Posts Tagged ‘Uncle Sam’

Yankee doodling

July 4, 2018

Sam hasn’t been keeping the place up. Why, I remember when they used to call it “The White House.”

Uncle Sam has become that neighbor nobody likes.

Mind you, Sam has always been prickly. All over the map politically, and a stickler for the letter of the law as defined by the neighborhood association, though truth be told he’d been known to cut a few corners himself.

But he subscribed to the newspaper, walked the dog morning and evening, and kept up his property. From time to time he might have some pointed advice as to how you might improve your place, too. But Sammy meant well. Plus he was always good for a box or two of Girl Scout cookies.

Now he’s old and querulous, and if there’s a loon campaigning for something, you’ll see his sign in Sam’s yard, which is not nearly so well kept these days. Fox News is on what appears to be an endless loop, with the volume cranked to the max so he can hear it out in the garage, where he’s perpetually working on … something. The dog has likewise gone gray and mean, and stays chained up out back in what’s become more salvage yard than back yard.

And when the Girl Scouts come calling he runs them off, threatening to call the cops, or worse, especially if the kids are Brownies.

His old pals from the war don’t come around anymore. But there’s this new crowd nobody’s too keen on. Loudmouths with attitude, the sort you don’t dare turn your back on, guys who break things because it’s fun, and because nobody cares to stop them.

The neighbors all hope the family takes charge, because property values are dropping like a stone and it’s just plain bad for business. But they have their own problems and don’t seem to much care what goes on in that old white house any more. They’ve got the time to put on this big barbecue, though. It’s a national holiday or something.

A bridge to somewhere

February 17, 2012
New bridge

This new bridge spans the creek just south of Bijou Street.

I gave the Innertubes the slip at midday yesterday and went out for a rolling 23-miler, missing exactly 23 tweets. This I call a fair trade, especially since I had a tailwind on the hilly bits while Twitter is always pretty much up in your grill.

The hard part lately is finding that sweet spot in the actual wind. Some days it seems to be generated by the handlebars. If you’re riding deep-section rims you’ll occasionally get a probing gust from port or starboard, generally when riding no-hands to adjust some article of clothing or fetch something from a pocket.

While out I noticed a new bridge on our major north-south bike path. It replaces an iffy concrete dip that was occasionally underwater during spring runoff and thus seems a major upgrade, unless you’re the sort of GOP dipshit who thinks that bicycles should be the littlest pig at Uncle Sammy’s trough.

I crossed it on the way home and felt as though I’d hit the lottery. Unc’ usually spends my money bombing brown people, giving a wink and a nod to white-collar criminals or holding hearings on women’s health issues to which only Penis-Americans and those who love them are invited.

But every now and then the crooked, simple-minded old fool throws the little people a bone — like a bridge that actually goes somewhere.