In Comes The Cold

Well ladies and gentlemen, when it comes down to it, living by the river is dying by the river.

 

Yeah that’s a poker reference, but I can’t help but to suspect there may be a metaphorical life lesson in that statement.

 

It would seem that the cold season is just on the cusp of it’s arrival to the Texas hill country.

 

How do I know this, you may ask.

 

First of all, I took a jacket with me to work today. I didn’t wear it.  I didn’t even put it on.  It stayed in the Jeep all day.

 

Second of all, consider the menu around the domain in the last few days.

 

Chili on Saturday.

 

Chicken and dumplings tonight.

 

Chicken tortilla soup within another day or so.

 

It’s just a matter of days before the carne guisada gets busted out.

 

At one point or another within the next week, stew fixins will be picked up without any of us being consciously aware of it.

 

The only time that much soup based product gets busted out around here outside of Juniorette’s unholy alliance with Top Ramen is when I’m on a gravy binge.

 

So what’s the deal with these Direct TV commercials where the husband and wife are fighting some cable TV generated recording conflict box in their lives?  One of them has the wife all freaked out because the box shows up outside of the shower and makes the woman feel like she’s being stared at in her naked condition.  The husband responds real passive aggressively, “Well at least someone is.”  He resumes brushing his teeth and walks away.

 

The other commercial has the same couple getting ready for a night out.  He’s nearly dressed, short of a pair of britches.  It seems the conflict box is on his pants which are laid out on the bed.  “Why don’t you just go out without pants?”, the wife suggests.

 

To which, bonehead says “Ok”.

 

Is this what we’ve been relegated to, ladies and gentlemen?

 

What happened to the good old days when a couple of people dressed up like cows would try to shoot a bottle of steak sauce off of a fence post and pathetically miss?

 

Perhaps you’re wondering where I’m going with all of this.

 

Nowhere, really.

 

I’m just watching what looks like a pretty darn boring game of Monday Night Football, and am failing to find any real inspiration.

 

Recyclables get picked up at the curb tomorrow.  Maybe inspiration will show up there.

 

Fingers crossed.

Randy Tharp

TharpSter is a husband to one woman, a father to two kids, a master to two dogs, an occasional cubical occupant, and unable to make up his mind on an adequate theme for this website.

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