Unfortunately, Don still labors under the delusional postulates of socialism, the prime one being that if you are poor, you MUST be miserable, and a "more equitable distribution of goods" is going to make the world a better place, as if everything is metastasiphied by the sum total of "all the money in the bank".
Don says that vacations are expensive. Yes they are, if your idea of a vacation is spending money on one these bloated cruise ships in between sipping gin and tonic while the crew rearranges the deck chairs. (And hope you are not on the latest version of the Titanic.)
Back in the '90's, this Wolf's idea of a vacation was to cruise through the lonely canyons of Western Colorado while chowing down on teriyaki flavored beef jerky while listening to the Opera "Chess". A pack of beef jerky was about $5 at the discount store, and $10 worth of gas was good for 800 miles.
Way back in the '70's, we went on one real vacation. We drove to New York to see the Baseball Hall of Fame. It was more like being in a funeral parlor or a graveyard. Obelisks of long dead men stared at you from every corner. And hotels were dreadfully boring places. Sit there and watch television. And you cannot even open the window. Restaurants were not much better. Sit for what seemed like hours before getting served. (I made the most glorious scene at a Chinese Restaurant. I found the most nastiest, hottest sauce that must have been one part hot pepper and nine parts jalapenos. I pretended it was the most glorious stuff and my younger brother slathered a potato stick in it and thrust it in his mouth. The resulting cry had the entire staff bursting from the kitchen. It made Han Solo's blaster shot in the Mos Eisley Cantina pale by comparison.)
My best vacations were spent at my Grandmother's house right in the heart of Appalachia, surrounded by hot and cold hillbillies and rednecks. One joy was fire. As there was no trash disposal, everything that could burn, was burned. Ah, the smell of five types of burning plastic wafting through the air. And because there was no trash disposal, all the glass bottles were discarded in the woods. Large bottles, small bottles. Red bottles, blue bottles. Which led to another favorite pastime- lining the big gallon jugs up against the wall and hurling stones at them. More joy than a rubber ducky. Another joy was running water. In the spring a small spring fed a small trickle that wandered in between my grandmother's and the neighbor's house. I spent a whole afternoon making a mud version of the Hoover Dam, and had quite a reservoir. And when it broke, it washed out the whole yard and the tools my neighbor was using to work on his Volkswagen Bug, as his driveway was right next to the trickle.
Those were happy days and simple pleasures- the best joys of my childhood. We used to sit on the front porch swing and lustily sing "I've Been Working On The Railroad". We used to get served ice cream every Wednesday and Saturday night. We used to play with my grandma's border collie, Sherlock. (Whenever my grandmother got angry, Sherlock was the target, and would get swept out of the kitchen, sometimes quite literally, and I would go on the back porch to comfort the afflicted.)
It was the television, especially with the game shows, that got it into my grandma's head that she was miserable because she could not go on a vacation to Florida. (Somebody forgot to tell her that Florida is just New Jersey with palm trees. It has all the mosquitoes and twice the snakes.) And my grandmother's chosen road to the consumerist nirvana was the Pennsylvania Lottery. Every day, grandpa trudged down to the bar/hotel/convenience-store/gas-station/postal-substation/penny-candy-store/department-shelves (with everything from nails to plastic dogs to perfume) to get that lotto ticket. The Grand Drawing was a weekly ritual for which she kept an hour vigil, lighting a votive candle and praying to the Communion of Saints. (Well, maybe I exaggerate just a tad.)
She was also addicted to the Soap Operas. If she would have prayed the rosary just half the time she was glued to Days of Our Lives, All My Children, General Hospital, and The Young and the Restless, I'm sure the Immaculate Heart would have triumphed years ago. Conversely, if she has to spend a day in Purgatory for each game show and soap she watched, she just might be burning with Amelia until the end of the world. (Of course, that might be sooner than we think.)
Unfortunately, Don still labors under the delusional postulates of socialism, the prime one being that if you are poor, you MUST be miserable, and a "more equitable distribution of goods" is going to make the world a better place, as if everything is metastasiphied by the sum total of "all the money in the bank".
Don says that vacations are expensive. Yes they are, if your idea of a vacation is spending money on one these bloated cruise ships in between sipping gin and tonic while the crew rearranges the deck chairs. (And hope you are not on the latest version of the Titanic.)
Back in the '90's, this Wolf's idea of a vacation was to cruise through the lonely canyons of Western Colorado while chowing down on teriyaki flavored beef jerky while listening to the Opera "Chess". A pack of beef jerky was about $5 at the discount store, and $10 worth of gas was good for 800 miles.
Way back in the '70's, we went on one real vacation. We drove to New York to see the Baseball Hall of Fame. It was more like being in a funeral parlor or a graveyard. Obelisks of long dead men stared at you from every corner. And hotels were dreadfully boring places. Sit there and watch television. And you cannot even open the window. Restaurants were not much better. Sit for what seemed like hours before getting served. (I made the most glorious scene at a Chinese Restaurant. I found the most nastiest, hottest sauce that must have been one part hot pepper and nine parts jalapenos. I pretended it was the most glorious stuff and my younger brother slathered a potato stick in it and thrust it in his mouth. The resulting cry had the entire staff bursting from the kitchen. It made Han Solo's blaster shot in the Mos Eisley Cantina pale by comparison.)
My best vacations were spent at my Grandmother's house right in the heart of Appalachia, surrounded by hot and cold hillbillies and rednecks. One joy was fire. As there was no trash disposal, everything that could burn, was burned. Ah, the smell of five types of burning plastic wafting through the air. And because there was no trash disposal, all the glass bottles were discarded in the woods. Large bottles, small bottles. Red bottles, blue bottles. Which led to another favorite pastime- lining the big gallon jugs up against the wall and hurling stones at them. More joy than a rubber ducky. Another joy was running water. In the spring a small spring fed a small trickle that wandered in between my grandmother's and the neighbor's house. I spent a whole afternoon making a mud version of the Hoover Dam, and had quite a reservoir. And when it broke, it washed out the whole yard and the tools my neighbor was using to work on his Volkswagen Bug, as his driveway was right next to the trickle.
Those were happy days and simple pleasures- the best joys of my childhood. We used to sit on the front porch swing and lustily sing "I've Been Working On The Railroad". We used to get served ice cream every Wednesday and Saturday night. We used to play with my grandma's border collie, Sherlock. (Whenever my grandmother got angry, Sherlock was the target, and would get swept out of the kitchen, sometimes quite literally, and I would go on the back porch to comfort the afflicted.)
It was the television, especially with the game shows, that got it into my grandma's head that she was miserable because she could not go on a vacation to Florida. (Somebody forgot to tell her that Florida is just New Jersey with palm trees. It has all the mosquitoes and twice the snakes.) And my grandmother's chosen road to the consumerist nirvana was the Pennsylvania Lottery. Every day, grandpa trudged down to the bar/hotel/convenience-store/gas-station/postal-substation/penny-candy-store/department-shelves (with everything from nails to plastic dogs to perfume) to get that lotto ticket. The Grand Drawing was a weekly ritual for which she kept an hour vigil, lighting a votive candle and praying to the Communion of Saints. (Well, maybe I exaggerate just a tad.)
She was also addicted to the Soap Operas. If she would have prayed the rosary just half the time she was glued to Days of Our Lives, All My Children, General Hospital, and The Young and the Restless, I'm sure the Immaculate Heart would have triumphed years ago. Conversely, if she has to spend a day in Purgatory for each game show and soap she watched, she just might be burning with Amelia until the end of the world. (Of course, that might be sooner than we think.)
Ah yes.....pointless mandatory meetings. If I could reclaim that time I could live to 100.