for me! Enjoy your turkey, suckers.Angry Old Manhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-48167227209203597402018-11-13T13:44:00.000-08:002019-02-01T12:33:07.437-08:00The Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins

Let me tell you a couple things about pickles. First of all, you do not need alum to make them crunchy. Do not under any circumstances follow the lead of my daughter's friend Claire, who uses - I shit you not - something called Picklecrisp, which is an abomination. I mean, what the fuck is even in that stuff? In any case, you should soak the pickles in ice water overnight before canning them, and you need to snip off the blossom ends so enzymes don't soften your pickles. And don't overprocess them, for the love of God. I promise you the lids will snap if you just give the a little time. It's not that complicated if you have half a brain and a few minutes of forethought. Which is to say that you need to know from the beginning where you want to end up. Which unfortunately was clearly not the case in this trilogy. I almost hate to admit it, but the first book was pretty good. I only hate to admit because my daughter told me as much and I had assumed she was wrong because of all the hype around it. So fair play to her, but I got the last laugh because the trilogy descended into mindless garbage sadly trying to capitalize on the initial success and buzz. I can only assume that it was never meant to be a trilogy in the first place, because after the first book, nothing makes anything close to a damn bit of sense. Might as well have dumped the whole damn thing in Picklecrisp.Angry Old Manhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-84294653703966715842018-10-30T07:46:00.002-07:002019-02-01T12:33:07.521-08:00The Chosen by Chaim Potok

So my son thinks I don't understand him. He comes over the other day and he says he wants to talk. I can see where this is going a mile away, and I am in no mood. I do my best to refrain from interrupting as he is talking about his relationships with his students, his book, yadda yadda. He tells me that he just came from giving a lecture, and at that point I can't resist so I tell him that surely he didn't because he has a big hole in his shirt. I assume that is part of the mad genius professor look he is trying to cultivate, and I kindly refrain from giving advice about why people who are going bald shouldn't have long hair. My kindness is overlooked as usual, however, and he starts to rant, yelling "This is what I'm talking about!" and other pointless criticisms. Eventually, he leaves me a pile of books and walks out in a huff, so I win! And he thinks I don't understand him, but he's got it all wrong. I knew he was going in for the mushy father/son bullshit, and I knew what exactly what he was going to say, and I didn't want any part of it, and I knew just how to make him stop. So how's that for understanding? I mean, in this book, the father didn't talk to his kid for like 10 years! So I think I'm not so bad after all.Angry Old Manhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-69849609034799667192018-10-22T13:49:00.002-07:002019-02-01T12:33:07.491-08:00Modern Romance by Aziz Ansari

Sweet baby jesus. You people are idiots. My grandson Jackson told me to read this book, and I did it because despite his long hair, his poor manners, and his questionable life goals, I still find it difficult to say no to him. He told me later that he wanted me to read it in case I wanted to, I shit you not, "get back in the game." I will tell you that I am one of those people lucky enough to have had a true love in this life, and I believe that one is all that someone is entitled to. I'm sure there are flocks of women lining up for elderly widowers with with good life insurance, but they will have to knock down another door I suppose. And if I had any notions of doing such a thing at my age, this book is certainly enough to put an end to that. It is mindboggling to try to comprehend how people get to know each other these days. When I went on my first date, it was with Joan, the seamstress's daughter, and we each brought a friend to make sure everything was above board. I had her mother's permission, and the rules were clear. We went to the fair, and even thought it didn't really work out, we all came home with our dignity intact. From what I can tell from this book, if your dignity is intact by the time you start your first actual date, you have done something wrong. And I'm not sure exactly what swiping left and swiping right are, but they sound like deviant sexual practices to me. No thank you.Angry Old Manhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-15728936004849745122018-10-15T12:25:00.000-07:002019-02-01T12:33:07.375-08:00The North Water by Ian Maguire

Now this is some dark, dark shit, and it is beautiful. Let me share with you my favorite sentence from this novel. I quote, "The cabin air is dense with the velvet reek of liquid feces." Does it get more real than that? I think not. This book is a great reminder of how weak and soft we all are. Every generation thinks they have it rough, and sometimes we need to look back in time a little to recognize the luxury we are steeped in these days. I admit that I never had to seek refuge from an arctic storm in the hollowed out carcass of a polar bear that I killed with my bare hands, but still, young people these days seem not to understand what hardship is. They just go about their days clicking away their problems and medicating their negative emotions until they become robo-zombies ready to meet all of their productivity goals. And I suppose the next generation will look back aghast to learn that not ALL lattes had pumpkin spice in them. But it's good to peel back the curtain a little to see what is behind all those clicks. Every diamond, leather shoe, whale bone jewelry, chicken wing, or anything else you consume has blood and death behind it, and maybe you should think about that next time you put it on or eat it or put it in your pipe and smoke it. And if you forget, you can re-read this book. Or maybe even just that sentence.Angry Old Manhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-89375587215724812652018-10-05T08:30:00.003-07:002019-02-01T12:33:07.543-08:00American Pastoral by Philip Roth

This is a book about change, which I have noted before is a bunch of crap. But I appreciate how Roth notes an essential truth in life, which is that people are who they are, and you can't change them. I tried to explain this to my daughter at the coffee shop, but as usual, she sabotaged the whole thing. She offered to get my coffee for me, on account of my knee and all, and when she came back, she brought me - I shit you not - a pumpkin spice latte. I mean, what the fuck? I explained to her with extreme politeness that the drink was an abomination and that she knew what I liked and had taken advantage of my temporary disability to fuck with me. She gave me some bullshit about the seasons and changing with the times or whatnot. Which I thought was a great segue to talk about the book, because trying to change people is what led to everyone in the book being eternally screwed. She had a different interpretation. I did not drink the coffee.Angry Old Manhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-69405221208581765782018-09-21T07:43:00.000-07:002019-02-01T12:33:07.483-08:00The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet by David Mitchell

I'm alive! My procedure went pretty well, or so I am told. Not too comfortable, I would add, and if any of you had left notes of concern, I would have thanked you. Anyway, Jackson says that my reviews are too negative, so I decided to write about this book, which is one of my favorites of all time. I re-read it in the hospital to celebrate the fact that they didn't permanently damage my eyesight, even though the doctor looked like he got out of medical school yesterday. He could have been Doogie Howser's younger brother from the looks of him. Anyway, this book is wonderful, despite the stupid title. In fact, I almost didn't read it because it sounded so boring. Sat on my bedside table for a year getting passed by for books that completely sucked. It didn't help that no one seemed to know how to pronounce the guy's name either. I mean, I'm sure there are Dutch names that people can actually say - like Jansen or Hiddink maybe. Poor planning for such a great writer, I think. But an amazing, moving, compelling book - just what I needed to deal with a week's worth of hospital food. Luckily, most of it had literally no taste, so I can't say it tasted bad, but probably the best thing I had was the prepackaged frosted flakes, so that gives you an idea. And if I talk about the pickle that came with my sandwich on Tuesday, I might cry. Next time I have to go in, I'm going to have to smuggle in a mini-fridge or something, because god knows neither my son nor my daughter was willing to bring me a pastrami sandwich. Jesus.Angry Old Manhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-15931000471149787302018-09-11T08:04:00.000-07:002019-02-01T12:33:07.380-08:00Being Mortal by Atul Gawande

I think Kevorkian Junior is right here. It's time for all of you to stop bothering us and just let us die. I mean, let's be clear. You don't care all that much about old people really - you just want to make sure you are doing everything necessary so that when we are gone you can have a clear conscience. Wouldn't want to have those echoes of guilt in the back of your mind while you're cashing that inheritance check, right? As it happens, I am scheduled for another procedure next week - this time on my eye. So if you don't hear from me again, thanks to both of you who have been reading this blog. I'd like to say it was worth it, but I'm too old for bullshit. Anyway, I'm told that it is safe and will help me and all that shit, but there is still like a 5% chance that I will lose my sight and whatever small pleasures are still available to me. It reminds me of a Twilight Zone episode I saw a long time ago. There's this misfit who gets made fun of by everyone who just wants to read all day. And then one day he wakes up and the entire Earth is deserted. He doesn't know what to do, but then he realizes that he can do whatever he wants, so he goes to the library. He comes out with a huge stack of books and then as he's walking home, he drops his glasses and steps on them. Fucking moron. Well, it's kind of like that anyway. The point being, leave us alone! Now you understand why old people don't like going to the doctor, assholes.Angry Old Manhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-114777154792137134.post-57136180319584497182018-09-04T07:42:00.001-07:002019-02-01T12:33:07.467-08:00When Summer Ends by Isabelle Rae

So my daughter stopped by last week with her friend Claire to drop off this book and "check up on me," whatever that is supposed to mean. She said it was a good book for this time of year, to which I explained that the magic of books is that you can imagine yourself in any time or place and that if she needed to read something that coincided with the seasons, she should read the Farmer's Almanac, which has lot of helpful information. But she is the kind of person who won't eat a tomato in the winter or an oyster in the summer or a pickle during a full moon or I don't even know what else, so what I did expect. Anyway, she just gave Claire one of those smug "See what I mean?" looks and ignored me. So I read the book right away, lest it go bad on my shelf and start to smell of rotting pop lit. There's not much to say for it, but in it's defense, it was no more banal than the conversation with Susie and Claire. "Can you believe it is almost September?" "I know, it seems impossible!" "Where does the time go?" Are you fucking kidding me? Do you own a calendar? Can you count to 31? Do you perhaps remember how this happened last year? And another thing, it you want sympathy for how life changes at the end of summer, don't look here! My tomorrow is going to be spent the same as my yesterday, sitting here reading all the crap books you keep dropping off. I should have read the Farmer's Almanac myself - maybe it would have predicted this bullshit.Angry Old Manhttp://email@example.com


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Walmart Exclusive DotM Leader Class Bonus pack
{mosimage} Allspark member Junior has found a new batch of Dark of the Moon Leader Class Bumblebees at his local Walmart. What makes these toys different, however, is that they come with a bonus Deluxe Class Starscream figure attached to the side! He says that the price tags for the new bonus packs read $42.88.
Discuss the find here in Junior's thread
Post your own sighting of the bonus packs here
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The Allspark News Robot has been tasked with the duty of assuming ownership of all news posts submitted between 2006 and 2013 from our original website database.
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- #JOINTHEBUZZ Hasbro Promotional Bumblebee Movie Unboxing - December 23, 2018
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Jay Bird.
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text: 2.1- Max Greenfield: On Success, The Acting Roller Coaster, And How To Keep Going by 1 Broke Actress published on 2018-02-27T08:01:07Z Sam is joined by Max Greenfield in the first episode of season 2! The pair discuss body types, fame, being on set, Max's advice for costars and guest stars, and so much more! More about Max here: http://ow.ly/xsVX30iDtlA And as always, more from Sam here:https://www.1brokeactress.com/ Genre Learning


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Browse: Download, Rautavaara (composer)
Rautavaara: Modificata, Towards the Horizon & Incantations
World Première Recordings
Truls Mørk (cello), Colin Currie (percussion)
Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra, John Storgårds
A late and lush harvest of works by octogenarian Einojuhani Rautavaara continues apace. Here we have eagerly awaited documentation of his two latest neo-Romantic concertos, in beautifully recorded... — More…
In stock
Rautavaara: Angels and Visitations
Elmar Oliveira (violin)
Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra, Leif Segerstam
Rautavaara's wholly original Violin Concerto is hauntingly accessible and grips the listener completely...Segerstam provides a shimmering backing and directs a committed and persuasively spontaneous... — More…
Rautavaara: Kaivos (The Mine)
Hannu Niemelä (Simon), Johanna RusanenKartano (Ira), Jorma Hynninen (Commissar) Jaakko Kortekangas (Priest), Mati Turi (Marko), Petri Pussila (Vanha) & Tuomas Katajala (A miner)
Kaivos Chorus & Tampere Philharmonic Orchestra, Hannu Lintu
The Mine of the title is a microcosm of both society and the individual soul - and its inhabitants are cast from strength. The great Jorma Hynninen is in untarnished voice as the dictator figure,... — More…
In 27 Pieces: The Hilary Hahn Encores
Hilary Hahn (Violin), Cory Smythe (Piano)
There's no doubting Hahn's commitment and technical assurance...and she projects the warmth of Valentin Silvestrov and David del Tredici with as much strength as the extended techniques of Richard... — More…
2 CDs
In stock
Rautavaara - 12 Concertos (Collector's Edition)
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Rautavaara's First Symphony, written in 1955 in four movements, was recast in 1988 – not wholly convincingly – as a diptych. In 2003 Rautavaara added a new slow movement based on a song composed... — More…
Rautavaara: Piano Concerto No. 3 & Autumn Gardens
Vladimir Ashkenazy (piano)
Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra
Autumn Gardens extends the Rautavaarian experience at least one step beyond the Seventh Symphony. You sense it especially in the animated finale, which begins giocoso e leggiero before a Baroque-style,... — More…
Rautavaara - Complete Works for Male Choir
YL Male Voice Choir & Talla Vocal Ensemble, Pasi Hyökki & Matti Hyökki
Especially striking, its tenor line soaring over a quasi-orchestral vocal fabric, is the literary Leaves are Leaves; but finer still are the Four Alexis Kivi Songs (1998-2005), from his opera... — More…
2 CDs
Rautavaara: Angel of Light
Petri Alanko (flute)
Lahti Symphony Orchestra, Osmo Vänskä
The BIS recording is excellent, with state-of-the-art sound, and Vanska's performance has impressive power and atmosphere; he keeps the music moving and casts a strong spell. — More…
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Einojuhani Rautavaara - The Journey
Jaakko Kuusisto (violin)
Lahti Symphony Orchestra, Osmo Vänskä


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Esszimmer Sitzgruppe
Friday, December 1st, 2017
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Image Name : Beautiful Esszimmer Wintergarten #9: Simple Esszimmer Wintergarten On Small Home Remodel Ideas With Esszimmer Wintergarten
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Seafoam Opalite Thin Spike Focal 5x42-46mm
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More about Opalite
Opalite is the trade name for a man (or woman) made opalised glass. While not a true gemstone, the chatoyancy of the glass gives these opalite beads a depth similar to that of true moonstone or opal. Many of the opalite beads below also have an AB finish, which adds to the depth and color play of the strands.


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6849 Washakie Road, Frisco, 75036
Click for Map
Price $800,000
Beds:4 Baths:4.1 Garage:3
Final one-story opportunity in Phillips Creek Ranch Weston!! Game and media downstairs for easy accessibility. Atrium doors at family room brings the outside in!! MOVE-IN READY!!
All information is from sources believed to be reliable and is subject to change of price, rental, commission or other conditions, prior sale, lease or financing or withdrawal without notice. No representation is made as to the accuracy of any description. All measurements and square footage are approximate and all information should be confirmed by customer.


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beautyconcierge. furniture. April 10th , 2018.
Traditional Spanish Colonial Style Living Room. Hiring interior design expert is quite popular if you have more than 10,000 square feet for a beautiful house. Fratantoni Luxury Estates is one of popular Spanish Colonial interior for luxury designs. Sam and Josie Fratantoni work as the builder and interior designer. Let's take a look to one of their beautiful design with Spanish Colonial interior which located in Scottsdale, Arizona.
Creating elegant master bathroom floor design needs skill to make it. Since, it relates to put the tap and the banishment. So, you need the best creator to make the best bathroom floor plans. Therefore, you can call anyone who has this skill well.
Choose Convenient & Classy Furnishings. Tables with drawers and shelves are required to add convenient storage facilities to the living room. You might want a few things at your quick disposal. You can try a versatile ottoman topped with a tray that will appear like an impromptu cocktail table. If you want to keep it very basic and minimalist, go for a simple desk fitted with shelves, which can be multipurpose.
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