Perspective.................. and.............. "At the end of the day."

Football.  Eww.  Gimme a break, and I don't mean a chunk of the dayum Kit Kat Bar... I mean, you ALWAYS talk sports and I've had my fill of it!

Football.  At the end of the day, I love sports.  Sorry kinda, not really.  I would say, I'm not quite as all-consumed today as I was however long ago... but I still very much enjoy.

"My football team", ie, the one I root for, won.  With the exception of last year, they've had a pretty nice run. If you read the Sport's page, sure, there will be naysayers.  If you peek at what folks say after, it ranges from "a win is a win' to "Run, look out, the sky is falling."

At the end of the day, we won.  Had we not, sure, disappointment woulda set in, but then, I took the average pay of an NFL rookie ($885,000) and divided it by 17 games... thus, had the day ended otherwise, I can see 'em taking their helmet, pads, etc off, flying home, arriving late... at the end of the day, placing their head on the pillow...  "Now I lay me down to sleep....I wonder how much, today I make?"  One-seventeenth is $52,058.82.  Hard to feel badly for them... right, schoolteachers, preachers, part-time golf course clubhouse attendants?

Money ain't everything.

Much is measured at the end of the day.  Did good happen?  Did you help to make it happen?  Did  you make someone feel good/better about themselves? Are you really rough on yourself and it's hard to find happiness at the end of the day?

Victor?  Yeah?  You change your last name to Olsteen?  Funny haha..

What's really important at the end of the day?

Well, two quick examples.

I awakened to a text this morning from a friend (sent at 8:22 pm) asking me if I've heard from a mutual friend.  It's obvious as I age, my end of the day is earlier and earlier and earlier...  I hadn't.  So, I'll contact friend today and apologize for going to bed early.

Next, the early morning Wordle battle with youngest niece... a few months back we'd had a nice lunch with cousins, second-cousins, and one had contacted her with "Let's do it again" and my niece included "She mighta texted you too, I dunno."  I looked.  She hadn't. So, I texted my niece back 'She likes you best.. I'm never talking to either of you, ever again." Takes care of that.

In all seriousness... Can you imagine, the "At the end of the day" people in our city, county, state, land, family, extended family, work family, church family, in the World - the trials and tribulations that accompany their "At the end of the day" feel?  Illness.  Loss.  Abuse. Addiction.  Food insecurity. Unemployment.  Divorce/Separation with the possible scenario of a non-working spouse allofasudden 'inheriting' a $1600 a month rent payment, expectations to fill the fridge to feed three mouths, buy them clothes, shoes, take the sick dog to the vet.  How could you sleep with all that going through your brain?

We know, ya just never know the at the end of the day of others.

Trust me, I've done my share of "Blurt hurt" in the past and I'm certainly not proud of that.  I guess we could all lighten the load on life......... make that head hitting the pillow a little more comfy - if we're simply kind.  Sadly, so, so many don't even have a pillow, bed, housing for that. Help others when we can.  Think, 5 seconds before replying - especially if it's something that's taken you back, or by surprise.

At the end of the day.......it's storming somewhere.  It's incredibly cold/hot somewhere else.  incredible pain within.  Worry about loved ones perhaps off the path.  More bills than bucks.  Perfection just simply doesn't happen.

Harmony can be tough to achieve.  

At the end of the day.. it shouldn't be though, should it? 

Shortly after the Civil War... you know... when Keith was born........

As Tears Go By............

The year was 1964.... Mick and Keith, each, were all of 21 years old.  They were busy puffing their chests out through their frilly, slick, sleek mostly unbuttoned shirts - thanks to the popularity of I (Can't Get No) Satisfaction - and, Hey, Hey, You You, Get Off Of My Cloud. 

All the while, their manager had one eyeball on them, one on The Beatles, and no, it wasn't Marty Feldman. Mick admittted at the time, "we don't really know what direction we're moving in... I don't think anyone knows."

Manager feller, Andrew Loog Oldham had plans.  (Time out.  Can't you just hear Andrew's parents, he, eight months in the belly of his ma, dad (or mom) asking, "What do you think about for a middle name?"  "Oh, I dunno... I kinda like "Loog".. you?" Done with that)

Back to Loog, one eye on Stones - anudder on the Beatles Lennon/McCartney.  "They're one up on you... you've GOT to become songwriters TOO."  Keith's reaction was "Who do you think I am?  John Lennon?  I've been playing the guitar since the turn of the Century." (< AI did that). 

Not so fast.  Loog went so far as locking the twosome in the kitchen of their Willesden flat, only to be released once they had written a song.  There's more.  "It can't be the blues, or a copy of an old favorite, I want something entirely new."

Jualah. -> the damn computer redlined that.  I don't know words (witness no Wordle today, I friggin gave up after two guesses).. I mean like "presto"... or, pronounced Wall-ah. 
"As Tears Go By" was written.  'HELP, LEMME OUT" said Keith.  He didn't, but, I bet he thought it.

The song had sweeping sentimentality, lush instrumentation (don't compliment my writing, I stole that crap off the internet)  Both Mick and Keith thought the song was tripe... Loog had met Marianne Faithful, all of 17 at the time - and a lightbulb went off, "mebbe she could sing it."  Marianne, as all 17 year olds do, said what was on her mind, "The Stones are crass and boorish."

Time changes things.  She said "OK, I'll sing it."  Wildly popular in the UK, and in spite of her earlier "crass and boorish" comments, by 1966 her and Sir Mick were smooching buddies.

Back to the purpose of this blog.  YOUR BLOGS HAVE A PURPOSE?  Uh huh, on purpose.

It is the evening of the day
I sit and watch the children play
Smiling faces I can see
But not for me
I sit and watch
As tears go by

My riches can't buy everything
I want to hear the children sing
All I hear is the sound
Of rain falling on the ground
I sit and watch
As tears go by

It is the evening of the day
I sit and watch the children play
Doin' things I used to do
They think are new
I sit and watch
As tears go by  

Of course the Stones recorded it too...  Mick would later say "It's a very melancholy song for a 21 year old to write. "The evening of the day, watching children play - it's very dumb and naive, but it's got a very sad sort of thing about it, almost like an older person might write.  You know, it's a metaphor for being old.  You're watching children playing and realizing you're not a child.  It's a relative mature song considering the rest of the output at the time."

We've all got different tastes - but I enjoy the heck out of Mick, Keith, The Rolling Stones.  Band camp, a friend of mine used to write music reviews for the Kansas City Star...Years and years he interviewed all of em.  So I asked him one time... "Everyone asks 'Who are the jerks in the industry.. can you name a couple of the really nice ones?" Quickly out of his mouth, "David Bowie and Mick Jagger."  Turns out Mick was like "Yes sir" and "No sir" the entire interview.

That, and I'm Kansas City biased.  Whilst here one year to play, Mick brought the entire band to tour the Negro Leagues Museum.

Interesting now that it IS the evening of the day for Mick.

I ain't no preacher and I've said time and time again, I write to me, for me, hitchhikers welcome.  I'd like to think Mick would now say "it's not a dumb and naive song"... it's very thoughtful.  And, it's NOT sad.  It's a wonderful thing to watch children do as we used to do.

As (Happy) Tears Go By.......

Right Loog?

Love, Victurd
 

Whadda you wanna 'be' when you grow oldER?

Seems all our life (thus far) we've had 'structions'.  For awhile, they're mostly born into us... turn over on the blanket... crawl... stand, HOLD ON!... we go from booby to "Oh Boy! STRAINED PEACHES!"....

Words?  There's words for all this crap?  Then, us, our fam, Missouri born, bred - it was our best intent to get ridda the cloth diapers by aiming, bombs away at the Jayhawk sticker Dad put in the urinal.  And, ya got training wheels... 

12 years of do this don't do that can't you read the sign?  No chance for "we are poor little lambs who have lost our way, bah, bah, bah." Hall monitors, junior high PE coaches who check our name off as we exit the shower, EWW.  Local newspapers publish this thing called the Honor Roll...... "Victor?  Where's your name?"  (I was dyslexic, lefthanded, mostly loved recess, PE and shhhhh, girls.)

Nowadays... kids can watch the (now old) movie On Golden Pond to learn how to suckface.  That, kegs and "oh yeah, I gotta pic a major" kinda control college.  A suit. Haircut. WHAT?  I gotta pay my own rent?  Buy my own car? Gas?  No wonder they left the want ads on the coffee table.

Then, ya get married, have advice from family, clergy, counselors, good buddies and mostly, own 49% of the stock.  This goes on for ten, twenty, thirty years - lightbulb, RETIREMENT COUNT DOWN IS ON.

So............ that whole path to "70-something, now what" is lined by folks like Helen Crump, Mr. Cottier... Mr Feeny... Edna Krabappel... Deans, Professors, Linkedin, Indeed, Bosses, General Managers, and someone mentioned financial planners but I offered 'what for?"  I know, it's me.

NOW.

Now we're 70-something.  Whereinthehell did the yellow brick road go?  Lions and tigers and bear, OH MY!.......... NOW WHAT?

Oh there's a brief respite in there right before Social Security.. I'd get 5 letters a day, Medicare reps literally would come put postie notes on my door...  HOW DO SO MANY KNOW I MIGHT NEED HEARING AIDS OR A BURIAL PLOT?  And sure.. EVEN A TERM POLICY.

Now, back to 70.  I guess we're stuck on Band-Aids to cover when we barely scrape our whatever wherever to cover up the purple blotch... and... Google, AI... Dewey Decimal System.

I'm reading it's  important what we eat. How, when we move. Frequent visits to Nurse Ratched or similar... a calendar (or SMTWTFS pillbox at a minimum.)  Google says work friendships will still exist be less and less frequent. HA, I'll never forget Ken... ahm, Kend.. Kender?  Masty?

In all seriousness. I'm not one to ask.  My idea of exercise is "I wanna change the channel but I left the remote over by the easy chair. Next time I gotta pee I'll change it."  And, more seriously, 'It's just easier if I stay home" - and we all know that ain't a good thing - so, wherethehell is Mr. Miagi when you need him?

Bless you if you're reading this and you're a twosome.  Always wonderful to have someone to lean on.  The rest of us... we just gotta keep an arm out, use it to ensure 3-point travel in the home or wherever.

I like my age, I do. Realization sets in.  Slow ain't necessarily a bad thing.  I find I listen more than I speak. (Sorry about being so verbal here, but too, you clicked the damn link!)..

Just my take - being in, around youth, rubs off, or can.  

I have no fun puns or ends.  That, I guess, likens life.  Lots don't change. I still don't like KU.  We were, and are, 1985 World Series Champions no matter what some say.  Ketchup is the bomb on hot dogs. Just say no gets hella easier.  We paint our own time, and don't fret so much if we're outside the lines. I will have Chili Cheese Fritos, lasagna, spaghetti and fried chicken every week of my remaining life.

And, there's always room for a couple of beers. Make sure your barn door ain't down, and, that you have your teeth in. Repeat after me, "It's Saturday."

Cheers, Victurd 

You don't bring me flowers..................... since it's Winter

Life, is funny.  To me anyways. Up.  Down.   uʍop ǝpısd∩.

Below, is not gonna make any sense.  You're welcome. That's, I think, almost 20 years running of more of the same.

Life is the Dave Clark Five:   And I'm feeling, glad allover..........   as well as...  I'm in pieces, bits and pieces.

Article this morning about the KC Chief's 3rd string QB... how he worked his way up from HS, to College, to tryout, to making the team... Writer used the word 'scaffold' as a verb.  'Scaffolded' his career.  

When I think of scaffold, it's the metal riser kind... a reasonably inexpensive way to work your way up to new heights....  Glad allover...   Some construction companies say 'bosh', gimme a hydraulic lift... Ain't got time for all that...  Still nuther construction companies might say, bullbosh, I can't afford that, which, is fancy for "can, but, afraid of heights" or, "hydraulic fluid leaks, strong winds, yielding, 'hard-fried' falling construction workers.  I'm in pieces, (eggshell) bits and pieces.

A mom and pop construction company would be prudent to own, use, scaffolding.  Then, if perhaps argue, 'can't stand your folks', infidelity, whatever happens...   I'm in pieces bits and pieces...  and I'm taking EVERY crossboard to our scaffolding.  'Screw you, that actually makes me....... glad allover.. I'm taking the metal framework."  Neither is going to climb to great heights any time soon. Beats getting hydraulic fluid allover the kitchen I guess.

Speakinowhich, I just got my car inspected.  ("SPEAKINOWHICH?  WTH?").. toldya way up there above "not gonna make any sense."

The mechanic shop dude said "We're gonna pass it"...  Glad allover, yes I'm glad allover.. "But first, you're gonna need two new tires."  I'm in pieces bits and pieces.  

So, two near tires purchased, put on. (mounting, balancing, disposal fee, tire pressure monitoring systems, road hazard, stem and hardware fee, sales tax, shop fees, and a Goodyear in a Pear tree.)  Glad allover and bits in pieces all in one.

Speakinowhich...... I've never understood 'the donut tire.' You're out in the middle of Kansas (Heaven forbid), flat tire happens.. "Here, put this on, but, don't go over 45 mph, don't drive any further than granny's house (next town over)."  I'm in pieces bits and pieces.  So, I thought to myself, if I EVER save enough money to gets me onea them brandspankin new F-One-Fitties they brag about.... I'm sayin' "Nope, huh uh, no donut for me, gimme another full sized rim and tire or I ain't buyin'. (To be continued).

Continued.  Victor?  Have you been outside since Johnny Carson went off the air?  Funny ha ha.  Come to find out, yes, 30-40% of new cars still have the donuts... 9% actually come with a full sized tire.. but... 30 to 40 % come with no spare tire at all. Not even one to get you to grannies?  Nope, not even that.  I'm in pieces.  

Stairway to Heaven.  Highway to Hell.  Hello/Goodbye.  In Through The Out Door.  Feelin' Alright/Catscratch Fever.  Jesus is just alright/Sympathy for the devil..  Take it easy.. take it to the limit...

Being a Libra - some might look at that as a curse....... Imbalance (probably... OK, YES, mebbe!).. I look at it as hopefully a more even keel.  Good. Bad. Happens. Buckleup buttercup.

I get knocked down...................  so............. I guess I'll take a nap. If I should die before I wake - you know the rest.

Tire'ed.  Hungry. (Have a donut). If ya should hear 'ugly', remember, another friend in your corner a hollerin' "good person."

It all works out in the Tide Pods.  Or, Dollar Tree soap if you're like me.

Love, Victurd 

Daddy sang bass..........

Momma was'a kissin' Santa Claus....  Junior was busy sellin' cars....... dial him up, BR-549..... Poor Jenny was hounded and hounded, and finally had to block the idiot's number, 867-5309.

Grandma got run over by a reindeer....  the unmistakable cloven hoof marks on Grandma's hands....  Grandpa (and his best friend) was'a havin' their faculties tested - as nightly they'd sing, ask, "Where oh where are you tonight...."

Cousin Mick worked 7 days a week at the KC Assembly Plant, and, as he'd drive his F150 there he'd sing, "another Pleasant Valley Sunday."...   

Second cousin Victor Willis sucked in his financial affairs, finally got evicted.. with no 'first month, last month' to live elsewhere - he put everything in his backpack and moved into the YMCA.   Still, outwardly happy, at the annual family reunion, he told all his disbelieving relatives "It's fun to stay at the Y M C A"... his brother Arnold just shook his head and said "What'chu talkin' about Willis?"

Kenny, and a host of others in the shelter house were havin' fun at the back corner pick-a-nic table playing some penny ante poker.. knowin' it was time to walk away Kenny got up and did just that. "Oh come on, Kenny.. the fun was just'a startin'... come on back, we'll talk some Politics.."  Into a dead sprint, Kenny knew when to run.

"Well... then come back and we'll talk Royals"...... about this time Aunt Petula grabbed her acoustic guitar.. "When you're alone and life is making you lonely you can always go, Downtown."

"Well Kenny, howabout them Chiefs?"...  Aunt Carrie, in town from Denver, took Petula's guitar and started singing "Before He Cheats"...  Poor Uncle Rodney, donned in his vintage Chief's sweatshirt mumbled something about not getting any respect.

The snotnoses, undoubtedly fueled by a heapin' helpin' of chocolate chip cookies - ran, in, out, around and over the pick-a-nick tables - got so loud one'a the adults, forget who, hollered "QUIT ACTING YOUR AGE!".... One by one they immediately calmed down, went, sat by their folks - ne'er a problem the rest of the day. Braniff, believe it.

The Bonanza of food Uncle Hop Sing had prepared was reduced to empty tupperware thingys, except for seven deviled eggs in one, but the flies had gotten the better part of them. 

Everyone was pretty tired.  It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty delta day.  The McAlister family still had to drive over the river and through the woods to the other grandparent's house.  Dad, Billie Joe, stood up, said "Come on, I'll drive." 

Calgon, my ass... Give peace a chance

Long ago and far away.... how far? Oh, like ten years and six belt sizes ago......  I  refereed 1st and 2nd grade basketball.  These survivors of kindergarten basketball promotion were actually kinda sorta catching on to the nuances, rules, yada yada.

Then, one day I was a little early to my game...... those kiddygarters were on the court playing with one ref...... the Park and Rec guy in charge said "Vic, can you help on this game - we had a ref no show?"   Well sure.

I jumped in midstream and it was a definite eye opener.  In the first three minutes, this one kid had nearly as many yards rushing as the Chief's Kenneth Walker did this past Monday Night Football game.  Yes, you heard that correctly, rushing, not a dribble in sight.

A tent was needed to put around the display of 'basketball'.  Kids were standing still, or, had both arms wrapped entirely around the person they were guarding, or, they were running (with ball) toward the wrong basket... those parents who, years earlier, had been cut from their 8th grade team were screaming "NO SAM!  THE OTHER WAY!"  Most, simply giggled.  A time out had been called. One befugled ref (me) ran up to Park and Rec guy in charge, and said "DEEK?  What do I do?  What do I call?"

"Vic, just get 'em going in the right direction."

Tried.  Did. Kinda.  Then I noticed the kid with all the 'rushing yards' had 36" of shoe string coming out of his way too dang big Jordans........... so........ blew the whistle....  "Will you tie your shoe son."  Mistake. Or so I learned.

The kid's games are played in quarters... Each quarter was.... I dunno, maybe 12 minutes.  The clock didn't stop.  Do you have any idea how long it takes a kiddygartner to tie his shoe?  Uh huh, prolly a 'quarter', or, ten, twelve minutes.  In the young man's defense, he talked his way through it.  'Hold the ends... make an X... tuck one end under... make a 'bunny ear' loop, pinch it tight... - about this time, nervous ref said "Here kid, you're doing fantastic, but this time I'm gonna help you."

Calgon, my ass......... = a kiddygartner lost (or is it kiddygardner, i always forget).. anyways......Staring at his shoes, LOST is the key word.   Blog reader lost (and prolly already gone by now) to "Calgon, my ass"... and, little Johnny making bunny loops, slowly lost in tying his own shoe.

You wrote ALL THAT Victor just to get to a point?  Uh huh.  Sorry, but not really.  Hell it's been so long, I've forgotten how to write.  Whoever said you ever knew how Victurd?  Good point (my ass).....

EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING that's up there in that brain....items among, dealing with weather, HVAC probs, arguing friends, people, frantically opening the Gas Buddy app to help make sure you find the cheapest gas, and, when you do, will that leave you enough to buy Skippy peanut butter....or, will you have to resort to Best Choice.... or, if you drive a Diesel, you're screwed, Always Save brand it is. We look down where we usedta have fingernails... We see our belly runneth over... Watching the News ain't helping...  Cable it too damn high and you've seen every episode of Friends, Andy Griffith and the Brady Bunch, seventeen times. LIFE. IS. STRESSY.

Calgon, my ass.

Somewhere around 5am-ish this morning, all that crap, EVERYTHING, was going thru my brain.  Should I take a nap?  That'll show it. NO. Not no but hell's no, dreams'll just make it worse.  You'll awaken, ask, is this the real life, is this just fantasy, caught in a landslide, no escape from reality- ie, give up, give in, katy bar the door, pack up and go ahead and move into Shady Acres.

WAIT!  I KNOW!  I'll watch Facebook for awhile! I can get lost there!  So I did.  I read a reel or two... got wrapped up in a couple namecalling arguments, nope, move on... and then i saw the donkey.  He was snortin' heeee-hawwww heeee-hawwww, just like you remembered donkey's snort.

The lady farmer owner said "I've got a surprise for him....... she'd bought him a rubber chicken.  Uh huh, what I thought.  I'll be damned, she threw it in the pen... he snorted heeeee-haaaawwwww, picked it up, squeezed it - making that high pitch noise... s'more heeeeee-hawwwwww... he started going in circles, squeezing it with his jaw, squeek squeek squeeek, hee hee haw, over and over and over again.

Soon............. every worry in my brain was forgotten, at least temporarily.  Calgon, my ass... take me away.  And thank you for doing so. 

You may not be a simpleton such as I, and hey, that's ok.  Probably means  you don't worry 24/7 like me, good for you.

When perceived big things in life stress us so, we're only a small, fun thing away from happiness.   Little kids.  Little kids sports...  hee's.. haww's.. circles... Donkey, Calgon, my ass.

 DANGIT, my shoe is untied!  Joke's on you, I started wearing slip-ons years ago.  Clagon, my ass.

Heeeeee Hawwwww... 

Love, Victurd 

Not a dang thing is up to date in Kansas City.........

Save the world........

What's wrong with you kid?  Put your hat on straight....... (Kudos to kid's manager, teammates for having his back.)

Someone call Tony an Uber wouldya?  Mr. Craft, for goodness sakes, use your Amazon Prime, send Mr. York an Amazon Prime Stag movie (Debbie does the Cowboys or sumpin' like that, I ain't never seen a stag movie) and tell him to chill wouldya?

I've seen fire (psychosis) and I've seen rain (a drugged individual that no longer renders the person the person they are/were - at least temporarily) but... murder is murder and I don't think one should see the light of day outside of the institution, ever, again.

And the guy with the formally orange emblazoned orange hair go

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo 

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo 

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo 

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo 

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo 

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo 

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo 

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo 

Doo        

 

Stand your ground Mapquest...as far as I'm concerned, America lost their naming rights when they didn't even know the damn name of the horse they rode across the desert. 

 

Thankfully, the SCOM ruled Jerry Mandering could paint by numbers any damn thing he wanted but he was not allowed to rearrange ballot boxes in relation to whatever their Monopoly Street was.

 

Excuse me Sir, are you really going to post this Op-ED. I beg your pardon lady, I ain't got ED AND, I AM NOT A MISOGYNIST!  Are too.  AM NOT!

 

Was no one listening when Lynn Anderson sang "I never promised you a rose garden?" 

 

And the guy with the formally orange emblazoned orange hair go

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo War's over.

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo Wait, no it's not.

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo War's over.

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo Wait, no it's not.

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo War's over. 

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo Wait, no it's not.

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo War's over. 

Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,doo-doo-doo Wait, no it's not.

Doo     

 

Hate me if you like....... Blogs are like opines and bellybuttons, everyone has one.    Reflections to pond er.

 

Wow, you got TDS bad. Ahm, no. I think Thomas Disposal Service sold out long ago, now it's Republic Services or something like that. 

 

WAIT!  You forgot Epstein!

 

Ahm, no.  No I haven't. 

 

Almost 6 down, 2 to go.  Be Best you can the next two pretty please?