Color Me a Rainbow

I was going on my first trip in a long time and when I started packing, the zipper on my luggage ripped, so I knew I had to get a new set.  The bags I had were 15 years old and even though I did not use them that much, they got damaged from being in my basement and having other items stored on top of them.  This luggage was a wedding gift from my sister and luggage had been modernized since then, as all the newer models had extra compartments and they came with wheels that made them easier for transport.  I decided to get some of those luggage identifiers, to make my bags stick out and hopefully keep other people from touching my bags while they were on the airport baggage carousel conveyors.  I know that I had gotten dirty looks for picking up someone else’ bags to check them, because they looked a lot like mine and I figured that the luggage identifiers would do the trick to dissuade others from grabbing my bags and also alert me that I was grabbing the right bag.

I bought a matching set of luggage that contained 3 bags, so I purchased 3 luggage identifiers to go along with them and I selected the rainbow, because it looked very distinctive.  When I brought my new luggage home and showed it to my wife, she told me that I should not have selected the rainbow identifiers, because she said that everyone would think that I was gay.  I laughed and asked her when did the rainbow become gay and she asked me if I am living under a rock, because everyone knows that the rainbow is a symbol for the gay community.  I didn’t know anyone that was gay, so I never got the message and to me the rainbow was filled with beautiful colors and it didn’t signify anything to me except being very distinctive, so I was going to keep it and use it with pride.  My flight was taking off the next morning and with this unexpected trip to the luggage store and the fact that I still needed to pack my bags, I knew that I was not going back to return them.  I really don’t care if somebody thinks that I am gay, as long as they don’t try to pick me up.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is to use the word “color/colour”.

Homework

This compound word starts off really good, as everybody likes to have a home, but work is a four-letter word.  When you are at home, this is your own time and you can relax and do things that you enjoy.  Work tends to consume your life, as it takes you away from the things that you like, robs you of sleep and make you grumpy, thus this is a really bad word and it should never be connected with home.  Homework was invented in 1905 by some A-hole teacher as a method to punish his students, but it caught on big time.  Homework became a method of learning by repetition and everyone thought that if things were repeated over and over, that was how people should learn, but I always viewed it as punishment.  When I chewed gum in class, I was told to stay after and write on the blackboard 100 times, “I shall not chew gum in class” and this punishment never taught me anything of value.

I was always good in Math, because I was able to see the patterns.  My Algebra teacher told me that I had the highest grades out on any of his students on all the tests, but he was going to give me a B on my report card, because I did not hand in any homework.  I figured that I did not need to do any homework, because I knew what I was doing and homework should be for the students that still need to learn, however my teacher felt different about this.  I really did not care that much about grades and I had no idea what the future had in store for me.  It was probably best that I waited to go to college, as I most likely would have just ended up flunking out because I was interested in partying.

I was an average student in High School graduating with a class rank of 154 out of 412 students.  I scored an 840 on my SAT’s, getting a 550 in Math, but only a 290 in English.  After graduating, I spent 7 years out of High School before I finally matriculated where I guess that I had between 15 to 20 different jobs.  I worked at a warehouse, a loading dock, a factory, a foundry, an assembly line, a car wash on a golf course and many other positions that were not well suited for me.  One day I knew that I was going nowhere and since my dad repaired TV sets and my brother was an electrician, I decided to study electrical engineering.

On my first day of college, I attended an orientation seminar, where the speaker said that for every hour that you spent in class, that you should go home and study for two hours, so that is what I did.  If I had five hours of class, I went home and studied for ten hours.  I was seven years older than all of the other students, so I kept to myself, went to class and then I went home and studied.  I had five courses that first semester and I got five A’s and I made the National Junior College honor roll.  The classes were easy for me, because I was studding all the time.

I took Trigonometry this first semester and my professor told me not to take the final exam and I told him that I did not mind taking it, but then he said that since he grades on a curve, that if I were to take this final exam, that all of the other students would get a lower grade.  He said that I had a 98 average in this class and that no matter what grade I got on the final, that he would have to give me an A.  I skipped the final because I did not want anyone else to get a lower grade.

I realize that practicing things, repeating stuff and doing things again can be good for some students, because this forces information to stick in their brains, but everyone needs to learn at their own pace and if you are not ready to learn then homework is futile.  I see the value in studying, but homework will always be a punishment for me and it seems to turn people into robots.  I think the education system should put more emphasis on teaching that inspires students, rather than trying to force them to do things that they don’t enjoy.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is to write about your least favorite word, something that really bugs you.

Obi Juan You’re My Only Hope

I was the only thing left in Pandora’s box, after she let all types of evil things escape.  I stayed inside of this box securely locked away, till Trump became president and everyone felt like there was no optimistic outlook left for the world, as evil had surely taken over forever.  Death, disease and a whole bunch of other bad stuff came along with Trump and even though it was nice and cozy having this box all to myself, I cried out that I couldn’t take it anymore, so Jimmy when are you coming back to make this world a better place for everyone to live in.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is hope.

I’m Going Home

There is nothing delightful or insightful about being overweight.  This is my eighteenth nervous breakdown since somebody turned up the brightness in the lighthouse.  Maybe it is just a dream and the playwright might straighten everything out, yea right.  I cheated, as I wasn’t able to come up with one word that had the string of letters “igh” in it without looking it up.  I don’t enjoy cheating, because that is not the way I roll, but I will try to make it up to everyone with this song, ‘I’m Going Home’, where if you shorten it to just using the first letters of each word, you get IGH.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where this week the prompt was too difficult for me.

Up with This, Down with That

Protesting is a way of objecting, or disapproving of something and when Vinnie Barbarino got mad, he would say, “Up your nose with a rubber hose.”  Cain made the first protest thinking that people would try to kill him to avenge the murder he committed, so God marked him to keep others from harming him.  The Protestants were the first organized protesters that I know of and Martin Luther objected to the corrupt practice of the church selling indulgences and he defiantly nailed a copy of his 95 Theses to the door of the Wittenberg Castle church.  I have never been in a protest, but if I found out that somebody was organizing one to protest Donald Trump, I think I would join in.

The most important thing to remember when you are playing golf is to keep your head down, because if you look up too early, the only thing that you will see if a bad shot.  There are times when you need to keep your head up, especially when life is trying to bring you down.  I am not sure where I am headed when my life is over and I figure that I could go up or down, either taking that stairway to heaven, or that highway to hell.  I felt like I was coming down with something last night, but when I got up this morning, I was much better.  It looks like another day of writing for me and I can get down with that.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where this week the prompt is “up/down” and we are asked to try and use one of these words in the first sentence and bonus points will be awarded if we can get the other word in the last sentence.

It Is Hot in This Hut

Too much heat is not safe for anyone and I like staying cool.  This heat is even riskier if you are older or have health problems like I have.  I made mistakes, I lost my house and I had to declare bankruptcy, but I never thought that I would end up living in a god-forsaken hut on desolation row.  I endured a loveless marriage, a job that never went anywhere, a family full of assholes and bastards, but living is this hut has become the rock bottom point of my life, a symbol of my complete disaster and constant humiliation.  There is no furniture, the rotting leaves on the roof stink to high heavens, there is actually moss growing on the floor and you can’t make this stuff up.  The raccoon ate my hat and I ran out of weed.  What I wouldn’t do for another hit, but there are some lines that I won’t cross, as I will always remain a heterosexual person.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where this week the prompt is hat, het, hit, hot, hut.

Mulligan

The driving range is a place where golfers go to work on their game, but it is nothing like playing a round of golf.  It contains separated areas where you place range balls (something that is inferior to a regular gold ball) on a rubber tee that is positioned on a rubber mat.  In golf putting (these are the strokes taken when you are on the green, the shorter grass area where the cup is located) is said to be half of the game and it usually accounts for about half of the strokes that a golfer takes.  Thus, if a golf hole (area from tee to cup, usually 18 of these on every course) is 400 yards in length, a par golfer (someone that plays very well) should take two strokes to get to the green from the tee and then they would be able to sink their golf ball into the cup with two putts, giving them the score of 4 on this hole which is designated as a par 4.

Most of the time spent while you are on a golf course is taken up walking from where you hit your golf ball to where it ends up, so people see this as a boring sport where not much is going on and to some extent that may be true.  I enjoy playing golf and the walking is great exercise, but the conversations are what I enjoy most.  I guess people can have great conversations when they are fishing, or bowling, or throwing darts, but there is something extremely special about being out on the golf course.  The odd thing about golf is that you have to play your mistakes, which may also come into play when you are bowling.  Ted Williams once argued with Sam Snead that it is harder to hit a baseball than it is to hit a golf ball, because the golf ball is standing still and the baseball is coming at you 90 miles per hour.  Sam Snead responded by saying that in golf you have to play your mistakes, unlike baseball where if you hit a foul ball, you get a new pitch.

This is what makes golf such a difficult sport and especially challenging for a beginner, as those are the golfers that will hit more bad shots.  It looks easy when a professional golfer plays, as they hit the ball in the fairway and the fact that they take less strokes, means that they are expending less energy and not getting as tired as the beginner, who usually gets worse as they get tired.  The only ways to get good in golf are to either have natural talent, to take golf lessons, or to practice, which brings us back to the driving range.  The biggest difference between golf and other sports, is the way your score is kept, as in most of the others you try to score more points, runs, or goals to win, where in golf your objective is to have the least number of strokes.  This is the reason why I never enjoyed being at the driving range that much, as there is no scoring at the range.  Everybody gets in their stall, tees up their ball and takes a whack at it and then watches where it goes.  When your ball is sitting on a tee, it is called a drive and when you swing at it and it is not on a tee, it is called a shot.  The range is a great way to practice, but it is not as fun as playing real golf on a real golf course.

I did have a really embarrassing moment on a driving range one day.  I took this monster swing at the golf ball and my club slipped out of my hand.  It went whirling around over the heads of a dozen golfers that were in their stalls hitting balls to the left of me.  I didn’t want to lose my club, so I had to retrieve it and go past all these other golfers that looked at me like I was an idiot for swinging at the ball as hard as I did.  I smiled and said, “Sorry about that.”

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where this week the prompt is drive.

Darn Yarn

I have spun a few yarns in my day, but I actually don’t know all that much about yarn.  My ex used to crochet, but she never made anything, as she would always pull all the yarn out muttering something about having made some type of mistake.  Anyway, she enjoyed it, as it gave her something to do with her hands as we watched TV in the evenings.  I am not sure what the difference is between crocheting, knitting, and embroidery, but I think that they are all different from sewing, as that uses thread and the others use yarn.  Who are these people that use yarn?  Some are mathematicians, some are carpenter’s wives and some just like to stay busy.  Some make baby booties and if it is a male child, then will get tangled up in blue.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where this week the prompt is yarn.

Pay the Piper

The Grim Reaper came around yesterday and told me that I have one week left before he comes back to collect my soul.  Shit, time really flies as it only seems like yesterday when I made that deal with him.  I tried to reason with him, telling him that I am 68 years old and since the average American male only lives to be 77, that if he just came back in another 9 years, that I would be more than ready to go with him.  I told the Grim Reaper that I had just met this fine-looking woman and I wanted to start the final chapter of my life with her.  He said that he was tired of hearing people beg for their lives and that I had nothing to negotiate with, but if I could find a talking raven, that maybe he would listen to the bird.

I searched high and low for a talking raven and everyone thought that I was stark raving mad for trying to talk with these birds.  My search seemed futile, but then a raven came knocking on my door at midnight.  I let it in and I fed it and I took care of it and we became good friends and she said that her name was Lenore.  We had some great conversations and I told the bird that I needed her to talk the Grim Reaper out of taking my soul.  The bird said, “You have been off your meds for two weeks and you need to start taking that Lithium again and get off of this crazy train.  There is no Grim Reaper and I am not a bird, I am your brain speaking to you, and I took on the guise of this raven, because I thought this was the only way to get through to you.  Promise me that you will start taking your medication again.”  I told Lenore, “Nevermore” and then I stopped talking to her after that.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where this week the prompt is collect.

Where Is the K?

I am not talking about the DJ Murray the K, or the cereal Special K, or the date rape drugs Ketamine, or Rohypnol which is also called a roofie, as to me unless I am going to write about some giant mythical bird, I want to rock.  I love this Stream of Consciousness writing and I also look forward to reading what others write, as there is no telling what J Dubsy is going to say in any of her posts.  I wish I would have gone to the School of Rock, because I really do love music and because of the music challenges that I am hosting, my taste is becoming more versatile, so old dogs can learn new tricks.  I have a really challenging prompt for tomorrow’s Song Lyric Sunday, as I am asking people to pick two songs and compare them, or contrast them, or just plain analyze them, by finding some common point, between the two songs.

This is something that we have never done before on SLS and I am hoping that it turns out good, but you never know, just like this prompt that Linda chose, it could go anywhere.  It would be great if somebody would pick a Jimi Hendrix song and compare it with a Eric Clapton song, but this doesn’t have to be about rock and somebody could choose a Janet Jackson song and compare that to a Selena song.  One of my regulars is a big Tay Tay fan and so you don’t have to look that up, it means she likes Taylor Swift.  Another regular is a big fan of Imogen Heap and I am getting to know these performers from the post that these people contribute.  If anyone is confused about the SLS prompt, please contact me and I will be glad to help you, but for now, since “roc” looks incomplete to me, I just want to give it some Ka-Ching!

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where this week the prompt is to find a word with “roc” in it, or use it as a word all by itself.