One Mug Shot That Didn't Make Today's News: Santa Claus Is Booked.

A disgruntled toy maker protesting the end of Christmas was booked and then released on $199 bail.

Santa Claus, age unknown, was standing at a New York street corner in an attempt to halt Christmas decorations from being taken down after Dec. 25.

“Keeping Christmas decorations up year round is the new trend,” said Claus, clutching signs reading “I’m just sayin’, Christmas is 24/7” and “Tinsel Is Totally Timeless.”

It was the second arrest for Claus, who on Christmas Eve was stopped for failing to maintain his lane. No alcohol was found in his sleigh, despite police allegations that his lead reindeer, known only as Rudolph, had a red nose, usually an indicator of high alcohol consumption.  But a second charge stuck, with officers clocking Claus’s sleigh going 1,225 mph in a 70 mph zone. A speeding ticket was issued along with judge’s orders for Claus to perform community service wearing coat, hat and boots for three months in Key West, FL.

Claus, who is free on his own recognizance, told police he vows to return again.

Remembering: Sarasota National Cemetery

Two weeks ago, wreaths were placed on 5,170 graves at Sarasota National Cemetery. A visit yesterday touched our hearts. A lone man remembers and tries to find comfort.

So Far Away...

Doesn't anyone stay in place anymore? Suppose not, especially when a 50-something person works with 30-somethings who have never heard of Carol King. And James Taylor? Oh, yeah, wasn't he the fire and rain guy? Try not to make the mistake of seeing and understanding the world through your own eyes. It gets old. But sometimes in a very good way.

Oh, Great.

No one told me about daylight savings. But I'm glad I'll get an extra hour of sleep.

Last Night's Gift.

A Quick Scan On Punching In And Checking Out.

My father used to design grocery stores for the likes of Kroger, Winn-Dixie, Bettendorf and Handy-Andy Supermarkets.  Which meant that in high school in the early 70s, I always had a summer job “checking groceries.” I trained on what they called an “electrical decimal cash register.” No barcode scanners to translate binary codes. No lighted display to tell me how much change I should make. No temperamental self-checkouts.

Instead, it was my job to press down the appropriate cash-register keys to enter in prices, count correct change and bag groceries if “sackers” were outside retrieving hurled shopping carts. Since I didn’t use a barcode scanner, my customers hardly spoke to me. Instead, they were fixated on my every keypunch. When I handed them their receipts, they x-ray-visioned them all the way out to their cars.

So last weekend I had to smile while paying for my purchases at a local Sarasota grocery store. I had accumulated a small but respectful mountain of fruits and vegetables inside my squeaky-wheeled basket. I placed them in order of hardest to softest on the conveyor belt to encourage proper packing.

The young cashier went to work, sliding my canned and bottled items over the scanner like they were greased potatoes. But when she got to my nectarines, my pears, my Granny Smiths and two kiwis, she sighed and apologized.

“I wish all these barcodes would work, “ she complained, squinting at the labels and punching in the numbers with French-manicured nails.

Well, I couldn’t help myself. I told her that as a young cashier back in the 70s, I had to memorize the code for each fruit and vegetable, weigh each one on jiggly scales and punch in each code.

I said that back in those days, you had to know the difference between a McIntosh and a Winesap. Green bananas and firm plantains. A Dixie Giant and a hefty beefsteak.

The girl almost dropped my kiwis.

But at least she had the wherewithal to remind me to enter my seven-digit zip code and push credit or debit. I swiped my credit card and went along my merry way. 

Hope For "Hope" The Abused Dog.

"I love not man less, but nature more." 

Heartbreaking, heartwarming.  No words to add.

http://www.star-telegram.com/2012/07/11/4094109/abused-parker-county-dog-is-making.html

In America, It's 4th of July Somewhere.

Why A Duck Is Better Than A Pedometer Reading

Astral flights around a mall aren't the most interesting, except when I spot a 50-something jogger huff and puff and then decide to park it in front of the J.C. Penney. She was messing with her i-Pod, her Blackberry, her pedometer and her shoestrings -- looking totally frustrated until she saw a duck approach.

You see, this J.C. Penney store and its striped concrete skirt bumped up to a retention pond populated by ducks and a few errant seagulls. Being only a whisker past 7 a.m., there were no shoppers around -- just some loud belly-rumblings from webbed-feet quackers hoping for tidbits of French toast or French fries.

This particular duck was not to be denied. It seemed to cock its head when it heard Eddie Vedder's voice float out of the i-Pod's earbuds...something about Society....and then Alison Krauss singing Down To The River To Pray (river, retention pond -- I don't think it'd matter much to Alison). 

Like I said, the jogger just sort of parked it right there on the grass, folded her arms around her knees and stared back at the duck. I heard her thinking about how she'd bring some bread next time as a way of saying thanks -- thanks because a moment like this was way better than a pedometer reading could ever be.

But at least she snapped a picture. It will never make it on the cover of National Geographic. But she left with a memory of the morning.

Being Delicate At The Deli.

I could not believe this bejeweled woman who waltzed into the local deli and asked for two pints of salad sans the please. When the Hispanic server scooped only one scoop from the wrong deli bowl, the woman drawled, “Shall we try this again? O-n-e, and now t-w-o.” HQ Cat thinks she should watch more of the national news and get her perspectives right. 

It's Been One of Those Springs...

Been out of the loop for a while, but I DO have reasons! Glad to be back.

Being Rich For A Day Is Long Enough, Thank You.

I admit, I’m of those cats who sleeps in what I call a “Tower of Power” – a six-foot, two-story, beige-carpeted condo with a scratchpad serving as a ground-level garage. When I’m snoozing on the top level, I feel like I’m in command of everything – the feline equivalent of being Queen of the Mountain where everyone has to play by my rules.

But last night I drifted off early and dreamed that I won the lottery, and that my well-worn sleeping space had transformed into a luxuriant magic carpet glowing in shades of apricot and tangerines. It reminded me of what I read in the morning paper -- that despite the soft economy, my local kingdom is “awash with the wealthy” who have discretionary funds to buy yachts and second homes.

I don’t begrudge the affluent. But I was really glad to wake up in my own comfortable bed.

Smart Phone Glam Puss

Sorry, but this is beyond compare, if I do say so myself. Taken after a night at my favorite spot, The Fish House (of course).

Can't Believe I Haven't Seen This Before.

I can't get this message or music out of my mind. Come see. http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=Hzgzim5m7oU&vq=medium

HQ Cat

End Piracy, Not Liberty.

Free knowledge makes me sleep better.

Sincerely,

HQ Cat