Mid-week ramblings...

So I'm driving down the road yesterday--a two-lane rural highway with a 55mph speed limit--and I wind up at the back of a line of cars that are all bottled up behind a red Chevrolet Caprice that's putting along at between 40 and 45.

My fist though is, of course, that people should not allow their grandparents to be out driving around on roads that other people use to get places.

I'd like to pass this vehicle but the road is winding and hilly and passing zones are few and far between. And of course the mountain road curse applies--the one that says that you won't see an oncoming car for 2-3 minutes, but as soon as you hit a passing zone, here comes eight of them all in a row, just to keep you from executing that pass. So we all just poke along like floats in a parade, fuming.

Finally we catch a break--a passing zone that's actually free. Every car ahead of me shoots around this Chevrolet and I'm right in there too. For a second, I feel a bit of pity for this old person driving it. It's got to suck to be so slow and feeble and watch everyone blow past you all the time.

But then as I pass this "geriatric" and look over, I see that it's not an old person. It's a 40-something fat guy talking on his cell phone! And he's giving the bird to all of us as we pass.

When I get to be President, it will not be illegal to just sideswipe cretins like that right into the ditch. In fact, it will be mandatory.

So then I pop into the gym and try out this ab workout/circuit-training class. This is my first time in here, and I'm hoping for a good workout, but I don't know what to expect. A cute young gal (alas, wearing a ring) comes in, and I find out that it's her first time in this class, too. All right... now I don't have to worry about looking like the newbie. I do the protective male thing tell her to just stick with me and we'll play it as it comes. She smiles and agrees, and we go get our equipment, to include some weights and one of those step benches. Everyone else grabs the small step benches. She grabs a tall one. Not to be outdone, so do I. I also grab the big weights, because I'm a guy and we do that without thinking.

Well the class starts, the tempo increases, and it soon becomes apparent that this little gazelle that I told to stick with me is very adept at this program. In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to say that she was kicking my ass like one of those chicks on the TV exercise shows. But I'm a macho guy, so I cannot and will not admit that despite the fact that my shirt was literally soaked with sweat an hour later and she looked as fresh as when she'd just walked in. She decided to mention on the way out that while she was new to this class, she's taken and taught similar classes elsewhere.

Yeah, that went well. And damn, my abs hurt today. But I'm a guy, so I'll be back in that class the next time...as far away from that little mutant as possible.

And finally, I have to say a few words about the concept of encroachment...specifically the K9 variety.

When I first got Lagniappe, I decided that he was going to live like a dog, and that meant sleeping on the floor like dogs are supposed to. (It also meant no people food, but my saintly mother ruined that by getting him addicted to ice cream and popcorn when she watched him while I was in the police academy.)

Anyway, Lagniappe had no problem sleeping on the floor, but when I went to midnights--my preferred shift--he was constantly waking me up, either by barking at people out in the hallway of my apartment building, or just clicking around with his nails on the floor and playing with his toys. So to make sure that I could sleep, I started making him come up and lie on the bed with me. He was assigned a spot down on the corner of the foot-end of the bed and that's where he was to stay when I slept.

This worked fine, and he soon learned that he was not allowed on my bed--or any other furniture--unless I was on it and gave him specific permission. If I caught him up there on his own, he got a scolding and a swat. Soon he learned to wait for permission, and every time that I went to bed, he'd stand next to the bed and just wait to be invited up. He would not come up on his own, but neither would he leave. He would just stand there waiting, and if an invite was not issued, he would whine. So he always got invited up, and he always slept in his corner down on the foot-end. And live was good.

Now here we are years later. He still waits for permission--and refuses to leave until he gets it--and he still goes down to sleep in his corner. The problem is, now more and more, I'm waking up early in the morning to find a German Shepherd head up on my pillows. Apparently he's trying to re-negotiate the agreement all of a sudden. So I nudge him awake and send him back down to his corner, but the next morning, these he is again.

Next thing you know, he'll be wanting his breakfast there. No wonder the police department kicked this lazy cur to the curb.Lagniappe says: "Hey man...it is a dog's life. Get over it."