Mike Healy's Blog

Holiday Time, Food for Thought

Mike Healy — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 20:38:28 +0000

Time. Thinking about it is a trip. According to Mick and the boys, “It’s on our side”. I’m not so sure as it seems to be fleeting quicker than any fairweather friend ever did.

Time, what is this dimension that we are inexplicably woven into, that when we exit its’ grasp has quilted the very fabric and story of our life?

Aristotle speculated time is simply motion, and that motion could be slower or faster, but not time. Time is consistent. Einstein came along with his theory of relativity and proposed that time is subject to the laws of physics and can in fact slow down or speed up depending on the expansion of the universe. Their conclusions, factually accurate or flawed, are interesting yet matter not, for their past.

So what is time? Spend some and think about it. It is, as we know all too well finite, and as such, should be thoughtfully spent.

Time is a measurement of change ,an illusion really as only the present truely exists. The future is only our way of speculating what will be based on calculated measuring of the past. The present, while it exists, is gone before you even have had a chance to actually think about it. The next syllable, the next key stroke as I write, shoves the previous keystroke and syllable into the past. The past is just that “past” and can only exist in the present as a memory.

It’s only quite recent, relatively speaking, that technology has enabled us to record change as it occurs in “real time”, so we can relive the past in the present. Not long ago, the only way to remember time past was neurological. Today I can listen again “live” to Brian Jones play the harp on “The Spider and the fly” recorded some thirty years ago. I can “relive” a Pavarotti performance of “La Boheme” in the present. I can feel anxious again, this very second if I want to, as I watch Flutie on utube fade back and launch what became the most infamous pass in football history. I can still feel today, by looking at a photograph, the toothless wet kiss my grandmother always gave me when we got together at the Thanksgiving table.

Time creates and enables. There is a “first” for everything, which only logically leads to a “last”. Having kids you can remember their first breath; having parents you will never forget their last. When you’re in love you remember the first kiss, when you lose someone you love you longinly remember the last.

As you go through life every fleeting second of the present should be cherished and spent with those that you are willing to let have the privilege to shape and mold your future. The present paves in hard top the road ahead, parse it out carefully, never wasting on whimsical. Remember as you “spend time” so you shape and mold not only your life but that of those around you. You bring people in and out of other people’s life’s do so carefully This temporal life leads to eternity, the absence of time and as such the absence of change. If we take with us those around us as some believe, I want to be with the right people.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, and we “look forward” to it. as we should. It’s a “good time”. Always one of my favorite of holidays, not just for the food and drink , buy rather because it’s the choice we make to spend the present with family ,and those we love and cherish, and for that day we are mindful of the fact, and thankful, for being together in the present. We “cherish” because we know over time ,we will lose, for the very nature of time dictates that nothing lasts. The people around our table come and go. Life in time is about change, about loss and yes additions to those you surround yourself with. Time robs us of some, yet rewards us with others as it relentlessly marches on. William Michael Healy, alias “Wild Bill”, Billy the Kid” and I’m sure Maria Healy has come up with dozens others, Billy did not exist last year, yet yesterday he was celebrated at a few feasts ; a new cherished addition to such a huge family.

Thanksgiving was a good time in Lowell. I saw Maria’s video post on Face Book. Yesterday was time with family that I missed and never will get it back. The memories are not mine, and never will be. Mine were different. The fabric of my life different than it would have been had I been there, as it is different also for those I care about. But “time” as some genius discovered has its effects on single malt scotch, which makes times lost like this tolerable.

Today is Black Friday, Time set aside for folks to spend ,waiting in line to save money they earned over time for their time on crap they don’t need. Talk about “moments that make up a dull day”. The only way I could waste so much of mine, would be making time stand still with a bong rip. Now that is a great idea. After all it logically follows, If you could make time stand still, then it mgiht actually be more on your side.

Well, “The time is gone, this song is over, Thought I’d something more to say”.

Occupy This

Mike Healy — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 17:34:34 +0000

So the big movement looks to be over, if not severly weakened. The working people had enough of these fools deficating all over America. Occupy, bottom line had no core. They had no leadership and no message. Instead the senseless rantings of a bunch of idiots. The end I think was the big story last week, where they themselves raised money and then put it in the same banks whose window they broke only a week or two earlier. Genious.

Then they kiss the behind of the likes of Michael Moore, that must be some task . He will produce one of his factless films on them and make a bank, he is of course one of the top 1%.

You can’t make this stuff up.

I have not heard one demonstrator, not one of them, say anything coherant, and BTW isn’t it coporate america that pays the taxes that has cleaned up the parks that they trashed. Morons.

So hey, Occupy this. Go home fools. Get a job, even if its picking fruit, hell that’s good enough for a migrant worker, you all have been living that life now for a while, should be an easy transition. Here is another idea, join the military. Go on a tax payer vaction to an exotic foreign land and kill some bad people. Good times.

Maybe you can go back to community college. Don’t whatever you do support a 4 year big name school. they are part of the problem. talk about big corporations

Maybe, here is the big one, get a life. Not too late, for most of you, hell it’s early yet. Those of you who are old and grey, just do us a favor and go home and call Dr Conrad Murray, see if when he gets out if he can come over and make a house call, Please?

And to all of you, if you are really serious, and you want to occupy anything go down to the whitehouse and knock on the door. Tell Obama enough is enough that 17.5 billion in defecit is not sustainable, that his policies have kept unemployment levels up over 9%, probably if you figure those that are off the grid more like 12-15%. Tell the president he has done nothing, and needs to be evicted. Tell him it is over and that he needs to put Washington in his rear view. quickly.

Bottom line, The occupy “movement” is over. Time to flush.

Mt Monadnock Legend that Few Know About

Mike Healy — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 14:02:12 +0000

If you have vibram soles on a pair of your shoes and you live on the east coast, you have heard about Mt. Monadnock. Located in Jaffrey NH the “mountain that stands alone” is said to be one of the most climbed mountains in the world, only second to Mt Fuji in Japan, which is now closed to hikers due to recent volcanic activity.

I’ve climbed Monadnock dozens of times over the years, heading up to the 3100-foot summit on every known trail and a few times made my own way uncharted. I can’t say I have a favorite ascent, as they are all so distinctly different, but due to the throngs of folks usually on the Jaffrey side, I’ll generally head over to the Dublin trail, or if I have the time I’ll hike up Jacobs ladder and the Pumpelly ridge line.

The mountain is home to me. The rock formations, the still water holes. I could almost hike it in pitch black I know it so well; every nook, every cranny.

Each one of my kids, all seven of them, have hiked it with me most of them starting on my back when they were babies. I always shared with them over the years the landmarks on various trails, some of the history, some of what only a few it seems know about this amazing mountain.

“History and lore should be passed on from generation to generation. It’s a crying shame,” I told them “that people don’t know more about what surrounds them.”

When they were little I began. There is bobcat rock on the ridge about half way up “very active even to this day” I warned. “Bobcats are always hungry and have munched on a few wimpy kid hikers over the years, leaving only scraps behind for the buzzards that would come all the way up from their bay on the ocean to finish their remains.”

Then there is Guppy pond on the way up the Dublin trail where it is said, “a giant guppy actually jumped out of the murky water and ate a kid that was lagging behind day dreaming. Swallowed the kid whole and then disappeared back into the murky water.”

When they hit their early teens I told them about scrotum rock, also on the Dublin trail, “It’s a true story “ I assured them, “that a teenager who smoked too much cannabis was not paying attention as he slid down the rock and left much of his manhood on the west side of the mountain. He having been made a unic that day went on to pills and a crack pipe, which proves that at least in this case Mary Jane was a gateway drug.”

It was only when they were a bit older that I told them the greatest story of them all.

It was hot as hell and humid that day as we were nearing the ridgeline coming up Spellman. I yelled for them to wait up as I gasped for breath and pointed to a hole in the mountain. “Look at that” I panted. “A perfectly shaped hole in the granite and there are more of them” I said as I pulled out the Gatorade. “Take a knee,” I said “and I’ll tell you about” I was catching by breath, wondering what to say next, i winged it….”about Miss Monadnockers.”

They obliged me.

“The year was 1941” I began “and the world was at war.” I sat down next to one of the holes in the granite and slowly unwrapped a power bar. “For the United States It was two wars fought on two fronts, both in Europe and in the South Pacific. Our resources were strained to say the least. Times were tough.

It’s not a well known fact but Dublin NH, due to its demographics, was a target both for the Germans and for the Japanese. Some very smart influential people are members of the lake club, if you don’t believe me just ask them,” I said as I pointed west at the lake and club in the distance. “The military could not protect them, there just was not enough resources to go around. They put up warning sirens to at least give everyone a bit of notice of what they said would be and inevitable air raid.

People went to their beds in these troubled times not knowing if they would wake up the next day.

Her name was Annie.

She was a Jaffrican having been born and raised right off the dogleg, a direct descendent of Hawkeye, last of the Mohicans. She was known for her beauty all around New England and well, most notably for the size of her chest”

I had their attention.

“So massive and pendulous were her dirigibles that rumor has it if she was in your line of site they could eclipse the sun. Be warned too that anyone that would stare too long risked being hypnotized by their swinging motion. It was rumored that she had to put her bra on with a boomerang. Every man admired and wanted her. Every woman wanted to look like her.

She was as they said a real “stunna”. Seeing her was once described as “udder joy”

Annie, being Jaffrican was both fatherless and destitute and ended up a servant girl to the rich and famous of Dublin. In her spare time, what little of it there was, she would hike the ridgeline of Monadnock and it was here on this very trail, she sought solace and escaped her dismal life of servitude. It was on this very trail she dreamed of a better life”.

I took off my left boot and dumped out a hitchhiker. I was catching my breath and they were listening, I carried on.

“It was late on a hot August day in 1942. Hot and humid as she climbed the ladder. A park ranger last saw her wearing just a tank top as she crossed over Bobcat rock and headed towards the summit. Suddenly the air raid sirens went off. Everyone in Dublin froze as they looked to the sky. Their doom was inevitable. It was only a few minutes until you could hear them, a dull whining sound that grew louder as a squadron of German fighter planes descended on the area.

Annie was standing right here when she saw them” I pointed to the hole in the granite.

“It is at times like this when hero’s evolve”

I paused.

“What could she do to distract them? She just a lowly servant girl. How could she throw them off course? The planes got into formation and were diving now settling in low approaching from the east of the mountain.” I pointed to their flight path.

“It was then, without hesitation Annie put herself in harms way”. I was on a roll now.

“She stripped of her shirt and yelled out, ‘hey guys get a load of these’ as she bounced her massive mammary glands and swung them back and forth. The pilots were spell bound and completely thrown off course. They lost control and were drawn in by her like a homing beacon. The rounds missed the lake club and hit here,” I said as I pointed to the holes in the granite. “Annie was killed instantly by shrapnel, infact blown to bits” I said.

“she saved lives and died a hero as none of the planes hit their target most of them crashing into Dublin lake. One pilot was so frazzled he bugged out and headed toward Vermont never to be seen again”

They were looking at me like I was an idiot.

“Sure dad” they said.

The Gatorade was gone. I was tightening up my boots, ready to head out refreshed.

“its true” I said, “Various Radio operators picked up the airwave traffic in German as the whole thing went down.” ‘Heilige Scheiße ‘ were the last words of one aviator. Another screamed “Mutter, Mutter” , and one poor bastard cried out ‘DU bist schoen, DU bist scher schoen’ as he plunged to his deep-water death.

And that gentlemen is the true story about Miss Monadknockers as she became known.”

They were laughing now.

“Come on dad ” said John, my youngest boy. “Lets go, You don’t want to piss off that bobcat.”

My how the tables had turned.

Wisdom of Walt

Mike Healy — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 19:49:54 +0000

One of the perks about having kids the past 20 years has been seeing all the television shows and movies that I grew up with all over again. Programs that you would never watch otherwise, brings back so many memories. Think about it, back in the day if you didn’t catch “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” on Thanksgiving, or “The Grinch” about a week before Christmas, then forgetaboutit. You had to wait another whole year till they came around again. It sucked. we were so slighted when you think about it back in the tech stone age

Remember too, back then there were only 9 or so television channels and no way either to record programing so you either saw a show in a theatre or when it came round on teli, if you missed it, God forgbid, you probably had to wait months or maybe even a year too, till it was on again.

When i was a kid we would literally plan our holiday schedule around programming, especially Christmas and Easter. There was no way in my house we would miss “The Little Drummer Boy”, “The Greatest Story Ever Told”, around Easter Sundy or “Moses”, who i thought was gay BTW.

Times sure changed. When my first four were little we had every kids show you could imagine, on deamnd so to speak. First VHS tapes, remember them? eventually DVD, remember them? Whiney the Poo, Blustery Day my favorite. Charlie Brown, all the sing alongs, all the Disney princess movies. I often wonder why the dwarfs would say HI “HO” when they say Snow White, kind of rude don’t you think? unless they were probably all taggin her, which they probably were.

Anyway my kids had them all and watched them all over and over again as kids do.

So anyway one day I’m on the couch, a bit hung over from a show the night before. Richard had the TV on and was fixated as Bambi’s mom was being shot for the 10th time in two days. Joan was in a bad mood, going on and on, on her way out the door, about the one dirty dish in the sink. Maria was finger painting the bathroom wall with what she had just deposited in her diaper , and that’s when it dawned on me; the inate wisdom of the wild kingdom and the greatness of Sir Walt Disney, as I call him, for illuminating what should be have been so obvious; How nature intended it to be for men; How it should be for the “big buck” in all us guys.

You see Bambi lived next to the meadow with mom, right? Where was the old man? “The Prince of the Forrest” as she called him. He was out walking the ridge taking care of his other “does” , that’s deer speak for “Hoes” you see. The Prince wan’t home, he had big bad important things to do. He wasn’t wiping fawn asses, hell no. Sure he stoped by from time to time you know, and when he did you bet she treated him right. Hell, that’s how bambi got there in the first place, right? She “doed up” and gave the Prince the good stuff. Then off he went, probably out to some bar with his buck buddies called “The Beaver Dam” or something.
Remember only when disaster was eminent did he resurface. Fire everywhere, gangs of hunters putting caps in animal asses, that is when he “bucked up” and saved the day. Yes, this is the way nature intended it to be, i thought as i was cleaning that one dish, and who the hell are we to question nature? i mean really?

I pointed this out to Joan after she got home and parked her broom. I told her my theory and that I was concerned when she went out that morning that someone might actually drop a house on her.

Her response was quick and required the use of only one finger.
Needless to say woke up on the same couch the next morning. This time Richard was watching one of my favorites, Walt’s Mary Poppins
What a women. She could give you a spoon full of sugar they fly away on her umbrella.

Perfect.

Mom and Dad Have sex? no way

Mike Healy — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 13:16:27 +0000

Nothing is more horrifying to a kid then when they realize mom and dad had, and probably continue to have, sex.

The thought is almost painful.

Maria responded the other day when I told her how hot her mom is. “Gross dad, I’d like to think I was immaculately conceived”. Well Maria child, there are seven of you and trust me, you weren’t. I think a bottle of Italian wine led to your existence come to think about it. In fact we should have named you “Chianti Healy” It was a fine bottle as I remember.

But I get it, I do. I know where she is coming from and completely understand how she feels. I never wanted to think about my parents pro creating and I am one of six. The very fact that I’m thinking about it now as I am writing even troubles me.

We all know we exist do to mom and dad’s in and out behavior, but good God man, don’t mention it. No one wants to think about it, or picture their parents doing it.

First I thought must be due to our religion, but it’s cross cultural, not just a Judeo-Christian phenomenon. I have Muslim friends who’s turbans get in a twist when they imagine their dad might have interest in not only the pack animal’s camel toe, but moms too…”AH Sharmoota” they cry if the thought crosses their minds. means “holy shit” btw

If thinking about it sucks, nothing is worse then when you catch them shagging as a kid. Right? You get such a weird feeling when you burst into the room, as do they. They look so busted. Try as they might to bullshit their way out of it. It never works. Right?

”Honey mom and dad were just wrestling”. “Yea right” your thinking, “Dad had you pretty well pinned Mom , why didn’t you just tap out?”

“Honey dad was just down there looking for ticks” “yea it’s Christmas eve mom, 20 below outside, even the dog is chilling without so much as an itch”, not buying it.

“ Sweet heart dad was just holding mommy up while I tied my shoes”. “But mom your were naked”. Shoes really?

“We were playing leap frog sweat heart” , or “mommy was just showing dad how to ride a horse darling” or “ daddy was showing mommy the Leaning tower of Pisa sweetness”

Lets face it nothing works, they are busted, it sucks and everyone feels weird.I wonder why? Why the hell does it offend us so much? Why so obvious that they do it , and yet so taboo?Simple. It goes back to the first book in the bible. Geneses.

Check it out, Adam was chillin in the garden all alone…peaceful, the HNIC of everything he surveyed. He was the man. I mean when Adam said “ I am the man” he was not lying and for sure no one was arguing with him. God made him out of dirt…rough but there he was ..Adam, behold,the man.

Adam had it by the balls. The only thing missing was a plasma and remote. We have no idea how long he was on his own, there is no reference to time in the writings but suffice to say probably a while. He probably had his beverage of choice figured out…played sports with the Budweiser Clyde’s Dales…he was living large.

Yes till he got large.

Things probably went sideways pretty dam fast when he looked down touched his penis and probably had his first WTF moment. Maybe, at first, he thought it was a douser stick, but what the hell he was in a garden there was probably water everywhere. Needless to say he started fidgeting with it. Game over.

Next thing you know God had his first WTF moment when he realized he created a chronic masturbator. The man upstairs had to be pissed. The garden was probably a mess. Adam was never leaving the house, and was starting to look Japanese, it was all wrong .

The good Lord was probably worried too about the sheep. He to do something so what does he do? he creates Eve.

She shows up all hot and naked and we all know the story…fucks the whole dam thing up. She bites the apple. God has his second WTF moment when he realized he created her blonde and now he introduces the fact that they are in fact naked and someday will die. Rough bit of fruit eh?

So with this new reality in hand, Eve starts to sewing and Adam starts to humping and next thing you know they have two boys. Cain and Able.

Now what? Kind of a taboo situation here right?? Three dudes one women?? All related? I mean was the garden of Eden in Antrim NH?

Shit gets out of control and Cain kills Able because Able is more able than Cain who probably had erectile dysfunction from banging mom, so now God has his third WTF moment with incest and his first murder on his hands. He has to ring up Jesus and put him on alert that he has to get his bags packed and get the hell down there and figure this shit out.

So I figure this is it…this whole dysfunctional first family thing. Taboo as it was. We don’t want to think about it..our family and sex, our parents. It’s in our DNA to feel weird, I mean it caused such a shit storm back in the day.

I’m Blessed

Mike Healy — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 13:01:51 +0000

Moved in to a new pad a few months ago when everyone headed back east…two bedroom condo in a nice hood, close enough to work to walk. The town is Ranch Bernardo and the neighborhood is called 4S ranch…what a yawn.

There isn’t a tree around me that is older than 5 years…everything here is planned and planted…the buildings all perfect and new, the roads wide and straight…no trash in the streets..perfect little neighborhood with perfect little people walking around…it sucks….mostly.

I went back a few weeks ago, quick trip to Lowell, and God is was good to see some trash in the streets, not just talking about people either. Went to Marketbasket…it still sucks, same annoying voice on the PA “Two fa one loaves of won-daa bread here today stretch yur dollaa and save…and only today special on caarvelle ice cream cakes too” …same shitty lighting down there too…Christ you think its bright enough?? Does anyone look good in that place?? Everyone looks like there on Chemo …everyone as pale as the produce section….I can’t believe I miss the place.

Anyway . Its was great to be back…didn’t get chance to see a lot of people, quick trip but good to get the hell out of Pleasantville for a while.

Not that Pleasantville is without diversity…No its actually factored in out here…planed and planted just like the trees. Out here too, every apartment complex has a certain amount of units that are “Section 8”…reserved for low income folks….i mean hell they deserve a piece of paradise too right?? Anyway I’m surrounded by them on all sides and seriously, have no problem with it at all….not really.

The lady right next to me, you walk out my door and your looking into hers, she is about 50 years old…Big lady, two kids and she takes care of her mother who has Alzheimer’s disease, another big lady…I mean they both would have to hire a tent maker for a pair of custom made panties….anyway the landlord told me all about her before I moved in…said she was a “sweetheart”

Only a couple days in and I met her…her name is Ashanti..”Hey you” I hear through my screen door. I introduced my self, shook her hand and said “how are you” and she started in..

”Ohh I’m blessed, I am so blessed….yes the lord dun shine his love and good graces down upon me and mine and we are blessed…iz a Christian women ya see”. . .”Yes” I said. “My mom lives with us and she got a case of the gout you know, and poor thing she ain’t right in the head…she got da…you know..dat can’t get right in da head disease poor thing”. “Alzheimer” I said. “Yes, that be what it is…but trust me da lord is taking care of us. ummm hmmm.”

Just then her mom came around the corner…the exact same women only 20 or so years older….”dis my mama” Ashanti said. “Hi” I said , how are you?” “I is Blessed” she chimed back…same voice but twenty or so years older…Da lord dun taking care of me and mine and da kingdom of da Lord awaits me…sure as I stand here” “That’s great” I said…”good for you” “Now moma” Ashanti said “ you go in and rest iz be right in” I could hear the TV as she went through the door…loony tunes was on…perfect I thought…

What followed…i swear was a verbal assault….Ashanti started in on all the problems she was having with her family, her son, her childrens…it was endless. “I’z had a stroke a couple years ago and since den been hard Mike you know…and my no count husband..hell he comes around only when he wants me to back dis thang up” and she hit herself on her ass…I’m serious. I was in shock…I got a visual…i mean when this woman walks it looks like two elephants fighting under a blanket…..Back that up, Christ you would need a permit, and have to roll her in flour. ”I’m sorry” I said…

“Anyway” she continued, “I wuz wondering if yuz be kind enough to give me a ride to da bank…good God its so hot out dare today…and then to the grocery store…gots to pick up a few things”
Just then my nephew Jordan came in…Thank God.

“I can’t” I said “but Jordan, can you give Ashnati I ride to the bank and the grocery story real quick”
“Sure” he said as she introduced herself. He was stoned so I thought this would be perfect.

Poor kid was gone for two hours..and when he came back she had bought him a watermelon, the size of a baseball…no shit, and a box of Jiffy Corn Bread for his trouble…When I first saw the watermelon I thought it was her moms medication in the form of suppository….nope it was a watermelon…Jordan scooped out about one table spoon of fruit..

After the initial excursion at least twice a week she asks for a ride….I have to try and sneak out I swear or its “hey you”
I keep telling her I have to get to work, I’m busy….couple of times she got Stinch when I wasn’t around to drive her big ass….

But that all ended on Saturday night last week…when in Pleasantville of all places, someone stole my car…right out in front of the place….bummer but I can walk to work, and was selling the car anyway…

It was probably that useless husband of hers after stoppin by for “sum of dat ass”…or “dat no count teenager” son she told me bout…who knows to be fair…might have been some Irish Leprecon who was bounding through Pleasantville..But I tell ya now not having wheels and not having to shut her down…well honestly…..
I’m feeling blessed.

Heirloom Tomatoes….Please

Mike Healy — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 20:52:22 +0000

So the other day I’m walking through the plaza and I pass a farm stand…this lady calls out over to me “check out my heirloom tomatoes”.

At first I thought I was back in Vegas, but no I was in front of Jimbos here in RB, an organic food supermarket…kind of the whole foods of San Diego.

I checked them out, she had nice tomatoes.

The name Jimbo’s is all wrong isn’t it?. ..I mean you would think it would be package store or an auto body shop, not the vegan haven of southern California, but nonetheless if your in the market for some “tofurki” for the holidays, then not only are you a pussy, chances are you shop at Jimbo’s.

“Organic” food as opposed to conventional, is big business today and has really gone mainstream across the country. In theory its great and it’s the way all food was grown 70 or so years ago….Consumers are willing to pay more for it, which is fair as it is more difficult to raise, but what I have always wondered is how the hell are the standards associated with organic, how are they enforced?

“Free Range’ is another term you hear that hurts your wallet. “Free Range”, wow, you get the feeling that the chicken was riding herd with John Wayne on the open prairie just before it got its head handed to it…like there ought to be a Tom Petty song….”’I’m a free….free…. range chicken” well fuck me, how do I really know that it wasn’t some Abu ghraid chicken raised in a cage all its life?

Think about it…

Yea they tell you the chickens run around and as such won’t be as plump…whatif it was just a lazy fat body chicken that wasn’t into sports in the yard? Still free range, right?

You have to think about these things people…how do we as consumers really know?

“Grass fed”…ok I get that, as opposed to grain fed or hay and soy fed…makes sense, yet I’ve never met anyone on the Grass Fed police department, have you?

But the grand daddy of all these marketing ploys has to be the newest one and the hottest one “heirloom”. I mean this chicks tomatoes…were they passed down from generation to generation? Did her grandmother put them in her “Hope Chest” or “glory Box” as they call it….glory box?? What the hell…I thought that was part of the female anatomy and meant to cause wood, not a chest created by it..

Yea, I know what they tell you, that “heirloom” seeds do in fact have to be passed down for at least fifty years with an organic history, .but come on really…you think there might be a bit of fraud here? Maybe some false advertising to bring her juicy ones up to three bucks a pound more than even the organic??? You think?

I asked her about her it..”They look great “ I said, “but how do I really know their Lineage?” She looked confused and I realized within a nana second that her tomatoes probably had a higher IQ than she did…but they were nice tomatoes so I bought two of them…I squeezed them first…they were ripe.

Take Organic coffee from Columbia…now that as always tripped me out. Who the hell is going to down there to make sure that Juan Valdez is not using pesticides? Do you think some dude from the USDA shows up on a donkey?? Please. And do you think poor Juan Valdez really gives a shit? I mean there he is picking beans for a living..probably has 20 kids and lives in the back of a bus….I can just imagine “Hey amigos, be careful man…don’t mix up the conventional beans with the organics man”…yea right. Its probably more like, “Ha amigos, the gringos want some organic beans” as they all unzip and piss all over them.

Consumers are such suckers….”fair trade” another one…please. Up in the liberal capital of California , SF, there are coffees that sell for 40 bucks a pound…thats right, 40 bucks a pound!! ”Columbia, certified organic fair trade coffee”. Great, so Juan finally got a good deal for his beans…that’s nice. I can feel good when I buy that coffee, I mean Nancy Pelosi does. So at least while I’m being bent over and greased up I can feel really good that Juan and his shorties can finally move out of the buss and into a shack and …yea, I had something to do with it…how nice.

I’ll go back to that farm stand again this weekend…she did have nice tomatoes.I’ll probably pick a nice free range chicken out tonight and roast it with some organic red potatoes.The cup of coffee I drink tomorrow will probably help green peace who knows…maybe save a whale or too.

After all I’m becoming much more of a democrat lately.

I’m such a sucker..

Dont Park in the Big Room

Mike Healy — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 14:55:41 +0000

There is nothing considered more ignorant and rude than parking in a handicap spot. Not only is it the most expensive ticket you can get, even more than some moving violations, it is also socially unacceptable nearly to the point of being a hate crime, worse than using the “N” word. I mean it is bad. Real bad, as well it should be.

I remember one time being on the road with by band, pulling a 25’ trailer for the PA equiptment. I pulled into a massive Wallmart parking lot at about 7 in the morning. My trailer was taking up one of the disabled spots on the end and I didn’t notice it. When I got back I was chastised by some middle age women, ”How dare you” she started in on me. I immediately apologized, because I honestly felt bad myself, even thou there were enough empty handicap spots to park the entire special Olympics, I still felt like an ass. You all know, I mean this is just something you don’t do.

Even if you are just parked in one, and you’re sitting in the car and its still running that is just as bad. I mean what is the worse that can happen at this point? Think about it. If you see Helen Keller pulling up, just pull out of the way, BUT no way man , this is not acceptable. It is just wrong.

Personally, I even go so far as to walk around a handicap parking space rather than through one possibly messing up someone who might be honing in on one.

These spots people, well they are sacred ground, as they should be.

The same with boats. A buddy of mine owns a yaught and he told me they have special slips for disabled boaters and it’s just a mortal sin to use one, with a big “boat police” ticket if you don’t have the plate.

So if this is the case, Why is it then that no one seems to have a problem using a handicap bathroom?

I don’t get it. If your disabled, Isn’t emptying your bowels a bit more urgent than docking your boat or parking your car? You think?

I would, et there is no social indignation associated with this at all, in fact it is really quite acceptable. Me, I never use one. I just don’t like to be sitting on the throne in a bigger room than is necessary, not sure why, I just feel like I don’t need room for more than one in a place like that, but other folks, others who would never think of using a handicap parking spot, seem to have on problem at all using their designated bathroom facilities.

So the other night I’m out with my nephew Jordan, head down for a snifter at the only decent restaurant in this yawn of a town. I had eaten some turkey balls a few hours earlier. When I say turkey balls I mean meatballs made out of turkey, not a pair of gobbler’s testicals. I sit down at the bar to enjoy a single malt when all of a sudden it felt like an IED went off in my stomach. This was bad. I started to sweat and I knew my time was limited, and that those turkey balls were about to make an exit. I excused myself immediately and hurried through the crowded restaurant in search of the Men’s room. I get there, two stalls, the regular one occupied. Great. The only one available, the big one. I hesitated but now it had turned to “Shock and Awe” inside me, I had no choice for a shart was eminent. I closed the door and assumed the position.

I made it. What a sense of relief, and even though I had won the battle, I knew I had yet to win the war. I might be here for a while I was thinking. I grabbed the sports page and settled in, wondering how many guys actually get savvy on football while taking a shit, and do I really want to be handling this newspaper?. I Hear a flush, the guy next to me finishes. The bathroom door opens and closes. The next thing I know there is knock on my stall, I puckered up like a new convict in the shower room. ”almost done?” I hear in an agitated voice. I look down and can’t believe what I see; a pair of wheels.

The battle for Felusia was brewing inside me but what the hell was I suppose to do? I had no choice. I had to move next store. I looked down and saw that in fact the stall next to me was available. I made my move, opened the door to this guy staring up at me. I had no idea what to say, it was a very awkward moment. “I was just warming up the seat for you” I said. ”No problem” he said as he wheeled on in. ”It happens all the time”. God I felt like an ass.

I sat down on a warm seat that had been next to me. Gross I finished up. wondered who the comedian was who decided on how big one sheet of toilet paper ought to be, and if anyone can only use just one.

Went back to the scotch at the bar. Ordered another.

I saw the dude wheel by a few minutes later, caught hie eye. He nodded. embarassing.

That is the last time I use the big house, and a little advice don’t eat undercooked turkey balls.

Our Town Revisited

Mike Healy — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 13:50:00 +0000

Classic Hyporthermia weather Tuesday as I headed up over Temple Mountain. Usually no biggie, my time spent in Peterborough is bright no matter what the weather. I’m always uplifted as a head downhill into Our Town with Mount Monadnock looming as a majestic backdrop. The place is beautiful and, although work has moved me south, will always be home. This particular day however would be tough enough without bad weather. It had to be, and was, as I was saying goodbye to a childhood family friend.

We moved to the Monadnock region in 1972 from the North Shore of Boston. My dad had an office in Rutland Vermont at that time and the commute back and forth to Boston was brutal. The Peterborough area was much closer and yet not totally away from civilization. The commute was reason enough, but my Dad, Dick Healy was then, and remains today a renaissance man. He wanted out of the city. My Parents wanted an organic garden, well not city water, clean air, acres of land with thousands of trees. The bottom line, they wanted a better life for their kids; better than they had growing up in the notorious three Decker Irish battle ships of Boston.

They looked at a number of places with Franny Chapman and then bought the house on middle road in Hancock off old man Nickerson. The place Franny said “they owed it to themselves to see”. The place today is still in the family with Julie, Tad and the Bonvie clan. We moved in late that summer with our two new purebred Siberian husky pups Rascal and Hercules. Dogs that were bred to “live outside”, and as I remember dad said, “Could work and pull a sled”. Sled dogs. Wow, I was pumped. I had read “Call of the wild” This to me and Ruth my younger sister, really kid brother, completed the move.

Did not take long, small area as it was and is, to hear about Dave and the Houston family and their yard full of dogs in neighboring Peterborough, all sled dogs. I was 12 years old our fist winter when I first met Jane Ann. “Get in the sled” Dave said. We were at the Houston house. There must have been thirty or so dogs all in a well maintained compound with a long well groomed trail, heading out of the yard. I climbed into the basket. Jane Ann stepped on the runners yelled out a command and off we went. A quick burst of speed, then up hill kind of building like a roller coaster, then down hauling ass, quite literally mine, on the narrow trail through the woods. She was my age and amazing the way she controlled her team. We made the turn at Vern Wilders and back through the woods full tilt all the way to Murphy Road. I got out of the sled and was hooked, and not just by the dogs. She was beautiful. Long hair, wool hat, jeans and bean boots, beautiful smile, and a total athlete. She looked like a professional model and made a very difficult sport look easy. Her dogs loved her and she them. She had a very special relationship with each one of them

Anyone who has ever spent time behind a team of dogs knows that the driver completes the team. You can’t put just anyone on a sled and win. In fact just the opposite, put someone behind the dogs they don’t respect and you can have total anarchy. Jane Ann was a professional. Her dogs loved, respected and ran for her. Together they won many championship races. We built our bloodlines out of Houston dogs over the years and our families became competitors and also great friends.

I’ll never forget, either will my four sisters, cookouts at the Houston house. Running down the path to her grandmother’s next store for an Ice cream dessert. The races all over NE and upstate New York that we competed in together. The Mushers balls that old Ray Huckins snuck us into when we were way under age. Steve Reese was with us too. Ham and bean suppers at local town halls the night before. The cold windy race days at Jaffrey, Fitzwilliam, Peterborough and Rangeley Maine to name a few. The starting lines where it took four guys to hold your sled in place for the countdown. The dogs that we all knew and loved, hundreds of them over the years. There was The “Dan dog” out front of Dave’s team at Laconia. Jane Ann’s lead dog Bruce. The Houston dog “Louie”, who was the father of “Jake” and started the whole quarter hound line that we introduced and became known for, giving us “Popeye” one the most notable, legendary lead dogs ever to ever hit the circuit.

Life moves quickly, college hit and everyone moved on. I had not seen Jane Ann since high school save once, and then only briefly, at her mom’s funeral a few years ago. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her then, I wish I had. I was heartsick last week when I heard she was gone and Tuesday again when I met her husband for the first time and saw Dave, Bobby and Jeff outside St Peters. No words for such loss.

I got in my truck and followed the procession the short drive to the cemetery. I had just been here with my dad only a week ago. He had some work done on the “Healy plot” only fifty or so feet from the Houston’s. Mr. Kaufhold had edged it all in granite and carved both his and my moms names and birthday’s on the huge granite bolder the old man had put there as a head stone. I never dreamed I would be back here so quickly. As the wind blew with the threat of rain, I looked around at the names of so many folks that I knew. There was “combsy” from Roy’s. I loved that guy, always joking around with Noel behind the meat counter. He went away on vacation and died suddenly. There was Mrs. Bosari, always remember her laughing when Dad did stand up as “The Mic” that one night down in the church hall. Jack Murphy’s boy, year younger than me, got killed on a motorcycle just after high school. There was Mr. Web. He worked for Public Service, and his son Scott, who was my age and died way to young. Over there one of Franny Chapman’s kids. Right near bye Mr. Callahan and his wife, they owned the Peterborough hotel and tavern located on Main Street where Ocean Bank is now. On and on, I bet I knew over half the people buried there.

I thought of Thornton Wilder’s “Our Town”, actually written in the 1930’s about Peterborough and penned by him only 100 yards up the road at the MacDowell Colony. The third act opens in the town cemetery up on a hill much like this one. All the dead, who the narrator knew, sitting there in chairs under their headstones, talking to each other. Waiting for eternity. Wilder never says in the play what that is, they’re just waiting for “something big”.

“Rest in Peace” Father Belanger said as they put Jane Ann’s urn into the ground. It was over. I got back in the truck, tipped my hat to all the souls I knew around me as I drove through the gates, the gates that I knew I would pass through again. I turned left on High Street, down Main past Roy’s market and out of town, It was a tough day. I had a lump in my throat as I headed over the wrong side of the mountain and back to Lowell. Jane Ann resting? No. I don’t think so. She blinked her eyes in death only to reopen them reborn and see her grandparents and her mom. She is not resting, she is gardening as her sister in law said, She’s got her beans on and is back on the runners of a Vern Wilder sled tearing through perfectly packed trails with Bruce running lead.

God’s speed Jane Ann.

Big Pharma – The Real Drug Cartels

Mike Healy — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 14:18:29 +0000

I’m aghast by drug companies and their alliance with the medical profession to push their poisons to populations around the world. You have an issue, any issue at all it seems, the first thing a doctor will do is prescribe a drug. “Let’s take a look at your diet and exercise regiment”, no that seldom comes up, rather “Here you go just pop these when you need more let me know” seems to be the mentality.

People need to start thinking prescribed treatments through to their own individual consequences and how it will effect their health and life. If you have a medical issue , you need to be your own advocate and ask questions, or you can’t for whatever reason, have someone with you that can, especially the elderly, or look out you will become a human narcotic depository.

We trust doctors so much, especially older folks.”Yes Doctor, certainly Doctor, thank you doctor”

Let’s face it, it wasn’t long ago the medical profession was putting leeches on people to get rid of “bad blood” and what I have witnessed recently has confirmed that for many MD’s things haven’t changed all that much. They seem to still be winging it. Forget the diploma on the wall and the credentials after their name, so many are far from qualified to treat what ails the body, That is one reason, they hate to admit it, that mal practice insurance is so expensive.

Yes doctors screw up and often and when they do people die.

What has really blown me away is the difference in diagnosis and treatment options from one MD to another. They are supposed experts in the same field and seldom will they agree on anything, save one thing, the majority of them will push drugs, first and foremost.

We are a drug culture by design and let’s face it, many of us are medicated throughout our lives.

It starts with kids. If they seem a little hyperactive, then on “Ritalin” they go. A drug that they now admit is addictive. Junior has simple ear ache? Here mom are some antibiotics . What? This particular antibiotic is not working because he is immune to it from the 1000 times he has been on it? , ”Here let’s try this one a different strain and bit stronger.”

Junior gets older and is now depressed, or keeps his shoes at right angles by his bed, little OCD maybe, “Here pop some “Prozac” pal, its covered by insurance and will get you through the rest of your life”

Think about it, If there is an ailment , or as much as an itch, there is a drug. Going the bathroom all the time they have a drug . Cholesterol is too high, your prostate is a bit swollen, you have high blood pressure, low blood pressure, fatigue, you can’t sleep, you can only sleep and can’t stay awake. Face it you watch any prime time TV and you know they have pharmaceuticals for it all.

The classic of course is for men who have lost their “wood” in life . I mean how many of those ads have you seen? This must be a massive, no pun intended, problem. Older guys who are losing their chub. “Here take this and you can get it back up, yes this will put the lead back in your pencil” The hell with that, I for one have been spending most of my adult life trying to get the lead out of mine. I think of how productive I would be without that on my mind, hell I can’t wait for that day. i might write a book even.

And then there are the “possible side effects” from all this crap.

Woe.

One antidepressant I heard may cause your “anus to fall” What the hell is that all about? Falling anus? I never head of such a thing. Must be kind of like a screen door after the dog has gone through it a few hundred times? Yea, fersure you will be less depressed when you are wiping your butt with your feet, right?.

The same drug can cause “Sudden bowel evacuation”, WHAT? Sure, you will feel so much better after you unload on the guys shoes behind you in the check out line. Then the only drug that would help would be tequila in large quantities.

I’ve seen first hand recently the craziness around osteoporosis. Some of the leading researches in the world and the first thing they do is push sodium based crap like “Boniva”. Only then, if at all, do they inquire about diet and exercise . Many women, my mom included, can’t take these drugs orally due to digestive issues and what it does to their esophagus, so the suggested treatment is to intravenously “infuse” them with enough of this poison to last a year, and hey don’t go to the dentist while you are on it because it weakens your jaw muscles so much that a simple procedure, even getting a filling, might lead to jaw fracture.

In a word, insanity.

So what is at the root of this mess? Money and massive piles of it. Stacks of cash for the real drug dealers in the world, the big pharmaceutical companies.

A buddy of mines dad just finally died in a home, he didn’t recognize anyone for the last 5 years as Alzheimer’s had destroyed his brain. They had him on every medication know to man. About two months before he died they had changed some of his meds and had a speech therapist working with him. He and the other victims in that dump were CASH COWS for the drug companies. The’re living in the matrix without the computer program or the girl in the red dress.

Hell, we wouldn’t do that to an animal. Peta would be all over you. You can’t even test toothpaste on an animal, but somehow its ok to keep people alive to be human test cases for big pharma??? and we call purveyors of Mary Jane drug dealers? Please.

Then consider the illegal massive black market these companies spawn with thousands of dollars being made by dealers selling this poison to kids and addicts. Recent story here in Florida sights the kids born addicted to prescription drugs is out of control.

I’m depressed after writing this. Let’s see I could pop a pill, but have nothing in the “medicine chest”. I think I’ll just have to drink a glass of water and get on with it. Sip a little glen later, any glen will do, and at least my sphincter won’t sag down below my knees and God willing , although you never know, my colon won’t evacuate at whole foods .

Bottom line folks, with doctors and medications, be suspicious ask questions and get multiple opinions. Pick a doctor who thinks like you do. There are those case and we all know it that drugs have saved lives, no doubt about it, but it is so obvious they are over prescribed.

Have an advocate if you feel you don’t know enough and follow your instincts, we all have them.

Don’t be so ready to say yes to prescription drugs. Get the facts, get a bong for what ails you ,and just say NO to drugs.