Corn Dogs, Controlled Violence and Entertainment.

Yesterday was an exercise in masculinity, a macho parade of manly activities, a mixture of jet fuel and fireworks and bourbon. All combined and stirred and sauteed in a pan with a touch of extra virgin olive oil until tender, at this point add a sprinkle of salt and a pinch of oregano. Now fold in the diced onion, gently stirring and carefully pouring into a 9 by 13...  Wait, it was a lot more macho than that.

We went fishing, and it was hot, and there had been a lot of rain so the water was thick with branches, twigs, and leafs. It was humid, and pretty miserable, and it takes a real man to suffer through that sort of misery.  But, we were not bothered by any fish. Lucky bastards, anyway.

This evening we tried something completely new, and different.  We went to an MMA match. Actually, it was series of matches, six in total. And, they were outside, and they were at the county fair. 

There is something magical about a county fair, something historical, barns filled with chickens, cows, and sheep, and dreams. Each one the product of hours of work, and care. Sleepless nights, sweat, tears, and the endless hope of success.

Which is probably very similar to the Mixed Martial Arts at this level. These are combatants with few fights, entry level bouts. But, everybody had to start somewhere, right?

After the heat and humidity of the day the evening cooled down beautifully. There were dark clouds, some rumbles of thunder, and a few flashes of lightning, but they stayed on the periphery. It was a great night for sitting outside watching two young men try to beat the living snot out of each other.

Mixed martial arts is kind of new to me, but my son likes it and I love to check out new things. Plus, it was at the county fair. We have watched it a few times, so I am not a complete novice.

It always seems to start with two guys kick boxing and then one grabs the other, throws him down, and tries to kneel over him and pound him into submission. It seems savage, and the formula doesn't change much, but it is interesting, once you get past the brutality. And it is obvious these young men train vigorously, and work very hard to earn a chance to climb into the six sided ring.  I am not sure why it has six sides.

But, it was quite an experience and trying new things is always a good idea.  Next week it is boxing and the demolition derby.  More mayhem and elephant ears. Don't pass the chance to take in something local, you will never regret it.

Protection and the Cost of a Mistake.

Things have been a little slow around the Life Explained headquarters the last several weeks. When things get slow people get scared, money gets tight, and that can cause problems. In this case it caused problems for Dr. Dawg, and Bob, from the secretarial pool.

Bob had always felt people treated him derisively because he was a secretary, and not even a private secretary. Being in the pool forced him to work in several departments, and this gypsy job style bothered him a little.

So, when things got a little tight, and Bob was worried about his next meal he jumped at Dr. Dawg's offer to make a little extra cash.

It was tried and true plan, as simple as it was effective, and as easy as it was widely used. They were going to sell "protection" to the office personnel on the 4^th floor. It would be great.

Reasoning that it would be better to start with Shirley, she was old. Almost retirement age, so she would be worried about potential broken bones, widowed so nobody would come to her aid, and fairly wealthy, she had been working for all of those years, after all.

They devised a plan, they would approach Shirley's desk after everybody else had left for the day. Since she was older, and had little to do after hours she was dedicated to her job, often working long after her co-workers headed for the excitement of the city at night.

They would push her iced coffee onto her computer keyboard causing her to worry about what she would tell the tech department. Then they would knock over her "World's Best Grandma" cup. She was so proud of that mug, adorned with her Grandchildren's pictures, she refused to stain it with coffee. She kept wax flowers in the cup, changing them with the season. When the flowers spilled on her desk, she would stand to pick them up before the rolled onto the floor. Dr. Dawg would move in behind her legs, Bob would push her over, and they would threaten her until she paid them to leave.

Things were going splendidly, too, she did not have her iced coffee, so they had to improvise, and knocked over her water bottle. Unfortunately, it had the lid screwed on tightly, and no water spilled out. Before Bob could knock over flower vase, "World's Best Grandma" cup Shirley stood demanding to know what "in the name of goodness are you doing?" No problem, Bob, and Dr. Dawg figured, accelerating the time table Dr. Dawg moved in behind her.

When Bob went to push her over something odd happened, it happened quickly, too. Sweeping her left arm through a graceful, fluid arc, Shirley pushed Bob's arms aside. Her right hand, formed in a fist, flew, arrow quick, and laser straight into Bob's nose. Before he could say, "Ouch, that hurt," Shirley chopped him in the throat, and swept his legs out from underneath him, crumpling him like a sack of wet, limp towels, onto the floor.

Dr. Dawg was hiding in one of the offices, under a desk. Bob was rolling across the floor, writhing in pain, and gasping for breath when Shirley took his wallet, emptied it of money, and grabbed his American Express card. She called her Knitting Society Circle, asking if they wanted to go to dinner, she was buying.  They jumped at the chance.

Shirley grabbed her coat, her scarf, and her purse, and walked around Bob, saying "excuse me," very politely, and headed toward the elevator.