opinion

for the republican candidates....


   how about this for tax reform:  flat tax between 15 and 20% [ no deductions] - the experts can figure out where -  for all taxpayers - individual and corporate - onshore and offshore.  no tax on the first $35 - 40,000 for individuals  - the experts can figure out where [corporations no break].  home mortgage interest deduction for those [no matter what their filing status] making $350,000 or less [to stimulate the housing industry].  standard deductions for small businesses [35 or fewer full-time employees, part-timers excluded] - the experts to determine what qualifies as a deduction - i vote for the current rules. [small businesses are, after all, our job mills.]

debate that you meatheads.

occupy wall street

just wait until these knuckleheads - at least in the northeast - run into a cold rain or below freezing temperatures or a serious snowstorm...then we'll see who occupies whatever.  i'll bet the organizers are the first to bail.  my advice...go home or to washington where you ought to be protesting whatever the hell it is you are protesting...at least the weather will be a little warmer for a little longer.  you bloody idiots.  in the meantime i urge my readers to pray for a hard winter.

from alexandra fuller

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..a few stereotypical british characteristics [not sure they are particularly good ones but they could go a long way towards describing my father]:  "an allergy to sentimentality, a casual ease with profanity, a horror of bad manners, a deep mistrust of humorlessness...."

tattoos

i'll bet none of you has ever tattooed a thoroughbred horse...well, i have.  more than a thousand as a matter of fact.  why would anyone do such a thing you ask?  for identification purposes, that's why.  when i, newly graduated from college with a totally useless degree in english, decided to strike out and seek my fortune i thought it best to start where [i thought] the money was...in those days that would be the race track [horses, of course].  through my teenage years i'd worked at the local track which ran, conveniently, during the summer so i had some connections.  before long i found myself a night watchman's position guarding the preakness cup at pimlico race  track in baltimore maryland - all the while  waiting for the tattoo crew to show  up so i could take on the position of tattoo technician [trainee].  i'll get to the part later why it was so easy to find the latter position - you can guess why the night watchman's job was open - boredom anyone?  after stumbling through my reversed days and nights for two weeks, to my great relief, the crew arrived and i began my new career.

thoroughbred horses - at least those which go to the track - are tattooed on the inside of their upper lips.  that's why if you watch pre-race activity closely you'll see a horse pause before a guy in the paddock who will reach up and roll its upper lip, look down at his program, then nod to the groom and look for the next suspect.  i say suspect because there are multiple reasons to believe the horse before that guy is not the one named in the program...the one being bet on by the public.  what if the groom bridled the wrong horse back at the barn?  what if the horse was shipped in and the trainer didn't bother to check its i.d., i.e. the tattoo?  you get the picture.  anyway, tattooing was fun and simple for a strong young man until i got hurled around a stall by an obstreporous 4 year old which i should have known better than to try and tattoo to start with [most animals are tattooed at 2 or before their first race - this one had escaped that indignity for obvious reasons].  aside from that minor diversion, when asked, i accepted the position of horse identifier [junior] at the chicago circuit of three race courses.

once i got over the excitement of living in cicero [al capone's old hangout], having my one room apartment partially invaded and therefore carrying a gun at all times, watching, amazed, as a small tornado threw a starting gate through a wrought iron fence, and lunching in the jock's room surrounded by big name athletes i settled in  to [junior] identification duties and the odd day of actual tattooing - at $4 a horse - all the while trying to cope with my [senior] identifier's extreme alcoholism.

then one day a groom brought to the paddock a dead horse - at least one whose owner claimed was dead - and the whole business of "horse identifier" came into focus.  before the first race i would write the jockey club registration numbers of each horse on my partner's program.  he would then, as the horses paused before him, roll their lips  and confirm they were who the program said they were.  suddenly one number didn't match...wrong horse.  great consternation...calls to the stewards...scratch...money refunded...steward's hearing...alleged nefarious activity, etc., etc.  great excitement actually.

shortly thereafter i declined an invitation to stay [over an illinois winter season] and "work the standardbreds", having realized the money wasn't where i thought it was, and returned home.

the other day i was visiting a friend's farm and an inquisitive sway-backed old nag wandered up to the fence i was leaning against.  reflexively i reached up and rolled its lip.  there was the tattoo...maybe one of mine?

a fishing story

this came to me from jim harker.  please, jim, pardon the odd deletion.

"...here is a story about the best two days of fishing i ever had.  years ago my brother ed, rest his soul, and i owned a 20' grady white cuddy cabin with a 4 cylinder i/o that on a good day could run to the 40 fathom ledge off ocean city, md. on 45 gals. of fuel.  no sat nav, radar, gps, but with a vhs radio that could just about reach the guy in the boat at the end of the dock while in port.  our life raft was a fancified inner tube.  our tuna tower was standing on top of the cuddy holding on to the bow line.  no penn internationals ever came aboard.

men have no brains when it comes to fishing, and we were no exception.  40 miles plus to blue water and the weed line was our goal, albeit the weather had to be just right.  when the seas were 3-4 feet we pounded out our fillings trying to get out with the 40' posts and rybos.  it was worse on the way in when afternoon breezes were in our face[s] and there was a 3-4 hour run to the inlet.

there was one weekend however when the weather was good and gas was still cheap.  we headed out with a box of ballyhoo, a couple of large rigged squid and some home made teasers....that weekend we caught and released 17 white marlin and one small blue.  incredible.  at one point we had three fins in spitting distance.  chaos ensued.  oh to have known  how to throw a fly.  the last one we hooked came along side and i grabbed the bill to release it.  it stared up at me with a large dark eye as if to say what the hell are you doing.  after this we agreed that this was the last time we would target marlin....that was the best weekend [of] fishing i ever had.  now i mooch off younger brother john who has a 32' offshore fishing boat with every imaginable electronic device and piece of tackle.  the fishing is great but it will never be the same as in a small boat alone on a big ocean.  it was the adventure as much as the fishing."

from w.c. fields

"i always keep a supply of stimulant handy in case i see a snake, which i also keep handy."

a parrot's view

i had a friend who had a parrot.  when asked, innocently, "polly want a cracker?" the parrot would reply,    


                 "and you can fuck off too...."


not bad for a parrot.