Author: earlthepearl137

I had a busy weekend planned last week. Saturday was The Driscoll Christmas party, which is always one of the top 2 parties of the year. The Driscoll St Patrick’s Day Party is the only one that can beat it. Sunday I was visiting with Beelzebro and Mrs X. They just got back from a two-week tour of Central Europe. Monday I belatedly celebrated my friend Margaret’s birthday. Had to get it in before Christmas. You know how people who have birthdays around major holidays wind up getting cheated out of a birthday. Happy birthday to Steve, by the way. His birthday is December 26^th. It’s hard getting the crowd enthusiasm back the day after Santa has left the building. Good Luck, Steve.

On Friday I was supposed to go food shopping with my buddy Duane. He’s no longer homeless. He has an apartment in town and a part-time job. Plus he has a car, so we go food shopping together. Anyway, he got busy on Friday and didn’t come over. That was cool by me. I didn’t really want to food shop when I was going away for three days. I’ll food shop when I get back.  I can better use the time by resting up for a busy weekend.

I left the house on Saturday morning and started walking to the Amtrak Station. Two blocks later I realized that I didn’t have my cell phone with me. I looked at my watch and figured that I might miss my train if I went back for the phone. I could make it, but I would have to hustle, and I don’t do the hustle anymore. So I said, “The heck with it.” I’ll be seeing anyone I would normally be calling, anyway. It’s not a smart phone. I can’t use it to read e-mail or anything, so the heck with it.”

So, when my phone rang a few minutes later, I didn’t get the call:

“Earl, this is Duane. Sorry I couldn’t go food shopping yesterday. I’ll take you today. I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

The weekend turned out great, and I didn’t need my cell phone. When I needed to call my brother to pick me up at the train station, I just went to a liquor store by the train station, bought my brother a bottle of Bourbon, and asked if I could borrow the phone.  Two birds, one stone.  No problem.

Beelzebro and his wife had a bunch of great stories and pictures from their trip. They have a tiny stuffed animal character that they take with them everywhere and try to use in many of their photos. It’s like Where’s Waldo, or the Travelocity Gnome. (Sorry, I can’t tell you who their character is without revealing Beelzebro X’s real name, and he still chooses to remain anonymous.) We also had our first annual Almost-Christmas Meatloaf Dinner.

Then it was off to the party

Marianne and Tres throw the best parties. They’ve got a lot of friends – and family, and they all like to party. Plus, they’ve got Bob on electric piano, Shane on bass, various people on bongos, and anyone who wants to sing, singing. Thanks to my five weeks of physical therapy for my hip, I was even able to jump on the dance floor when a Tush Push broke out.

I already wrote about belatedly celebrating Margaret’s Birthday in Long Beach on Monday, so I’ll jump to when I got home. There was my cell phone, all charged up, and letting me know that I had 11 new voice mails.  That’s a lot for me.  I usually average about none.

First voice message:

“Earl, this is Duane. Sorry I couldn’t go food shopping yesterday. I’ll take you today. I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

Next voice message:

Earl, this is Duane. I rang your bell. You didn’t answer. Call me.

Next voice message:

Earl, this is Duane. Are you home? I know you’ve got a heart condition. I’m worried about you. Give me a call.

Next voice message:

I just rang your bell again. I knocked on your front window. The lights are out. That’s not like you. Are you okay? Did you go away? Give me a call.

There was a voice mail from John and Margaret asking me if I knew which train I would be on, and a voice mail from Debbie with basically the same question. She wanted to know when I would be back.  Plus there were some more calls from Duane. He was knocking on my door, calling me up, and ready to report me as a missing person/heart attack victim.

The next message was from a Sergeant somebody with the Lancaster Police Department who wanted to know if I was okay and would I call the station to let them know that I’m okay.

The next message was from another Sergeant who was following up, saying that he would be by tomorrow to investigate, unless I called.

I called him immediately, and then I called Duane. He was quite relieved to hear that I was alive. We had a good laugh about it.

So, I managed to get through a weekend without my cellphone, without causing too many problems.

Oh shit. I forgot to call Debbie.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

A lot of furniture gets moved around in December when people put up their Christmas trees. When my friends John and Margaret put up their Christmas tree they have to move their dining room table. When they do this, one person winds up sitting in a chair that is wedged in a corner. Once you’re in it, the Christmas Tree has you blocked in and you can’t get out unless the person on your left gets up. As soon as I got to their house last weekend, I was escorted into that chair.

“You’re sitting in the while-you’re-up chair.”

I knew just what they meant. I invented the concept. I’ve been partying at John’s house for decades and rarely have I ever gone to the refrigerator to get a beer. I always manage to spy somebody getting up, when I needed another beer. “Hey, while you’re up, would you grab me a beer.” We are not just talking about a few times, either. We are talking about thousands of beers over the years. My timing is impeccable.

They still talk about the Super Bowl party that I got there early, plopped down on the couch closest to the TV, and never got up once, not even at half time. Of course, I cheated a little that day. I brought a date, and she kept getting me beers, even when everyone else refused to get me anything, because they all wanted that front-row seat I was hogging. Since I didn’t even get up to pee, my bladder was awarded Super Bowl MVP that year. Unfortunately, my date was flagged by the refs and banned from all future Super Bowl Parties for aiding and abetting the enemy, me. I think they called it Unsportsmanlike Conduct. So, I’ve never been able to duplicate that feat at another Super Bowl Party, but that’s alright. I don’t think my 66-year-old bladder could last until half time, anyway.

So, they don’t even fight it anymore. It’s acknowledged that the while-you’re up chair is whichever chair I’m sitting in. That’s a great honor, and I would propose a toast to John and Margaret if somebody would just grab me a beer.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

PRESS RELEASE

For Immediate Release

FFI – Contact Allan Schott at allan@hanaweb.org

 Garnet Barnsdale Wins HANA Harness’ 2014 Grand Circuit Shoot-Out

 December 9, 2014 – With the Cleveland Classic not filling, the last leg of HANA Harness’ Grand Circuit Shoot-Out Handicapping Contest sponsored by the Hambletonian Society, DRF Harness, Meadowlands Racing & Gaming, Northfield Park, Tioga Downs, and Vernon Downs has been cancelled resulting in Garnet Barnsdale being named the top handicapper for this year’s contest with a net profit of $4,553.40, over $3,000 ahead of second place Mark McKelvie who had a net profit of $1,276.  In a last minute move, Brian McEvoy managed to nail Bob Zanakis for the show position, thanks to his $250 win wager on McWicked on Sunday’s Progress stake at Dover Downs.

While not finishing in the money, the last leg’s big winner was Earl Paulson who had a $250 play on the winning Trifecta which gave him a weekly net profit of $2,850, allowing him to move up from tenth to fifth place, putting him withiin striking distance of the third spot if he was successful in the Cleveland Classic but alas, it was not to be.

By nature of Barnsdale’s winning of the contest, a donation of $1,500 will be made to his selected standardbred rescue, TROTR (Therapeutic Riding and Off Track Rehabilitation) in addition, donations of $250 will be made by the Central Ontario Standardbred Association (COSA) and Red Shores-Charlottetown to the Canadian rescues of their choice in honor of Garnet’s victory.  For his second place finish, a donation of $1,050 will be made to McKelvie’s selected rescue, Rainhill Sanctuary.  A donation of $450 will be made to Horse Rescue United, Brian McEvoy’s selected rescue.

HANA Harness would like to once again thank its Gold Sponsors, the Hambletonian Society, DRF Harness, Meadowland Racing and Gaming, Northfield Park, Tioga Downs, and Vernon Downs as well as COSA and Red Shores-Charlottetown for their sponsorship and the handicappers which allowed this contest to help standardbred rescues across North America.

 For further information on HANA, please visit our website http://www.horseplayersassociation.org/.

Allan Schott

All I can say is what the Brooklyn Dodgers used to say at the end of most every season, “Wait ’til next year.”

I found a batting cage just 5 miles from my house, so until the contest starts again next April, I’ll practice my swinging for the fences there.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

I’m in a harness race handicapping contest that began back in April and ends this Friday. The contest is sponsored by The Horseplayers Association of North America, the Hambletonian Society and The Grand Circuit. There is one race left, and I’m in 5^th place, 4,610.90 fictional dollars behind the leader. The maximum bet is $250. So, I need a real longshot.

Last week I hit a home run.   I played a $250 cold triple that returned $3,100. Otherwise, I would still be in 10^th place, over $7,000 behind the leader. I just need one more big hit to make it into the top three, and the top three all win money for charity. I’m playing for Heading For Home, a Saratoga based charity that takes care of horses after their racing career is over.

Because I was so far behind, I’ve been swinging for the fences for about a month now, and I’ve been striking out, usually, but that $3,100 hit gave me hope, even though another hit of that magnitude on the last day of the contest would still leave me about $2,000 shy of actually winning the contest.

It’s hard enough to pick a winner, but trying to pick a cold exacta or triple is way harder, but that’s what I’ve got to do if I want to get a check for my charity. One race left. One bet left. I have to swing for the fences.

I also got an e-mail this week from the Lancaster Barnstormers. Last year I bought a ticket package that included throwing out the first pitch at one of their games, and they wanted to know if I was interested in doing that again. I sure was, and this year I bought 3 packages, so that two of my friends could join me on the mound, instead of just sitting in the stands laughing at me.

The Barnstormers (ahem, I mean the 2014 Atlantic League Champion Barnstormers) also wanted to know if I was interested in a ticket package that included taking batting practice with the team. I signed up for two of those packages, so I could invite a friend to participate in that – our own little home run derby. So, I will be swinging for the fences in 2015. But right now, first things first, before I start swinging for the fences at Clipper Magazine Stadium, I’ve got one fence to swing for this Friday at Northfield Park in the Cleveland Classic Pace.

Wish me luck. I’m gonna need it.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

I just got back from a weekend in Ohio celebrating my Aunt Miriam’s 80^th birthday. Naturally, the weekend was filled with all the usual stuff, like food and drink, music, and tons of relatives. But there was also a little bit of the unusual, at least for me. There were guns.

On Saturday, I went with 3 of my relatives to their 40-acre property in the woods, where, in addition to the woods, they have a picnic area, a lake, trailers for overnight stays, and a target range. We were there to use the target range and an assortment of my Cousin Ed’s handguns and rifles.

He could tell that I didn’t know the first thing about guns, so he loaded them for me, told me to pick one, gave me a set of earplugs, and pointed me towards the firing line. The last time I fired a weapon was on the rifle range in boot camp back in 1967, so I grabbed a rifle that looked closest to what I used back then.

I’ve read a lot of Lee Child’s Jack Reacher novels, so I knew a little something about marksmanship. I knew that, for greatest accuracy, you had to hold your breath when you pulled the trigger. I took in a big gulp of air, held my breath, sighted on the target and squeezed the trigger. I squeezed until I was turning blue from holding my breath, but no shots were fired.

Through my ear plugs, I heard the muffled scream of my cousin. “You have to take off the safety,” Ed said.

I didn’t know where the safety was or how to take it off, so he did that for me and handed the rifle back to me. I held my breath, sighted on the target, and squeezed the trigger.

Blam! The bullet raced towards the target, well at least in that general vicinity. A clump of dirt jumped into the air about 25 feet away from the target. I pulled the trigger again and caused more dirt to dance. I kept pulling the trigger until I was out of ammo. The target was still untouched.

Ed reloaded the rifle and went to the firing line.

Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! And the target was turned into Swiss cheese.

My other two cousins fired off a couple rounds, and then Ed loaded a handgun for me. I fired the first shot and the gun recoiled upward as soon as I squeezed the trigger. I missed the target by a mile, but I scared every bird within two miles of the target. After a few more shots, I was able to somewhat control the upward swing of the gun, and I managed to make some more dirt dance.

Keeping the gun pointed at the target, I turned to my cousins behind me and said, “In all the excitement, I don’t know if I fired 6 or seven shots, so you’ve got to ask yourself, do you feel lucky. Well, do you punk?” They laughed and I emptied the clip and actually hit the target with one of my shots.

We took turns blasting off round after round at the targets. I saw that the shotgun had a lot more kick than the other weapons, so I passed on those rounds. I didn’t want to risk hurting my shoulder. There was a lot of weekend left and I needed my arm in good shape for all the beer I would have to lift.

After several hours of them blasting the targets and me blasting the dirt, we packed up the guns and headed back to Akron. It was my Cousin Barbi’s son’s birthday. Terrence turned 23 and a few of his friends were coming over to help him celebrate. A couple dozen relatives and a few dozen of his friends showed up and we partied. Around 4 a.m. the party was still going strong, but I was out of gas. I slipped off to the guest room, which was just above the garage where the music was blasting. The room was rocking.

Then I remember that I still had the earplugs from the firing range. I put them in and slept like a baby.

When I woke up my cousin Barbi was serving breakfast to all of Terrence’s friends who spent the night. She told me that the house rule was that her sons and their friends were allowed to party all they wanted but nobody was allowed to drive home. She was used to making breakfast for a small army of hungry college students. I joined in, and it was delicious.

I got invited back for Terrence’s graduation party next June. I hope I can get in a little target practice before then, so I don’t embarrass myself too much on the firing range. “A man’s got to know his limitations.”

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl