Every day on the way home I pass the world’s most expensive billboard located in Merriam, KS.

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Not much original material on this here blog lately, but I couldn’t pass up this old Jewish joke short film presented at the San Francisco Jewish Film Festival.

*Warning: The movie contains one NSFW word, depending on where you W. This blog is not responsible for you not getting the joke, just enjoy the music.

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I guess I am closing in on the age when people around me start dying off. When I was younger these people already seemed old, now that I reached their age that seemed so ancient to me not so long ago, I find myself attending funerals more often than I’d like. And this is just the sad beginning, many of my relatives and relatives of my few friends are in their 70s, 80s and 90s. As the new immigrants these are the people who will be the  first in their families to be buried in the New Country. They had the courage to leave everything, including many generations of their ancestors buried in the old Motherland, and they will be the first to be laid to rest here. And we, the younger generation, will be the first to have our loved ones separated by the ocean, the old gravestones there will eventually be forgotten after we are gone.
The people we are losing now had truly legendary lives: they were born in the young new country, they fought in the war, they came home to rebuild, they raised their kids, they lived, they loved, they suffered, lost friends and relatives, lived through lies and propaganda, managed with very little and lived to see their children and especially grandchildren prosper in this country. Their eulogies will be said in the language they don’t understand, and Rabbi will pray to God they were taught didn’t exist. The Rabbi will talk about their lives, struggling to pronounce their names and places they lived in, knowing that most of the mourners do not understand a word of Hebrew, but still love the sound of it and a feeling that the same exact words were said for millions of people for thousands of years, for a moment bringing them in touch with all the generations before them.

Jewish Cemetery,
Brown dirt frozen
With millions of tears

Photo: Rose Hill Cemetery, Kansas City, MO 

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You might have noticed more activity than usual on this here blog and it’s not because I am less lazy, but because the time is running out and I have less than a month to say everything I’ve ever wanted to say.

This fine specimen of the religious billboard art is located around Truman Rd. and HWY 71. Notice a Bible Seal of Approval at the top left and a person in the position painfully familiar to anyone who ever used a squat toilet at the bottom right.

In any case, I suggest you repent soon, use up your vacation and deplete your savings accounts.

You have been warned.

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I wonder if there is a rating scale for potholes similar to the F-Scale for tornadoes or the Richter Scale for earthquakes. If there isn’t one, I’d like to propose a Kansas City Pothole Scale to commemorate this City’s contribution to the subject of road damage. I’ll leave it to the scientists to decide if potholes should be rated based on their size or on a potential vehicle damage from a minor bump (K-1) to a complete disappearance of the vehicle as described in the Bible “and the earth opened her mouth, and swallowed them up” (definitely a K-10).

Every day I have to maneuver around this crater of a pothole on my way to work, wondering if one wrong turn will send me on my way to the center of the Earth, or at least a little closer to it.

As you can see, there are visible remains of the previous handiwork done by the highly trained professionals working for the City.

It’s hard to tell but the tape measure in the photo is extended to almost three feet to give you some dimension perspective.

It’s not just a hole in the ground. There seems to be a cave underneath it. Maybe it’s an old mine, or an unknown entrance to the abandoned underground tunnel, or an end of the secret escape route leading to the Mayor’s office.

I didn’t feel like spelunking my way down there on a gray Saturday morning.

Few days ago someone placed an orange warning sign around this pothole but it swallowed the City property overnight. You can see the remains of the sign deep down in the abyss.

During my annual griping about the KCMO Earnings Tax, someone never fails to point out that it’s only fair that I pay my fair share for the roads and wonderful amenities I am using while I am in Kansas City. Stupidity of this argument aside, I think I paid enough during my 10 years of employment to fill this hole with cash.

This article explains that you may have a small chance of the City compensating you for the damage to your vehicle caused by a pothole; coverage may be provided by the Missouri Public Entity Risk Management Fund. Obviously I am not qualified to provide any advice, do your own research.

In the meantime, please exercise caution on this intersection of the 6th and Cherry, you’ll find the giant pothole next to the property tax-free building.

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One wrong move and you may accidentally discover the next steamboat Arabia.

Mr.Gorbachev Mayor Funkhouser! Tear down this wall! Fill up this hole!

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