Solar power and sex: can the two ever get along?

A couple of posts ago, I might have mentioned how much I like my job. Nothing has changed since then, I still enjoy the work I do. But being in the neighborhood of the construction industry, I get to run up against an array of different ego's and personalities, some only slightly more annoying than the one before. Oh there are a few friendly faces as we plod along our little solar journey, mostly other guys just doing their job. Like Pat the roofer. Nice, affable guy, good sense of humor, easy to get along with. And Al, the guy that helps us hoist the windspires. He could just show up, do his job, take his money, and go home. But he helps out a lot, above and beyond the call. These are the guys that make my job a little less stressful. And then there's the dark side of the force. Those job supervisors who feel it is there place on earth to let you know who holds the real power.

Case in point, let's take a look at "George". (I may have changed his name to protect the innocent, then again, maybe I didn't.) From day one, it was apparent that this guys shorts were on just a little too tight. If it wasn't on the plans, it wasn't going to wash with this guy. The final straw was when, at the very end of the job as we are loading 50lb. bricks into their final resting place, breaking our backs with every step, I get a call stating that we are being too loud. On the roof. It seems a meeting was taking place under our feet, and the suits couldn't concentrate with all that stomping about going on. Maybe it doesn't seem a big deal to you, but after being hen-pecked every day on this project about what we weren't doing correctly, it was like the final straw.

Now my boss is a very interesting guy. He is smart, and all business at work. Like you should be. Outside the office, he is always smiling and happy. So it was a slight shock when after I told him all of the BS that "George" was giving me on the job site, and how truly uptight he was, he remarked, "Can you imagine what sex with his wife is like?" Aside from laughing my ass off at the unexpected relaxation in the bosses usual business like demeanor, imagine I did. And it probably went something like this:

George: Ummm, honey, what are you doing?
Wife: I, uh, wait a sec. What do you mean?
George: I mean, what are you doing on your knees?
Wife: I'm getting ready for sex, like we planned.
George: But that's NOT how we planned it. That is not the agreed upon position.
Wife: Well, I guess I was just trying to be spontaneous. The old position is so, well, old.
George: But that's not what it says here on the proposal.
Wife: Does it always have to be the way of the proposal? Can't we just... she trails off, her hand sliding into his PJ bottoms.
George: Stop that! What do you think you're doing? Now you're getting me all confused.
Wife: Well I'm not trying to confuse you, I'm just trying to... hand sliding further.
George: I said STOP! I'm not prepared for that.
Wife: Well what if I just gave it a little, you know, stimulation?
George: Stimulation? I 'm not sure. I mean... I, I...I've got to make a couple of phone calls, he replies, getting out of bed and heading downstairs.
Wife: Where are you going George? Honey? And with that, she reaches into the night stand, the eventual soft buzzing of the power tool giving way to the pleading sobs of her husband on the phone in the kitchen.
George: ...yes, on her KNEES. I don't know if I have clearance for that. Besides, I could see her, well, you know. The hole that the poop comes out? I could SEE it.

Well maybe it didn't go exactly like that. But I am willing to bet somewhere up in the cold reaches of Wisconsin, a housewife is slightly less than satisfied. And a husband is furiously working on a re-draft.

A Guitarman's Christmas

Happy Holidays all! Oh wait, I vowed never to lower myself to the bastions of de-Christmasing Christmas. You know what I mean, in an effort to try and avoid offending someone who is a non-Christian, as if uttering the phrase "Merry Christmas" is some affront to your very well being, society has given in to the PC notion that we must make everything generic, including our holiday greetings. Bah, humbug I say! So with no apologies, I want to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas.

And with that being said, I will now give you some of my very favorite Christmas songs of all time, only slightly altered for my amusement:

Cheap Vodka (to the tune of White Christmas, inspired by the ramblings of an old friend from school)

I'm drinking up some cheap vodka,
just like some wino on skid row.
Where the drunks are drinking,
and beer bottles clinking,
and I am passed out in the snow.

I'm drinking up some cheap vodka,
straight from some Russian homemade still.
May your drinks be many and strong,
and may all your hangovers be long.

The Rastaman's Song (to the tune of The Christmas Song, you know, Chestnuts roasting etc...)

Marijuana on an open fire,
Bob Marley on the radio.
Reggae songs being sung while on ganj
from Negril, up to Montego.

Everybody knows the Rasta man is getting high,
from birth until he's 92.
Although it's been smoked many times many ways,
marijuana's for you.


And lastly, straight from the memories of my childhood (my bro and I wrote this when we were just wee little tykes), I still can't believe I can remember these lyrics,...

Randolph the Green Nosed Tuna (to the tune of, oh heck, you should be able to figure it out...)

Randolph the green nosed tuna, had a very sea green nose.
And if you ever saw it, you would even say it grows.
All of the other tuna, used to laugh and call him names, (yea, we weren't so creative back then)
they wouldn't let poor Randolph, play in any Neptune's games.

Then one foggy fishing day, Neptune came to say,
"Randolph with your nose so green, won't you guide my submarine?"
Then all the tuna loved him, and they shouted out with glee,
Randolph the green nosed tuna, he'll go to the bottom of the sea.


So my kids actually know that one. Taught it to them years ago before they morphed into the brooding young teens that now stand before me. Something tells me that before I teach them the first two, I should wait a few years. Or more. I'm leaning toward more.

Do as I say, not as I do.

Ooohhh! The Guitarman is mad. Mad I tell you!! It's 7:37 and my paper is still not here yet. Sure its a blizzard outside, and yes the roads may be a tad bit yucky, but still. It's this guys job, he needs to be on time. You see, I am always on time when it comes to my job. Only, substitute the word occasionally for the word always, and you have a truthful sentence. You see, what I am actually saying is, I guess I am admitting to be somewhat of a hypocrite on this topic. Which segue's nicely into the moral of the day kiddies: do as I say, not as I do.

Case in point, the Chicago Mayoral race. Poppycock you say! Politicians are honest, hard working, upstanding, truthful, AACK! Sorry bout that, just choked on my coffee. But seriously folks, lets take a look at the Rev. James Meeks and his week. Outspoken homophobe that he is, it was no surprise when, as a state senator, he voted NO on the soon to be signed bill that allows civil unions in Illinois. His prerogative to do whatever he feels is right, no matter how wrong the rest of us feel it is. But then, with cohones the size of a beach ball, he strolls into Anne Sathers (owned by gay alderman Tom Tunney) for a tete-a-tete with some of Chicago's gay community. To reach out to them. To feel their pain. To pander for their vote. Here's a little hint for the Rev: go play on the highway. Really, how stupid does he think the unwashed masses are? Well, stupid enough to elect him to the state senate I guess, and stupid enough to elect him Mayor, he hopes. But there you have it, a true hypocrite at his shining best. You see, do as I say, not as I do.

Another story this week, this one a little sad, revolves around a set of parents that have witnessed tragedy. The watched their son, pitching in a game for his little league team, get beaned in the head from a line drive off of one of those big barrel aluminum bats. Poor little tyke lost his hearing in one ear. But the parents reaction, as might have been mine or yours, was to sue bat maker Easton for putting a dangerous product on the market. Apparently, the kid who hit the line drive was as big as the kids dad. So don't you think it makes more sense to try and separate players by size, a la pee wee football, rather than age? And maybe, it's not the bat makers fault? And maybe, the big kid would have delivered a similar smash if he was using a wooden bat instead due to his genetically matured body? And what the hell does this have to do with today's moral you dare say? Seems our little guy, when he goes up to bat, after the tragedy took place, uses one of those same big barrel aluminum bats. Do as I say, not as I do.

I got that line from an old job. The boss would constantly be on us for one thing or another, and then turn around and do the exact opposite of what he just said. We would all look at each other on the desk and go, really? Lead by example? Lets hope that Meeks and the parents of the boy hear those three little word some day. But I guess it's a lot easier preach and sue, than it is to reach and do. After all, actions speak louder than words.

No Soup For You!!

Morality. The Guitarman likes to think he has decent morals. On occasion. When the mood strikes him. But my morals are different from yours. And different from the guy sitting next to you on the train. Or the guy ringing the bell for the Salvation Army at the Jewel. Also different from from Bishop Thomas John Paproki, head of the Springfield Archdiocese, as well as Peter Bensinger, former DEA administrator. Both of them also hold the dubious title of fearmongerer.

The Catholic church, as everyone with a brain stem knows, is big on morality. As well they should be, you know. Church. God. The bible. That sort of stuff. Telling it's flock the proper ways to run their lives. And others. Thou shalt not sin, yada, yada, yada. Heard it all before. But reading the paper today, the line, "we are all equal in God's eyes" comes to mind. But apparently, we are not. Not if your significant other happens to be the same sex as you. That's when God, according to the Catholics, draws a line in the sand. "No soup for you!" Soup, in this case, being eternal salvation. The skinny? Illinois has finally come around and is about to give legal recognition and rights to those whose morality differs from those consider themselves the mouthpiece of The Almighty. And how do they do it? With fear. We are all going to hell in a hand-basket if we stray from the white line they painted under our feet. Telling the masses, and in particular Gov. Quinn, that their law is the real law, not some stack of papers that makes up the constitution. That if he wishes to, "speak as a Catholic, then he is accountable to the Catholic authority..." News flash there Bishop: he is accountable to the people of Illinois and their rights. And the people want to live their lives on their own terms.

But flipping the page, who the heck is Peter Bensinger, and why does The Guitarman lump him into the category of fearmongering morality police? I am sure he believes in his morals. But like any person in a position of power, he feels the need to tell the rest of us how to run our lives. How our morals are not up to par with his. How any person suffering from one of the over 140 (GOOD GOD THAT MANY?) approved conditions for medical marijuana must put aside common sense and their own judgement for his and his ilk. And he does it with fear. His letter in the Sun Times warns us that if Illinois were to approve medical marijuana, we would all die from cancer and become drug dealers, coffee breaks in the workplace would be replaced with pot breaks, our highways would "become deathtraps", schools would close because all the kids would drop out, the sky would fall, and a cloud of locusts would engulf the world blotting out the sun for a thousand years. In that order. I love one of the statistic he cites: 33% of positive drug test results from fatalities on the roads in 2009 were for drugs other than alcohol. That means 67% were for alcohol. Maybe, dude, your focus should be on drunks, not pot-heads. And that 33%? What little sliver is marijuana? And what sliver of a sliver is from people seeking real relief from their maladies with a joint?

It all boils down to one thing. People in power have let it go to their heads. And their morality drives them to tell the world how it should be run. When they do it with fear, when they try to scare the rest of us straight, they are letting their own true fears be shown. The fear that the rest of us will one day rise up from the ashes of our own destruction and take over the world. That actually sounds like a good idea to me. But hey, who the heck am I? I'm just some dude who likes to play guitar. Now back to those 140 approved maladies. I just know I've got to have one of them.