Here’s an excerpt from an update I wrote in early January 2017:

On Christmas Eve I installed a new light bulb in a lamp inside the bunker that will supposedly last for 22 years. Ha! I give it four months. Am I wrong? I have a backup bulb for when it burns out. But I guess I’ll be 76, so maybe my surly nurse can screw it in for me? Oh, she’ll be mouthy, but will have a heart of gold.

Well, I was wrong when I predicted it would last four months. It made it nine months. The box it came in said 22 years! Where did that number even come from? Is it based on anything, or did some whistledick in an exotic land pull it straight out of his speckled ass? Is it even possible for a light bulb to last 22 years? If so, I have a feeling it would cost more than what I paid: 99 cents at Ace Hardware.

A 99 cent light bulb that lasts 22 years would be the worst business model this side of the toothpick industry. Or the dog-eat-dog table salt racket. What everyday things do you rarely need to buy, but are crazy-cheap when you do? Help me out, won’t you? How about shampoo? I go through a bottle a year, maybe. What else?

Speaking of light bulbs, I’ve noticed in old movies (1930s/1940s) general stores, or whatever, sometimes had a screw-in bulb socket right in the top of the checkout counter, so people could test ’em out before they left the store. Apparently a lot of bulbs were duds back then, and were not exactly inexpensive. So, you could twist it in before paying, and confirm you got yourself “a good one.” I don’t know why, but I love that kind of stuff.

But, that’s enough scintillating light bulb talk… I’m off work today, for no other reason than the fact I still have 135 hours of vacation time for the year, and can only carry over 40. I’m running out of daylight, my friends. Maybe I’ll take two weeks in a row? How cool would that be? It would translate to 16 days off, while only using 10. Yeah, they’d never approve that shit. But I might take two full weeks, separately. We’ll see how it goes.

What’s your vacation time situation? I get 144 hours of PTO per year, and 40 hours of floating holiday. We can carry over 40 hours of PTO only. When I left Warner Home Video in 2007 I had 500 hours of PTO, which was the most they’d allow you to have on account. If I wasn’t capped-out, I’m sure it would’ve been higher. It was nice when they paid me for all that, but something got screwed up and the IRS came after us. Years after the fact… So, there you go. What appears to be a silver lining is sometimes a knife blade, waiting to lop your wiener off. Pass the beer nuts.

Over the weekend Toney and I were in a Home Goods store, and they had a pepper grinder that was — I’m not exaggerating — four or five feet tall. I asked her to snap a photo of me holding it, and when she handed me back my phone here’s the precious memory she’d captured. WTF?? Not only is it a mind-boggling failure, in terms of photography, but also wildly unflattering. I just stood there looking at my phone and blinking for a long time. I don’t understand a lot of things, and this is one of them.

Speaking of Toney and vacations… she’s going to fly to Myrtle Beach this weekend, by herself. Remember when I went to Long Beach Island alone, back in May? Well, this is her side of the bargain. It feels a little weird, but she deserves some downtime, that’s for sure. And we still can’t go off and leave these two hooligans alone. Well, we could. But when we returned there would probably be a big black circle on the ground where our house used to be. I wish they’d grow up already. Sweet sainted mother of Cool Papa Bell! But anyway… she’s going to the beach and I’m going to try to keep a lid on this place for a few days. Wish us all luck! Especially me.

There was an insert in yesterday’s newspaper showing the results of a wide-ranging reader’s poll that I did not participate in or even know about. You know what I mean… Best seafood restaurant (Cooper’s), best craft beer selection (Backyard Ale House), best grocery store (Gerrity’s) etc. Most of it’s standard stuff. However, a few of the categories were a little bizarre in my opinion. Like best cancer center. Seriously? And best local sweet corn. What in the hell? Best basement waterproofing? It’s weird stuff, right? How about best sun porch builder? Best drug/alcohol treatment center? Best paving contractor? It’s some of the strangest stuff I’ve seen in the local paper since the Helen Keller fashion show. Or this bizarreness:

I’ve always said this place feels like a foreign country. It is very odd. The people are more cynical and angrier than anywhere I’ve lived. And I feel like it’s either seeping into me, or just the natural progression of a curmudgeonly son of a bitch. Nature or nurture? Who the fuck knows? But Toney and I have a plan to get out. I’m glad we raised our kids here, it’s better than Atlanta or Los Angeles in that regard, but now they’re raised. On paper, anyway. We have no connection to the place, whatsoever. Over the next couple of years we’re going to scope some places out, and make the move southward. We’ll prepare the house for sale, zero in on a specific location, and shake everything up. It’s exciting, just the thought of it. And God knows we’ve done it before. Several times. What kind of changes do you realistically see for yourself between now and, say, 2020? Anything big? Please tell us about it in the comments.

And I’m going to call it a day, my friends.

I have to take Toney to the airport on Thursday morning, so I might not update again until Friday. We’ll see how it goes.

In any case, have a good one!

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It’s true that I have a handful of foods I don’t like, and am very vocal about it. But I don’t consider myself to be super-picky. Ya know? True super-picky eaters irritate me, and I don’t put myself in that category. Some things I don’t like:

Mayonnaise  I will never ask for it to be added to anything, but don’t generally ask for it to be excluded either. If I go to Wendy’s, for instance, I just roll with it. However, if it’s oozy and sloppy I’m disgusted and scrape that shit off with a plastic knife. There’s very little subtlety with mayonnaise. It’s seems to be administered with an ice cream scoop, more often than not.

Garlic  Again, I live with it if it’s subtle and just a part of the overall seasoning situation. But that’s rare, as rare as a co-worker you had no idea has unlimited data. It’s almost always the only thing you can taste. And smell. Blecch. It makes me sick just thinking about it. Garlic comes straight from the devil’s window box.

Fast food pickles  These I do ask to be excluded, on account of their nastiness. If I bite into one of those things my lower jaw retracts, as the pre-vomit sequence is launched. I don’t like the taste, and I don’t like the consistency. And the sliminess doesn’t help, either. If I’m in a slightly fancier place, and the pickles are firm and higher quality, I don’t react so violently. But I’ll still peel those bastards off. They’re too dominant, throw off the entire texture profile, and are often garlic-infused. Garlic on a burger now?? We’re very near the end, my friends. I was almost arrested once because of pickles on a Big Mac. I was pulled over, berated by a cop, and given a full battery of sobriety tests. I told him I ordered my burger with no pickles, as God intended, and bit into one anyway. And that’s why my car crossed the center line, and nearly went onto the sidewalk. But he wasn’t buying it. I like sweet pickles, especially with grilled cheese for some reason. But dill pickles can go fuck themselves.

Shrimp  These are simply bugs. We’re supposed to love ’em, because society has decided we do. But I ain’t playing along. You guys go ahead and eat your big plates o’ grub worms, and smile at each other in a knowing manner. I’ll just have a corndog or something. Sweet sainted mother of Conrad Bain!

There’s other stuff, too. Like gyros. I think I’d rather eat one of Andy’s yard crullers. And I’m not really a fan of curry or asparagus. But I generally go along with whatever is on the docket. Toney would surely disagree, but I don’t believe I’m a picky eater. I roll with it, almost always. I just have, you know, several dozen things that are an automatic no. Ha. I’m kidding. Sorta.

The kind of picky eater that annoys me are the ones who can’t have their foods touching each other, or have never tasted common things like tomatoes, or who just simply refuse to roll with it. I can’t accept overpowering garlic, but adapt to almost everything else. Pickles? I just shout the f-word, and pluck that grossness off. It doesn’t ruin anything, it’s just a speed bump on the boulevard of gluttony. Or whatever.

Another thing that irritates me is when people REFUSE to try things they’re unfamiliar with. What are you, seven years old? I’m always ready to try new stuff, but will admit when I don’t like it. I’m not buckling under to societal pressures, goddammit. If it smells like August ass, or tastes like dumpster run-off, I’m gonna say it. Many people won’t.

Do you have anything on super-picky eaters? Do you consider yourself to be one? Who’s the pickiest of all picky eaters you’ve encountered? My brother won’t eat an omelette because he doesn’t like the sound of the word. And I had an uncle who would become nearly physically ill if somebody put cream in their coffee and didn’t stir it. He’d practically do a shoulder-roll with a spoon in his hand, shouting “STIR IT! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT’S HOLY, STIR IT!!” He’s gone now, but his legacy lives on.

What items are automatically a no for you? And at what point does that list become the ravings of a picky madman? I’m convinced I’m not anywhere near.

I had no idea what I was going to write about today, but it turned out OK, I think. I hope you guys feel the same.

But I have to go to work now. Good stuff. I’ll see you again on Thursday.

Have a great day!

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Are there any good frozen meals? I used to partake of the Marie Callender’s offerings, and thought they were very good indeed. Then a switch was flipped, and I didn’t like them anymore. I mean, talk about sodium! Before I was finished with my turkey and stuffing lunch it felt like fluids were starting to build up in my ankles. Sweet sainted mother of Harold Hecuba.

A few days ago I noticed one in the freezer, after a years-long absence, and decided to give it a shot. Pretty good, I must admit. But I know it’s a short-lived proposition. It won’t take long before I’m off ’em again. And I know there’s not really any such thing as a GOOD frozen meal. I realize this; I’m not a complete idiot. But are there any that are surprisingly good? Help me out, won’t you? Sometimes I’m just looking for a quick and easy thing I can pop into the microwave, before leaving for work. Ya know? Steer me in the right direction, my friends.

Yes, I’m offering some of you the opportunity to now lecture me on how easy it is to prepare fresh foods, etc. I’m definitely looking forward to that, as well.

And am I just becoming delicate in my old age, or are car headlights now far too bright? It feels like everybody is driving around with their brights on, at all times. When they’re coming toward me I find myself grimacing and throwing a hand up in front of my face, like a TV detective witnessing a car explosion. An explosion meant for him! But what’s even worse are the cars behind me. The impossible brightness ricochets around inside my vehicle, from mirror to mirror, and it’s a wonder I’m not thrown into a state of disorientation and careen straight through a Shoe Carnival.

What’s going on?! Is there really a need for a military-grade lighting rig to be mounted to every Ford Fiesta and Plymouth Cyst (or whatever)? Hell, when I was growing up, everybody just had two candles for headlights. OK, that’s not true. But it’s gotten WILDLY out of hand, in my opinion. Any thoughts? Have you noticed a change over the past five years or so? It’s outrageous.

Have you ever seen a show on HGTV, called Island Hunters? It’s an offshoot of House Hunters, I think, and features people in the market for an island. A freaking island. Generally, it’s a couple of gay men from an exotic foreign land, who want to open a resort of some kind, and have a budget of $15 million or more. They look at places out in the middle of the ocean with no electricity or anything, and often no structures of any kind. And I sit there thinking: Who’s going to build all this stuff? Where are they going to stay? How are they going to get the materials there? What’s the process for bringing in electricity? It seems like a completely foolhardy endeavor to me, even crazier than those weirdos who buy “tiny” houses. And what’s next? Treehouse Hunters? Houseboat Hunters? Underground Bunker Hunters? Planet Hunters? What’s wrong with, you know, just a house? In a neighborhood? With a reliable lawn service?

Would you ever want to live on a small island, out in the middle of nowhere, with no other inhabitants? That’s the goal of some of the people on that show. They want a place where they will not encounter another human being, ever. I mean, it might sound more appealing to me tonight, after I’ve been at work for a few hours. But… I would have no real desire for something like that. It seems like the pursuit of a madman. Am I wrong? And why do I keep watching crap like this??

A few weeks ago Toney and I had new passport photos taken at AAA. Our passports are about to expire, and it’s cheaper to renew before that happens. However… I won’t allow mine to go forward because the picture is so breathtakingly bad. I know they’re always bad, but this one takes it to a whole other level.

The woman was barking orders at me, telling me to keep my chin down. Further! And no smiling! You’re not allowed to smile! By the time she was done with me, I looked like some bloated double-chin corpse they found bobbing in the ocean. I was howling in protest, but she was not willing to let me have a do-over. She was a hard woman. So, I’m going somewhere else, and just paying a second fee. I mean, there’s NO WAY. I’d be looking at that hideousness for another ten years.

I thought about posting the photo here, but it’s so bad I can’t do it. You guys know I have no problem laughing at myself, but there’s a limit. I mean, seriously. I look like a fat cadaver, who recently died of sadness. I’ll just pay another $15. Gladly.

Finally, I’m watching all four of the Jaws movies on Netflix. They recently added them, and I told Toney I’m gonna watch ’em all. She gave me a look that sarcastically said, “Shoot for the stars!” which was mildly hurtful. But a person has to have his projects, right?

So far I’ve watched the first one, which is great, of course. I’ve probably seen it five times in my life, and twice during the past year. It’s nearly perfect, I think, except for that scene where Quint, the crusty old fisherman, is eaten by the shark. I know it was 1975, or whatever, but it looked like a giant rubber toy flopping around. The special effects were primitive in those days, but they weren’t horrible throughout the rest of the film. That scene, however, is ludicrous. Maybe not Ed Wood-bad, but close. Also, I used to have an issue with the ending. But I’ve made my peace with it. It’s a little comic book ridiculous, but this is Jaws we’re talking about. Not Sophie’s Choice.

And the other night I watched Jaws 2. I’m pretty sure I saw it as a new release, in the theater. But that was in 1978, when I was 15. I remembered nothing about it. I have a sense that I liked it, but you can’t trust the 15 year old Jeff Kay. God knows it’s true. I figured it would be super-bad, but it was better than that. It wasn’t great like the first one, but it was OK. Some of the same actors were back, and the movie was entertaining. The best scene, by far, was when an entire helicopter, with blades whirling and a man inside, is pulled under water by the shark. Man, that’s fantastic. The movie wasn’t bad at all. I keep thinking about it, which means… something, maybe.

I have a feeling Jaws 3 will be an absolute abomination. So, I can’t wait. I also saw it in the theater, as Jaws 3-D. I know it’s terrible, but I’m hoping it will be fun to watch. I have it penciled in for Saturday night.

I’ve never seen the final entry in the franchise, but I think it’s a full-on cartoon by that point. I seem to remember hearing that the shark can read minds by then, and stand up in the water like a fucking cobra. Looking forward to it! Michael Caine stars. For the paycheck, obviously.

I need to get moving, my friends. Another day of “opportunities” awaits.

If you have any opinions on the Jaws franchise, or blockbuster sequels, or movies you loved as a kid and saw again as a seasoned adult, please tell us about it in the comments. I asked some other questions above, as well. I can’t remember what they are, but I’m pretty sure it happened.

Have yourselves a great weekend!

I’ll be back on Monday.

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Toney and I have vowed to shake things up a bit, and not just hang around the house all the time. Like sacks. There’s stuff to do, some of it not super-expensive. But do we do it? No, we do not. We just hang around. Like sacks. This is not the way we used to be, which concerns me. So, we’re shaking it up, dammit. It started with the New York City trip a few weeks ago, which we did basically on a whim. And this Sunday we spent the day in Jim Thorpe, PA. That’s a picture of the main drag above. I didn’t take it, it’s lifted straight off Google Images. But it gives you a general idea. It’s a quaint little town in the mountains, with shops ‘n’ shit.

It was a good day. I had some doubts, which is my nature, but it turned out well. Here are some random notes:

• As far as I know, Jim Thorpe never actually set foot in this town. Not when he was alive, anyway. He was from Oklahoma, I believe, and was Native American. When he died his wife was angry that his home state was not interested in erecting a statue or a tribute to Thorpe, the great athlete. So, she basically shopped his corpse around to the highest bidder. I think that’s how it went… And this little mountain town in Pennsylvania (called Mauch Chunk, if you can believe it) promised to change its name to Jim Thorpe, construct a proper tribute, and bury his remains. Of course they also believed it would attract tourists, which seems like a dubious assumption, in my opinion. But whatever. I told myself I’d read more about the history of all this when I got home, but just watched Master Chef instead. So, if I have any of it wrong… I apologize. But I think it’s fairly accurate. And it’s weird, huh? Perhaps my hometown of Dunbar can turn it all around by changing its name to Jack Benny, West Virginia?
• We toured the Old Jail yesterday. It is, as the name suggests, an old jail. More like a small prison, really. It’s very gothic and semi-creepy. Back in the 1870s some members of an Irish secret society, called the Molly Maguires, were hanged there. They were coal miners, accused of murder. Again, I’m foggy on the details… But I think they were moving in the direction of early union activity, and the company crushed it with trumped up charges, and a kangaroo court. One of the men put his hand print on the wall of his cell, and announced that it would remain there forever, as a testament to his innocence. He sounds fairly high-maintenance to me… But the print is still there, even after they supposedly painted over it multiple times, scrubbed it, etc. Here’s a page about it.
• The girl who hosted our tour was very young, possibly 16 or 17. She seemed nice and normal, but she had a typical tour guide’s demeanor. It’s hard to explain what I mean by that. But many tour guides have a specific way of talking, and an attitude that I find mildly off-putting. I think I could do that job without the swagger and the predictable cadence. I believe it can be done. Who decided that tour guides, all around the world, must talk that way? And how did this girl, who is younger than some of the socks in my dresser drawer, already become indoctrinated? Did they send her off to tour guide college, maybe in Albert Einstein, Tennessee? Or Paul Harvey, Kentucky? I tried to discuss this fascinating phenomenon with Toney during the ride home, but she just sighed and would not engage.
• There was an old row house for sale directly across the street from the jail. It looked to be fully restored, and in great shape. We were looking through the windows, ooohing and awwwing. I asked Toney how much she thought something like that would cost, and she said $300,000. That sounded low to me, and I said a million. Well, check it out. Built in 1860, fully restored and cool as shit. I’d be all over it, if I wasn’t, you know… a sack.
• We were in an antique store with cool items like an original unused Woodstock ticket ($54), and an 8×10 photo autographed by Mike Connors, who played Mannix ($22). It was fantastic! Right up my alley. But the owner snapped and told everybody to get out. It was strange. He voiced a few apologies, but his tone wasn’t apologetic at all. There were probably ten people in the shop at the time, and he asked us all to leave. Then he locked the door, and that was that. But thirty minutes later we walked by there again, and he was open for business. Who the hell knows? Maybe his Taco Bell lunch was going rogue on him? Any ideas what it might’ve been about?
• We walked past a small shop that advertised ice cream and “vintage” candies. I’ve been suckered by the vintage candy promise before, and have always come away disappointed. They all have the same stuff: Clove gum, bubble gum cigars, etc. But I’m looking for something specific and highly elusive: Zotz. It’s a hard candy with something fizzy in the middle, sold in strips. They were around when I was a kid, and are apparently still available. But I never see ’em. Until yesterday! That place actually had the things, and I bought two strips of four, for 45 cents each. I gave one to the younger boy, waiting to see his reaction when the fizzing commenced. But he rolled with it, which is a ripoff. It was exciting, though. The highlight of the day. It’s been a decades-long Zotz drought for yours truly. What candy or snack from your kidhood do you wish you could find again? Anything? How about Prontos? Do any of you remember those?

It was a good day. Much better than hanging around the house, or walking through Sam’s Club, or whatever. We’re shaking it up like Ocasek, dammit!

But I need to go to work now. You guys have yourselves a fine day, y’hear?

And I’ll see you again on Thursday.

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A few days ago I told my son I feel mildly shitty at all times. This is a true statement. And I suspect it’s tied to the fact that I’m having a constant allergic reaction to something. It’s been going on for a month, or possibly six weeks. There’s something happening outside that’s messing with me, man. My dad says ragweed, and what in the everlasting hell is ragweed? Whatever it is makes me feel slightly off, all the time. And I’m not a fan of slightly off. Also, there’s a lot of sneezing and snot production. None of it improves my day.

But my son thinks I feel bad because I drink too much coffee. “You have, like, thirty cups a day,” he told me. That’s a gross exaggeration, I responded. I rarely have more than 25.

That was a joke. But I generally do drink one full pot in the morning, and eat nothing until mid-afternoon. Probably not good, right? But I’ve been doing it for decades. I get up, hope there’s at least one cup left from Toney’s earlier coffee session, and start a new pot a-brewin’. Then, over the next few hours, I disappear that bastard. By the time I leave for work I’m fairly jacked, and find myself shouting along to AC/DC or Thin Lizzy while navigating the Devil’s Parkway.

However, once I’m done, I’m done. I’m not one of those people who seemingly live on coffee. I’ve encountered folks who guzzle great tankards of the stuff deep into the night. They swig the java ’round the clock. “Awww, caffeine doesn’t affect me…” they say, with misplaced pride. Their central nervous systems are likely burned-out beyond repair. Good god. They’re usually smokers, too.

And I just like regular coffee, with a splash of milk. No flavorings, or any of that nonsense. I see people at Sheetz, or places like that, and it often looks like they’re conducting a science experiment. There’s all sorts of measuring and stirring and sipping and blowing. I think some of them break out an eyedropper and a rack of test tubes. I don’t understand. These are folks who will tell you they LOVE coffee, but go to great lengths to cover up any last remnant of coffee flavor. I pour mine in a cup, and throw in some milk. And I walk away. No stirring, or holding it up to the light, or dabbing a little behind my ears.

I started on the coffee habit when I was 20 or 21. Back then it wasn’t a hip fashion accessory, like it is now. It was basically an old people thing. When Steve saw me drinking a cup for the first time, he said, “What’s next? Chesterfield Kings?” Now 11 year olds are drinking it. Right? The first time I tasted the stuff was at my grandparents’ house. They always had a percolator going, and I was intrigued. My grandmother let me have a hit off of hers, and it was revolting. It tasted like liquefied dirt. Why?? Why would somebody willingly drink something like that, when chocolate milk is available? Ten or fifteen years later I was fully-invested.

My favorite for home brew: Eight O’Clock or Dunkin Donuts or Costco (Kirkland?) store brand.

My favorite at a chain: Panera. It’s the best, in my opinion. I can drink Starbucks, and pretty much any other kind of fancy-ass brew, as long as it’s uncomplicated and “normal.” Ya know? But, until I find something better, Panera will always be my first choice. It’s excellent.

Surprisingly bad coffee at a chain: Waffle House. You’d think they’d have it nailed, but their brew is acidic and unpleasant. Generally, speaking. I think you could use it to clean grout, and it’ll do a number on your digestive system, too. Have a couple of cups there, and within twenty minutes you’ll be transformed into a high-caliber diarrhea cannon. Seriously. You might want to run a length of packing tape around the opening between the toilet seat and the bowl before sitting down. The size of the splatter pattern will be astonishing.

What’s your relationship with coffee? How much do you down on a daily basis? What age did you start the habit? Do you remember the first time you tasted the stuff? If you don’t drink it, do you have something else? One of my uncles guzzles Pepsi in the morning, for the caffeine. Blecch. What about you? Anything? Use the comments link.

Also, if you have any opinions on favorite coffees for home brew, and best/worst at a chain, I’m interested in that, as well.

I hope you guys have yourselves a great weekend.

I’ll be back on Monday.

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