Author: Dick

Where there’s smoke … there’s smoke.

Most likely I was preoccupied this morning with an overpowering aggravation that was set into motion by several phone calls to the local VA clinic. So that is why I probably didn’t hear the cacophony of sirens wailing that were from Beaumont Fire Department trucks. They responded to a fire about a block east of my place on North Street. I just happened to walk outside to stretch and found an actual hairy-legged happening was taking place just down the street.

The above photo was about all I got and what little smoke was left kind of obscures a firefighter. He incidentally looked at me like I was nuts because I was taking a photo. Or perhaps he looked at me like I was nuts because he is good judge of character. It’s got to be one or the other, or something else.

A neighbor across the street from the house that caught fire told me — while taking drags off a Swisher Sweet — that the occupant of the home left something on the stove and then went back to bed. That can’t be a good thing. Fortunately, she woke up and saw all the smoke then called for the fire department. I am sure it’s bad enough having a smoky house. In fact, I know it is. But the situation could’ve been so much worse.

Back in the old days we used to call this a ‘record player.’

Sometimes it is difficult to tell whether television commercials targeting a certain age group want that group to relive their glory days or to just make those of that age gloomy over being so damned old.

Prompting my thoughts about this was a 70s-theme party I attended this weekend as well as hearing a TV commercial this morning.

The party was fun even though a lot of the music played was disco including the dreaded “Disco Duck.” I even danced, which had the friend with whom I attended the party wondering if hell had actually frozen over since she had never seen me dance in the almost four years we’ve known each other. (I imagine once she saw me dance she realized why I don’t do it but once every score or so).

As for the TV commercial this morning, it featured the music of Iron Butterfly’s classic “In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida” as well as a psychedelic scene. Curiously, the ad was for financial services for Fidelity Investments. That company has also used for background music KC and the Sunshine Band’s “Shake Your Booty” as well as “Changes” by David Bowie. Just as an aside, I don’t think that in my wildest visions could I ever picture my placing those two songs in the same sentence. But I just did.

Of course, it is sometimes difficult to judge the age group a company is looking for when they use songs from the 60s or 70s in their ads. Electric Light Orchestra’s catchy “Mr. Blue Sky” has been used for a number of commercials and movie trailers including an ad in 2004 for the VW Beetle. I don’t know, maybe Volkswagen thinks people in their 60s want to relive their youth in a new version of the Beetle. I wouldn’t think so but that’s why I am not in advertising because I don’t know these things. By the way, you can dive off into the depths of commercial theme music at a Web site called “What’s That Called.”

As I said, I don’t know what ideas bounce around in the heads of advertising geniuses. But I would think it could be a risky proposition using music that recalls when one was shaking it on the disco floor or taking a bong hit in the back of a van. The memories recalled could be pleasant ones or they could just make you feel like you are a relic.

This all doesn’t matter to me because older songs generally bring me a positive feeling. There are exceptions, of course, such as whether I have heard them every day of my life on the radio such as “Stairway to Heaven.” It’s funny. That is one song I haven’t heard as a commercial theme song lately, if ever. Maybe those ad types know what they’re doing after all.

The reason I am dizzy is from all of the spin generated by Scott McClellan today over why President Bush can leak classified information and no one else can. Scotty’s answer:

MR. McCLELLAN: The President can declassify information if he chooses.

I was disappointed no one asked Scotty this follow up question: Does his declassification power extend to releasing the plans to build a nuclear bomb if he so chooses? I’m sure Scotty would say that’s a silly question. But is it really?

A few moments ago I stuck my head outside the apartment door just to catch a little of the pre-twilight air. The local squirrel was making its rounds balancing itself cautiously on the wooden fence before leaping into a small tree. I say it’s the local squirrel. I think more than one squirrel call the trees in my neighbor’s yard home.

This one was certainly fat and sassy. My downstairs neighbor had the habit of leaving peanuts in a couple of plastic containers on the fence, so the squirrel may have bulked up on peanuts. The neighbor no longer leaves peanuts for the squirrel as he is in jail on a parole violation. He is the third paroled sex offender who has lived in these apartments since I moved here less than a year ago to violate parole and go back to stir. Jeez, you’d think this is a freakin’ halfway house.

Squirrels are neat to watch though. They take your mind off things like for a little while, like having neighbors who are child molesters. Watching this squirrel, it seemed to me that it was using its tail for balance as well as radar. Squirrel radar. Now there’s a concept. I realized after watching it be a squirrel that I really didn’t know a whole lot about squirrels.

I looked at the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department Web site to read up on the critters. Sure enough the squirrels do use their tails for more than car antenna ornaments and more:

“Squirrels’ long bushy tails are used for a variety of purposes. They can be wrapped around a squirrels face to keep them warm, used as an aid in balancing when they run along tree limbs, or spread and used as a parachute if the squirrel should fall. With a little practice, watching a squirrel’s tail movements gives you a clue to their mood. Quick jerks of the tail signal that they are nervous or upset.”

I suppose I’ll have to start watching my local squirrels more closely. Perhaps I can learn to read their moods by their tails. It sounds like a useful talent. Maybe I could become a squirrel psychologist.

Me to Mr. Squirrel: “Now do humans really drive you nuts?”

Okay, that’s pretty bad. I’m sorry.

I did find squirrels can be dangerous. That is not just because they are rodents and can carry diseases like the plague. No, they are stone cold dog killers.

The above article, along with other tales of squirrels wreaking havoc, can be found on the Squirrel Defamation League Website. I kind of get it that they don’t like squirrels.

But I like squirrels just fine. As long as they mind their own business and don’t go bats**t on me and attack, we will all peacefully coexist. The same goes for my parolee neighbors.

This will be the first full spring I have spent freelance writing. I knew challenges would be ahead when I started doing this. I was right. It’s a tough biz but I love my job.

One problem I did not foresee and certainly should have was spring fever. After lunch, just now, I stepped out on the balcony and was zapped by a full-blown case of the fever. The symptoms are unmistakable: lethargy, daydreaming, feelings that you should be on a shady creek bank somewhere with a fishing pole and some ice cold beverages.

It takes willpower to work for yourself and by yourself at home. It takes even more when you’ve got spring fever. But I’ve also got another tech writing project, so I guess I’ll just suffer through my affliction and get back to work … and then take a walk in a bit.