Has it dawned on anyone that our federal government is not functioning at a very high level? Under both parties, this government has not passed a budget for years. In fact, the last time the United States passed a full budget on time was in 1997. That’s 196 dog years or 28 human years. That seems less than efficient to me, but maybe you have a different standard.
It’s an embarrassment of partisanship and morality over common sense and valor.
I should not be throwing too much shade. I’ve operated my marriage since 1988 without passing a clean budget bill. My wife and I pass continuing resolutions every few weeks mostly by nods and uttering “whatever,” no official votes on the record. It seems to work for us, so maybe the government is better off than I thought.
My wife acts like she doesn’t keep track of money, but I bet she’s got a couple of very precise spreadsheets hidden away that would surface very quickly in the event of my untimely demise.
I often wonder who exactly the “untimely” adjective applies to in the case of a death. Is it the guy dying or people around him? Both? Not sure, but I can assure you that to me, my death at any future point will be “untimely” to me.
My 85-year-old in-laws interrupted a conversation about the Chiefs the other day to explain that they want no obituary and that the urns they have purchased may not fit all their remains. I’m not sure if we reached an agreement on what that means we should do with the “extra.” We moved on to the lack of a pass rush by the Chiefs and settled that at least. Gonna have to circle back with them and see how they want any “overage” handled.
Chemical enhancement has changed my life cycle over here. I’ve never done steroids, but I’ve had my yard on a strict regimen of chemical enhancement for years. My last mow of the year used to always be around Halloween. Over the last five years, the last mow has been closer to, or even after, Thanksgiving. Residential grass is out of control with roid rage these days. Some yards barely turn brown during the winter months now.
My grandpa that mowed his yard like it was a concrete slab would be utterly confused with this development in the world. He preferred Hamm’s Beer and a cigarette to extra bouts of mowing.
My father’s dad lived on a small farm, and he mowed the grass as short as you could get it, which was great for 8-year-old barefoot me and for his Hamm’s beer allotment.
On the other hand, my mother’s dad lived in town, and he had half a yard of Zoysia grass, which always seemed to stick out like a sore thumb. Dead half the year and the rest of the year it looked like I should be at the Master’s and was afraid to walk on it.
I don’t remember them ever spraying anything on their yards. It was just luck of the draw back then. Rain and shade and it grew, sun and heat and it died. Simple as that. Honestly though, they never felt the true joy of riding a zero-turn mower and that’s sad.
(Guy Speckman can be reached roid raging with his grass seed)
