Windmill Manor

I recently drove past a cow pasture and saw that the cows were gone and instead houses were being built in their place. A big sign proudly read:

‘Harrington Ridge’, Exclusive Acreage Estates!

I didn’t understand the name; there is no area around here with even a reference to Harrington! And it was a perfectly flat cow field, and there was no ridge! So, where did they get that name? And how could that land be considered exclusive? There wasn’t even one tree, any pond or river, just grass, and really small plain looking homes. Maybe it’s exclusive because they raked up the cow poop.

I started thinking of other developments and their names… There was ‘Apple Park’, which didn’t have a single apple tree anywhere. ‘Dolphin Springs’ condominiums - cheap, high rises on a main boulevard.  No dolphins, and no springs!

Then there’s ‘Rolling Hills’.  No hills!

‘Twin Lakes’.  No lakes!

So realizing that the name of your neighborhood had not be factual but fancy sounding, I went into the office of my mobile home park and pointed out that it was named, ‘Windmill Manor’, and of course there wasn’t a Windmill.

“Well, what would you call it then?” The nice general manager lady asked me?

“I don’t know. Something fancy.  Make people think were exclusive.”

“But were not exclusive.  We’re just—”

“A bunch of big aluminum boxes!” I cut her off.

“I prefer prefabricated homes.”

“Yeah, but we need something great, something that will make people want to visit here like Thunder Canyon Estates!”

I glanced and notice that she’s looking at me weird.

“Well we do get a lot of thunder when it rains,” I said.  “Ok, how ’bout, Emerald Falls!”

“Uh, there are no falls,” she said.

“Yeah, well there’s no windmill either.”

“I’ll tell you what.  I will take it to the homeowner’s board and present your ideas.”

“Oh that would be great.”

“We’ll get back with you.”

“Tell them if they don’t like those names I have a bunch more.”

“That’s great, have a nice day” she said with a really big smile.  Then her lovely assistant grabbed my arm and quickly escorted me out.

Well it’s been 3 weeks now and every time I ask she tells me they are considering my proposal.  However, I am starting to think that she is lying to me and that they are not considering my ideas at all!  Heck she might not have even told them! That’s what my girl thinks.  Well, my names sure sound fancier than dumb old Windmill Manor! 

The Class

I was at a local minor league baseball game one Saturday evening strolling around before the game when I happened into a tent for the local cable company. They were advertising free computer lessons and solicited me to take a course that was sponsored by them. Anyone who knows me agrees that my skills in this area are terrible. So, I signed up and reported the following Monday night at a local community center.

Right away I recognized that though it may have been sponsored by the cable company, it was not run by them but instead the government on some level.  I make it a lifetime rule to never get mixed up in anything that has any element of government except when forced to by law, like taxes etc.

There was definitely a mixed bag of folks and this mix made for some chaotic lessons.  I will try to recount for you a typical evening.

First the characters 

1.         Several new immigrants from non English speaking countries learning our language.

2.         An old lonely women in her seventies who feels the need to comment on everything.

3.         A screaming baby.

4.         A guy who doesn’t want to be there except to receive a free computer offered upon completion of the class.

5.         A women who is the neighbor of the baby’s mother and a slow learner.

6.         A Haitian women who talks on her cell phone through half of the class.

Instructor: “Ok everybody.  Let’s press the big button on the computer to turn it on.”

Student 1:  “I don’t see it.  Is it a big button or small? I knew this class was going to be hard.”

Haitian woman:  “Hello . . . yes how are you… oh nothing. . . I’m in a class for the computer…”

Student 2:  “I remember once in 1945, I was in Ireland and they had a big button to turn on the heater.  It was very cold there that year.  I remember wearing a sweater…”

Baby:  “Waaah.  Waaaah.”

Baby’s mother:  “Hush baby.  You be good.”

Immigrant 1:  “I am sorry.  My English not so good.  We turn something this way”

Instructor: “No, turn it on.  It means push the button.”

Immigrant 1:  “You mean push like this?”  He uses his arms in a pushing motion.

Instructor.  “No, with your finger.”

Free computer guy:  “What kinda free computer we gonna get?”

Instructor: We will talk all about that on another night.  In fact a representative will come in to explain everything. Now does everybody have their computers on?”

Student 1: “What shape is the button, like a circle or something?”

Student 2:  “I once went to an art show in France and all the artist drew were circles.  They were blue and green and…”

Free computer guy:  “Are they gonna be good computers like those ones you can carry with you?”

Haitian woman:  “Yes yes, I can talk more . . . we are just starting the computer.”

Baby  “Waaa waaa.”

Student 2:  “Back in the forties we gave colicky babies some ginger root to chew on.”

Baby’s mother:  “He’s not colicky. He just doesn’t want to be here.”

Me:  “Yes, I’m starting to share his view.”

Instructor  “Who does not have their computer on? Raise your hand.  Oh, that many…”

And so that is how the entire three week class went, but it wasn’t all for nothing because in just three week’s time we learned:

How to turn on the computer

How to turn on our monitor.

How to use our mouse.

Not to give our credit card number to strangers.

Keep our password secret.

And only one week to send an E mail.

Maybe if the teachers would have enforced a few simple rules, the class wouldn’t have been chaos.  Crazy rules like: 

No baby’s

No talking on your phone.

No rambling about nothing.

And no asking the same question about your free computer over and over.

At least that’s the way I would have gone. But then again, I don’t work for the government.

So, You Want to be in Business

So you’ve taken the big step.  You have saved money for years, lived frugally, and borrowed the rest.  Now you are ready to be an entrepreneur, living the dream of working for yourself.

First you will need property, so you go out and buy a piece of land in which to build your dream store.  Ah, but beware, now that you have purchased your property local government steps in. You see there is no construction that can happen until they have done an environmental study to ensure the safety of Freddy the mud frog, and brown crickets, all at your expense of course. After all, we don’t want to make Freddy mad because if he protests about his relocation, then your land will be deemed a wild life sanctuary and become undevelopable. But you still have to pay taxes on it, of course.

If Freddy and his cricket friends agree, then you have to hire an architect to meet the hundreds of code rules that are enforced by mindless inspectors whom ache to find something wrong, thus validating their useless jobs. Immediately, the architect has come to you with a concern: you wanted to put big hooks in the back room to hang plastic tubing that you use for your business.

According to rule HG457, small children could hang themselves on these hooks and therefore they are illegal.

But children would not even be in the building much less the back room you reason. However, the bureaucrats are concerned that children could break in after hours, perhaps after midnight, and then remove your tubing and decide to hang themselves in some secret adolescent ritual. So, no hooks for you.  Next you’re informed that you have to install hurricane safety windows even though you are in Kansas. It turns out that a local friend of the mayor has a factory that manufactures these.

At last the plans are complete and building begins.  First the foundation is poured but then everything stops. It seems the cement inspector only comes out whenever he feels like it, and lately he doesn’t feel like it. Luckily for you, the builder is familiar with this inspector and for certain considerations (money) he could be persuaded to visit your sight within mere weeks! And so it goes nobody does anything from the government without a bribe.  After months of delays, you’ve run out of money and you desperately go back to friends to borrow more.

Finally, the building is done and you check on the next phase which is drive and parking construction that will permit your customers to visit you easily. However, the zoning folks have not permitted a direct driveway to be built to enter your business from the road even though you paid considerable money for property that runs adjacent to the main road.  Instead you must build an access road that only allows traffic from one direction to enter and then only after taking a twisty extended drive behind your establishment.

The inspector stated, “We can’t just have people pulling directly into your business Willy Nilly whenever they want!”  You get angry at that statement and your spouse restrains you from killing the zoning person and burying them on the property!! 

At last your building and lame inaccessible drive and parking are complete. After an extended battle with the sign czars, you are allowed to have a small sign placed in front of your business for all to see; too bad they cannot figure out where to enter and park.

Nothing could go wrong, now it is almost time for your grand opening!  Yeah at last.

However, it seems that there was one more inspector that you did not consider . . . the landscaping man. He has demanded huge ten foot tall trees be planted in a row directly in front of your business. 

“Nobody would be able to see my business from the road,” you object!

“Exactly,” states the man.  “There is nothing uglier than a cement store and parking lot, my job is to maintain the beauty of nature and diminish the blight of development.”

“But I spent 100 thousand dollars on this store!”

“Maybe you could give your friends a flyer or something.  Good bye.”

And so it goes despite your best efforts.  Nobody see’s your store through the forest of trees or can figure out how to enter and eventually your dream dies and you close, putting the place up for sale.

But wait!  All is not lost! It turns out that the local zoning commission has hired many new employees and is looking for additional space for their offices. They have offered you 50 percent of your original investment and you are forced to sell in order to pay back the money you’ve borrowed.  So after paying off all those officials and jumping through incredible hoops it is the bureaucrats who are enjoying your lovely building complete with hurricane windows.

Postnote!   You drove by your former store recently and there was construction directly in front, a sign posted read as follows…

DUE TO THE DIFFICULT ACCESIBILITY OF THIS BUILDING, A DIRECT DRIVEWAY IS BEING BUILT.  YOUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK.

Look, Maw. Them Folks are Dancin'!

More and more the central and local bureaucrats have decided that they are smarter than you.  Therefore, they enact laws to protect you from yourself because well, you’re just too dumb to take care of yourself.

Your freedom is being taken away in small increments but perhaps you were just busy and haven’t noticed.

In Chicago one school principal has outlawed children from bringing lunch from home. No more brown sacks as you’re too inept to feed your own kids.  He knows better!  But some folks didn’t notice:

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“Lookie there, Maw.  Them stars are dancing real good on the television.  Ain’t that something?

“Mom, Dad, the principal said I can’t bring lunch from home no more.”

“Sure dear, whatever.  Sit down and watch TV.  Look, that’s some real fancy twirling.”

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In another township I read that they passed a law that children cannot play unsupervised by an adult.  That’s right.  You have to follow them around all day lest they build a fort or climb a tree, strictly forbidden in P.C. America:

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“Honey, they passed this new law that says I can’t let the kids play alone! I can’t spend all day supervising them I have a million things I must do here at the house.”

“Not now, the Packers are moving the ball, just do whatever. I’m sure you will figure something out.”

‘Really, thanks a lot, I don’t know what to do, we can’t afford fines because the kids are playing alone.  That’s ridiculous.”

“Boo, Boo.  Bad call ref.  He wasn’t holding!”

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I often watch ‘Cops’ the T V show as they stop adults on bicycles and issue them tickets for no helmet and reflective clothing, as if they were six years old!  Then, to make matters worse they make them walk their bike home as it is too dangerous to ride.

Who cares?  You don’t ride a bike and besides, Jerry Springer is about to start.

A township in New York has outlawed barber shop poles that spin because you will be so mesmerized by this distraction you will drive off the road mowing down helpless pedestrians. That had never actually happened but it could, so the local big shots are protecting you from each other.

Ooh hurry turn on Oprah, the ghost whisperer is coming on, or…

You could attend civic meetings and get involved taking a stand to stop the tyranny; however… that may interfere with Judge Judy!

In Retrospect, There May Have Been a Problem

When I was about ten years old, I lived a few houses from a boy named Jeffery. He was different than most of the other boys as his idea of fun was a little off beat.

I remember the first time we went into the basement of his house, he was eager to show me this fun game he enjoyed. He went to a hiding spot and retrieved his sisters Barbie dolls, then produced a steak knife and stabbed the knife in Barbie’s breasts and privates all the while laughing fiendishly just like a villain on one of my TV cartoon shows.

“Here you try,” he urged, but I declined wondering why he thought that was fun. Then after the torture he tore off the legs and arms just for good measure.

Another time he urged my sister and I into the woods with a promise of playing a fun new game. We naively followed and when we were secluded, he urged us to undress so we could all touch the others private parts. We declined and left him standing there as we went to play with the regular kids. Still another time I caught him pulling the legs off of grasshoppers.  He watched on gleefully as they floundered around legless on the ground, all the while laughing in delight. To my credit I did make him stop, but I’m sure he continued on after I left.

I remember the time he offered me candy from a small sack and as I put one in my mouth he broke out in glee as he confessed they were rabbit poop. I will never forget that fiendish laugh of his.

Then there were the times, amazingly at ten years old, he was able to produce cigarettes and liquor and urged me to experience these fun new pastimes. I remember a lit cigarette in his mouth as he took a sip of some booze.  “C’mon, try it.  Don’t be a baby.  It’s fun.”  But I didn’t.

Now, I am much older and in retrospect, I realize that Jeffery was a bit troubled, but as a kid I did not see him as anything but odd. I hope he got therapy and never went on to hurt anyone, but I guess I’ll never know. 

I'm Just Not Hip

If I was young in today’s crazy culture, I’m sure I just wouldn’t fit in!

I’ll start with my technological abilities, or more accurately, my lack thereof.  Let’s say some hot young women after meeting me decides to text me explaining how irresistible I am and how bad she wants me.  I’m afraid we would both be out of luck.  I only know conversation.  It’s an old-style form of communication, but very effective. People have successfully used it for centuries and it offers unlimited minutes, all for free. It’s really much faster than texting, and you don’t have to use abbreviations.

To make matters worse, I don’t network socially, well not on Twitter or Facebook or that kind of thing.  Instead, I meet with people and we have conversations in person, face to face!  Imagine that.  Sometimes my friends plan big networking sessions we call parties. 

Also, I’m afraid that I am sorely out of style as well. Let’s see, first, I have no tattoos, not even one.  And even stranger, no piercings, either. I’m definitely not putting anything thru my tongue, naval, eyebrow, nipple, or nether regions.  Ouch!  And putting metal slugs in my ear lobes to stretch them out?  Isn’t that reserved for carnival sideshow freaks?  Plus, I wear my underwear under my clothes and I even own a belt and wear it!  And, as a bonus, I know how to tie my shoes.

Furthermore, I do not consider ghetto-trash yelling insults angrily into a microphone as talented folks expressing themselves or entertaining in any sense. I’m sorry that they never learned how to play a musical instrument and are mad and frustrated about having no talent. I can’t play professional sports, but if I was to yell and rant about not being athletic into a microphone, I would not expect people to be entertained!   Perhaps they are good at gardening or some other endeavor.

I reminisce about television programs of doctors, policemen and detectives solving problems and helping people, not halfwits who had twenty babies or bimbos who live in New Jersey or any other reality show where nobodies are followed around as if any rational person would care what they do.

Furthermore, my chances of impressing some girl with my car is doubtful.  I’m pretty sure today’s girls are not any more impressed with my station wagon than they were in my day. And imagine, I have a radio with only a factory speaker! Gasp! How could I turn it up and deafen everyone within 50 yards!  Why I’m no fun at all!

But, maybe I am too fast in my assessment. I may not have any of these modern desirable traits but, I do have a job! That puts me in elite company within today’s modern guy. Why, I can afford to actually take a girl out and spend money on her. Not hang in my car with my penniless buddies lamenting our poverty.  And I have my own house, so if we did hit it off, I could bring her back to my place for some ‘Boodie- licious’ hooking up or whatever they call it now, not try and sneak her in while my parents are sleeping.

So perhaps I might not be as unpopular as I imagine. But then again, I wouldn’t be able to show you even one tattoo and that makes me a real square. Guess I’ll stay in my own age demographic and just imagine from my computer. Besides there’s a sale on Geritol this week.  Better run right over there and get some. Oh wait, I’m only fifty.  I may be too young for that and too old for rap.  Guess I’m stuck in between.

I'm Glad Not to be a Kid Now

I sure am glad I grew up in the sixties.  Being a kid today just wouldn’t be any fun. Today’s constantly hovering helicopter parents would die if they were transported back a few decades.  Why?  Let’s start with one of my favorite summer pastimes . . . catching bugs!  Today’s parents would be chasing me around with hand disinfectant, scrubbing my hands after every captured bug! Not to mention the lecture I’d get about how I may be traumatizing the bug.  Kind of takes the fun out of it. I’m sure the way I used to catch bugs would be strictly prohibited today.

In addition to bug catching, we were allowed to climb high trees, risking possible injury. Nowadays that could only happen if the parents had the fire department waiting below with safety nets!   Other potentially fatal activities were officially sanctioned as well, like riding our bikes without a helmet going against traffic, or rummaging through everyone’s garbage for deposit bottles or other hidden treasures that we could bring home!  Deposit bottles were worth 5 cents and just one would buy a tasty candy bar.  Imagine the possibilities!  I’m afraid today rummaging through garbage would be considered trespassing as the garbage owner would be worried about lawsuits from ridiculous parents, not to mention the possible exposure to toxic waste!  Today’s parents would worry about the kids discovering waste from a nuclear reactor or some other imagined bio hazards in your neighbors can. Surely the kids would need a full hazmat suit.                                                                 

And, horror of horrors, we were allowed to play randomly and unsupervised in the neighborhood with any other kid who was available. Imagine that.  No supervised play date with pre-determined friends whom we didn’t choose and may not even like. No over protective parents hovering feet away looking on nervously, terrified we might fall and skin a knee whence specialists would be called in:  one plastic surgeon ensuring we heal leaving no scar, and an emotional counselor to help us thru the trauma of falling.

Organized sports were different back then, too. Teams and individuals could lose.  Not everybody was a winner, and you did not receive a participation trophy for trying. It turns out that my self esteem is just fine and I learned that I could not always win and be the best at every endeavor that I attempted. It gave me perspective about my place in the world, and taught me that I should work hard because I am not going to get that good job just because I ‘participated’ in the application process.

DANGER!  Read this at your own risk and try not to faint.  My parents spanked me and worse, so did the neighbors if they decided I was bad.  And my parents never sued; instead they thanked them and invited them to dinner.  Because of this barbaric, horrific practice, I never randomly vandalized anything, joined a gang and or did things that would get me punished.  What a concept.  I also never considered myself abused in anyway. Back then we had common sense, something sorely missing today.

Dr Spock was an unknown, no-nothing jerk who had no kids of his own and was not qualified to raise goldfish, much less comment on child raising. Why would anyone listen to him? That would be the same as me telling farmers how to farm even though I never farmed myself. However, I read something about farming in books at college, so now I am an expert and know better than the farmer?

At Halloween we were allowed to roam completely unsupervised in our costumes, collecting booty from door to door. Parents did not follow feet behind and guess what . . . Nobody ever received razors in their apples or poisoned candy. Furthermore we kids were not abducted by perverts and sold into childhood slavery.  And if they had really good candy, who knows, I may have volunteered for some indentured servitude as long as they had an ample supply of goodies.

We kids ran around like maniacs and hardly paid any attention in school.  We did a lot of daydreaming, as well. That’s what kids do!  We didn’t need A D.D. medicine. A slap to the head was all that was required, and it was cheaper and easier to dispense than medicine.  

So to all you modern helicopter parents I say, you do not know better than the generations before you. Thousands of years of parenting research and discussion went into childrearing before you ever came along, and we had already figured it out.  I know a guy on Oprah told you that he is smarter than everyone who came before him, and that he is enlightened because he read about children in college!  Don’t believe all that garbage on television spewed by phony experts. Instead, open your mind.  Let go!  You know what is really best for your kids. Quit over-thinking and let them be kids. You’ll have plenty of things to fret about without micro-managing every minute of their day, and that will make everybody happier.