Wrong (as published 2/2)

Women's lib has come full circle.  After centuries of men fighting to protect  the women and children, now, mothers and daughters are authorized to shoulder assault weapons and defend me, who cannot fight, and those men who are too lazy or cowardly to do so.

Outrageous!  I don't care how militant some women have become, I say that war is men's work, and if they can't do it alone, they should abandon the barbaric practice.

Taking it one step further, I would oppose sending young men, some mere children, to fight, in place of the old men who start wars.  After all, the women and children are the future and must be honored as such.

The void

Probably because it's the void, two revered baseball luminaries decided to die.  .  .   Stan Musial, whose name my Polish relatives insisted was pronounced "Mooshau," and manager Earl Weaver.  They were bright stars for St. Louis (22 years) and Baltimore (17 years), respectively.  Team loyalty.  .  .  what a concept.

LAST NIGHT, the capitol contingent and our duo from Bum-fuck Egypt met midway in Gridley in celebration of the two January birthdays, for a family dinner at Black Bear Diner, the home of comfort food, and where they apparently believe everything is better with bacon.

It isn't.  Gridley, however, is a surprising oasis along 99.  Two factory new car dealerships anchor a fairly busy strip mall.  The meal was better than the last Black Bear I visited (once I took the bacon wrap off the chicken), the mother at the adjacent crowded table finally got the screaming urchin to shut up (and was repentent), and the waitress was as cute as a bug's ear, although her voice could peal wallpaper, and she had to be reminded that the bland corn muffin was included on two of our meals.

BY THE WAY, we fed seven of us for $107, which seems about right for a family restaurant, considering Johnny needed two pricey items off the dessert menu.

An auric* day

*Gold:  A yellow, malleable, ductile metallic element."

Yesterday was the observance of my birthday.  I would say celebration, but for several years now, because it comes so close to Christmas, not much happens.  I read my horoscope by Bernice Bede Osol (sounds like), but have since lost it in the recycling.  It was nonsense anyway, because, of course, the horoscope is the most useless part of the newspaper.  Then, I wrote a sarcastic letter to the editor, because my readers are waiting for my next words of wisdom.  Not that idiot who called in, but first born's clients such as the former county district attorney and other various horse owners.  Then, I topped off the day with a delicious homemade chocolate cake.

OF COURSE:  About a week ago, first born lost her house keys out in the grass.  Today, she had new ones made.   You guessed it, within moments of returning home, the old ones appeared along the path she always takes, and where she had been looking.  Figures.  .  .  she predicted it.  Or does that happen to everyone?

NOT RECOMMENDED

Yesterday, I watched the first annoying hour of the self-indulgent, self-aggrandizing two hour documentary called "The Making of 'The Hunger Games.'"  Everyone appeared on camera, from the script writer-director to the guy who cleaned up after the horses.  (Actually, there were no horses.)  To listen to them, the film was as influential  as the Bible and sliced bread, wrapped up together in a sort of messiah sandwich.

It isn't.

Without discussing all the child-like plot elements which degenerated into an unrealistic view of human life, the story, for me, went south almost immediately.  Twenty-four young people (why only young people?) were chosen to fight each other on TV until twenty-three were dead.  To insure only one survived, the Obama-like government did most of the killing with various booby-traps.  I never understood why the heroine didn't kill anyone to forestall their attacking her.  I would have had her push some of them off the train to the contest venue.  Of course, the contrived ending was very depressing.  I'm not bloodthirsty;  I just prefer realistic, predictable, self-preservationist human behavior.

ALSO I was blown away by the look of "The Adventures of Tintin," but much like "The Hunger Games," the plot was intended for children, and therefore, quite unengaging.  For different reasons, both failed to arouse my emotions.

The third film of my weekend, "M I 4," didn't even try.  Strike three.

AT NOON on Christmas Day, on  my way to the capitol city, I had occasion to visit a highway rest stop.  Entering the men's room, I encountered a pleasant young man preparing to sweep and mop.  That someone was willing to work on a holiday and not complain, reaffirmed some of my belief in the goodness of man.  I should have added a gift to my words of good cheer, but I was somewhat amazed.  .  .  someone actually cleans public restrooms.

Bits and pieces

A wag nailed the newest nickname for the horse-faced John Kerry when he offered, "Secretariat of State."  Will he laugh?  Neigh.

In a nearby city which is home to Rinky-Dink University, Paul Zingg (sounds like someone else's last name), the inept president, has expressed concern over student binge drinking which killed two of them in 2012.  That's another equine reference:  trying to close the barn door after the beast has fled.

In the same town, the city council has decided to make life more difficult for shoppers.  I am old enough to remember some of the first supermarkets which encouraged people to buy all their comestibles in one place, and furnished free paper bags in which to transport them.  By a vote of 5-2, the local college town has now proposed that shoppers purchase their own environmentally manipulated bags, even though one of the new, more reasonable electees observed, "Don't we have something better to do?"

On Wednesday, at the phlebotomist's, I discovered a rare liberal (for the north state) who, when I disparaged Obamacare, suggested we might not want to start that discussion.  An argument with her probably closed mind was thus averted.  I go to that lab monthly, and I predict before long, the devastation wrought by Obamacare will cause her to rethink how liberalism will be negatively impacting her job, and I will commiserate.

On my upcoming birthday (the number of which is represented by the atomic weight of gold), the film glorifying the disgraceful assassination of Osama bin Laden will open.  Insensitivity on parade in the world of the thug* community organizer.

Following the demise of her diesel, first born is still using my personal vehicle as a work truck.  As a rationalization, she keeps telling me that driving it more frequently than I did is "good for it."  Not being garaged since we came here is what's bad for it.

Finally, before that, we are having an expensive State Senate run-off election.  I have already mailed in my ballot, as if that mattered.  After all, Californians were snookered into raising their own taxes.  Do we really care how the legislature wastes the money?

* Descriptive word from David Mamet, prominent writer-director, and. apparent conservative