~Relatively Unbalanced~

Hi!

2006-01-01T22:41:00.000-08:00

My goodness it feels funny logging in after all this time!

BigandMean has lots of great stories stored up in his head. Now if I can just get him to commit to writing them here!

:)

I hope you all had wonderful holidays. Doesn't it stink to have to go back to work? Blah!

Signing Off

2005-09-29T10:25:00.000-07:00

I've been participating in this obstentatious display called a blog for about a year now. In the beginning, I endeavored to expatiate on a variety of subjects, such as politics and religion as though it were a devine imparting by me of knowledge to the unknowing yet venial masses. I couldn't sustain what to me became a venture into a tenebrous webb of point/counter-point with no end in sight to the endless cavils of some of my correspondents. In other words, politics, religion and other serious subjects got boring and I encountered a few real nut cases. I had to move on to a more jocund, mirthful approach because that's who I am.

Gradually, the people who disagreed with my opinions on more serious matters began to take on an evanescent nature, then their comments completely disappeared. That was fine, because some of them were obviously certifiable while others were destined to be that way if they couldn't put the 2000 election behind them. I even received some threats of physical harm from of the less enlightened on the left who, of all things fancied themselves to be defenders of free speech. They reminded me of the nuts who murdered abortion doctors because they were pro-life.

On the plus side, I've had a lot of fun. Writing something totally self-serving and whimsical, then checking to see what your online friends and family had to say about it has been a real hoot. Also on the plus side, I've met two Philadelphia bloggers, Ala and Justrose and Ala's father, 92alpha. They are some of the finest people you could ever hope to know and I feel as though they have become lifelong friends.

I've also "met" online, my buddies Riceburner, McWizard, Jensun_Clemike, 91ghost, Kat, Alix, AFsister, Tesco, Desultory Butterfly and her sis Bonnie and the ever smiley Ben and many others. One day, I expect to get the chance to meet many of them in person. Their comments and interest in what I had to say sustained me.

Again on the plus side, my commentators (not the taters of royalty, mind you but the common ones) included my two children, plus three nephews, a niece, my wife, brother, son-in-law, brother-in-law and a couple of cousins. Their comments, especially on my blogger's birthday card were priceless to me.

That having been said, the real purpose of this post is to announce my signing off and marching off into the sunset, sans blog. This has been like staring at the Grand Canyon before moving on to see what's on the other side - quite a sight to be sure but so etched in the memory that you no longer have to look at it.

I don't want any of you to waste your time by coming here expecting me to be lurking around with a dose of my usual BS. I'll be doing that alright, just not here, pecking it out on a keyboard. I'll be checking my yahoo email address on occasion though, and if any of you out-of-towners ever anticipate being in Houston, let me know.

Adios and God bless.

Rita Is A Big Fat Sissy

2005-09-28T17:00:00.000-07:00

That's just one of the memorable things overheard during storm week. But I think my favorite was "there's a category 5 storm headed right for us and he's asleep on the couch."

The announcements to evacuate the Houston area started Wednesday afternoon. A category 5 storm with winds of up to 175 mph was headed straight for Galveston and we were told to "get out or die". The storm was due to arrive sometime after midnight on Friday so we had lots of time but you wouldn't know it from the panic of some. My neighbor left pulling his travel trailer behind with its' door still open and steps dragging the pavement. Many left town without packing and others had little or no cash or gas.

The freeways were immediately at gridlock - no movement whatsoever. People were trapped, unable to get off the freeways and quickly running out of gas and food. The temperature was 98 degrees with temperatures in the midst of all the idling engines running around 110. It obviously was best not to try to leave town for awhile.

Our plan was to get up at 4:00 AM on Thursday and beat the next exodus, but the traffic was even worse. That's when I decided to continue to wait it out and take a nap.

Thursday afternoon the announcement came that all lanes on a section of I-45 would be open to outbound traffic. We still had a day and a half before Rita hit us, if she did at all, and our household vote totals were still holding at one to one - one vote to wait until the traffic cleared before leaving and one vote to get the hell out of town yesterday. We left about 2:15 PM.

The freeway was clear the 20 or so miles to downtown Houston. So far so good. It continued to move at a fast pace for 17 more miles but shut down completely just 13 miles from our destination at Scott and Jen's house.

Traffic didn't move at all for 4 hours. We were behind a couple who we found out lived near us but had left their home 11 and one half hours before we left ours. Cars were stalled everywhere. Babies were crying, dogs were barking and people were getting sick. The diesel and gas fumes burned the eyes and hurt the throat. We had plenty of ice and water and kept ourselves and our 15 year old mutt Petey hydrated.

People were using cups to relieve themselves, then getting out of their cars and emptying the contents on the freeway. The pavement was so hot that the urine seemed to evaporate right away but the smell lingered.

After almost six hours, we made it to Scott and Jen's house in Spring, a distance of 50 miles. We stayed until after the storm passed and came home on Saturday morning, beating most of the crowd back into town.

We had no damage to our house at all. For us, Rita was a big fat sissy.

Caleb Takes a Header

2005-09-27T10:07:00.000-07:00

Doug's 4 year nephew, Caleb is in town with his mom and little brother while his dad is making his third and final tour with the Marine Corps in Iraq.

Although he's not really related to us, we love him just like he was one of our own. He has blond hair and big blue eyes and usually has a mischievious grin that makes you wonder what he's up to. He's all boy - into "weaponry" as his dad calls it and anything else that shoots, salutes, triumps over evil, goes fast, runs, leaps, wears a costume, flies or looks "scawy". He calls us uncle and aunt and, of course, we eat that up.

When the whole extended family made it back into town from our "premature evacuation" Doug and Caleb's Grandfather Jim came over to help take the plywood off the windows of our house. Caleb came along too, as did his mom, brother, Jim's wife Meloney and Doug's wife Melodye.

After finishing the chores followed by a visit to the only mexican food restaurant that had re-opened, we brought Caleb back to our house for the afternoon.

First up was a ride in the back yard on the 4 wheelers. Then a round of playing "good guy-bad guy" with Aunt Susie, who spent an hour or so in a make believe jail.

Then it was outside with me to feed the goldfish and koi. Caleb leaned over, then leaned a little more so "El Guapo" would eat from his hand. As I turned to put the goldfish food away, I heard a splash. Caleb had managed to take a header into the pond and was thrashing around like some giant fish in a small pond while trying to get out before I noticed. I grabbed one arm and pulled him out, and quickly checked to make sure he was OK. He looked up at me with big sad looking eyes and said "we're not in trouble are we?"

I lost control completely. I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. Caleb laughed as hard as I did once he realized that no one would be mad at him. He said "If I fall in again will you laugh at me again"? "No little fella, one time is enough." He was impressed by the fact that the fish didn't bite him. I'm sure they wanted too.

With his clothes in the washer, then the dryer and Caleb in one of Aunt Susie's tee shirts, he and I finished off the afternoon with an improptu fight with duelling water hoses.

Once into his dry clothes and into his car seat, one very tired little boy fell asleep on the way to be delivered to his grandparents.

When we got home, we passed out and slept like babies too. Entertaining little ones can be hard work.

Pre-Evacuation Conversation

2005-09-26T08:07:00.000-07:00

Prior to getting on the road and joining what was to become the single largest traffic jam in American history, I stopped by the local drug store to pick up a few things we might need. The place had been cleaned out; no batteries, bottled water or Little Debbie Snack Cakes. Not a Ding Dong in the house. Another desperate person told me if you had to have some Twinkies or a Moon Pie she'd heard you'd have to go all the way to Dallas. There's something about the possibility of impending death that causes you to temporarily go off your diet of bark and roots and be willing to stuff yourself with toxic nirvana.

I remained strong and turned down a shot at outmuscling an old lady for a box of creme-filled cup cakes. It would have been easy - a piece of cake. Several pieces actually. All I ended up with at the check out counter was one bottle of aspirin and a hunger for real food that would rival any found in a buffet line at an old folks home.

There was a line forming behind me at the check out counter but the lady working there avoided me like poison ivy. She was on the phone, dealing with what was obviously personal business - something that was much more important to her than selling me a bottle of aspirin.

As I waited along with everyone else, I heard her philosophy about the approaching storm. "I think we should just git as far away as we can", she said. "You don't know what these things is gonna do. You better pack up and just git the hell out'n da way, you know what I'm saying"?

I'm thinking, "no, I honestly don't know what you're saying because you butcher the english language worse than Attila the Hun on a march through Mongolia you ignoramus but I would like to buy this bottle of aspirin if you don't mind."

Back to Ms. Take This Job and Shove It: "Yeah, I got all I need. I'm all packed and ready. You got gas?" I saw my opening. In the loudest voice I could muster I answered her: "NO, I DON'T. JUST A LITTLE HEADACHE".

She hung up. I got out. Sometimes you just do what you gotta do. Know what I'm saying?

Headlines The Day After Rita

2005-09-24T16:34:00.000-07:00

"Rains Hit Houston; None Hurt But 12 Drown In New Orleans"

"2.7 Million Evacuate When Wind Reaches 7 MPH"

"No Damage From Rita But Thousands Hospitalized From Breathing Gas Fumes During Evacuation"

"Premature Evacuation Ruins Mayor's Political Career"

"Motorists Stalled In Cars On Freeway For 12 Hours; Celebration Breaks Out As Commute Is Quicker Than Usual"

"Porta Potty Blown Over; TV Weather Girl Trapped"

"Hurricane Reporter Shot Dead By Program Director; Said 'Hunker Down' One Time Too Many. DA Rules Justifiable Homicide"

"Weather Channel Babe Lands 70 Miles Away While Reporting On Rita"

Feel free to add your own.

All's well

2005-09-24T08:33:00.000-07:00

In fact, it is so "well" that Dad is already packing up his car. LOL!

He is determined to get on the road and beat the traffic home.

Yes, it is still windy.

Yes, it is still raining.

But he is GOING TO BEAT THAT TRAFFIC BY GOD!

Aye carumba.

Thanks again for all your prayers and well wishes. We are absolutely fine!

Got Gas?

2005-09-23T11:14:00.000-07:00

Make a note to yourself. Keep your tank topped off if you might have to get out of town in a hurry. Many people in the Houston area didn't and are stuck beside a freeway somewhere right now.

We waited for some of the traffic to clear before we left home at 2:15 on Thursday. Still we were trapped on the High Occupancy Lane of I-45 for about 4 and a half hours of our almost 6 hour trip to Jen and Scott's house 50 miles to the north. Some people trapped on the freeway in front of us live in the same town we do but had left their home almost 12 hours before we left ours - yet there we were - in the same spot.

After about 5 and a half hours in 100 plus degree temperatures we managed to get off the freeway and park near an elementary school. There was plenty of grass to walk the dog and stretch our legs but the best thing was escaping the stalled cars, noise, hot pavement and the smell of diesel fumes from all the buses and 18 wheelers.

We called our son-in-law, Scott for directions to his and Jen's house, maybe using some little known back roads no one else knew about so we could escape the traffic. He told us he knew where we were and to just stay there - that he would come and get us. He was there in a matter of minutes and led us on the back roads back to his and Jen's house.

Remember what the Drew Barrymore character in the movie ET said about the movie's main character? We feel the same way about Scott. "We're keeping him."

Rita.....

2005-09-22T09:02:00.000-07:00

Mr and Mrs Bigandmean are heading for my and Scott's house in Spring. Spring is about 20 miles north of downtown Houston. We'll have bad wind and some flooding, but should be fine. We'll post when we can.

Rita Needs A Makeover

2005-09-21T12:57:00.000-07:00

That Rita. She's a mean looking one alright.

We're in Brazoria County, about a mile from the Galveston County line which is under a mandatory evacuation order. We're boarding up, battening down and taking off.

See you on down the road.

Heeeeerrrrrrrres Rita!

2005-09-20T07:41:00.000-07:00

So Hurricane Rita may be heading straight for us, huh? It's no big deal here on the Texas coast. We're ready.

You see, we have a long-range plan to deal with natural disasters, especially hurricanes. We don't worry much about earth quakes or mud slides. Tsunamis are not much of a concern to us. We haven't had any riots or insurrections since the opening week of deer season several years ago when hunting with dogs was banned. But hurricanes? We've got that covered. We take care of ourselves in Texas. And if you're one of our neighbors and haven't made a plan and followed through on it, we'll take care of you too.

If Rita does hit us, looting won't be much of a problem. We shoot looters here. That tends to discourage others.

The Mayor of Galveston may have jumped the gun just a bit by suggesting that people leave the island as early as Monday. At that time, Rita was not yet a full-blown hurricane and was still almost a week away from it's predicted land fall on the Texas Gulf Coast. True, the mayor doesn't want to repeat the mistakes made in New Orleans by waiting too long to make a decision. So we have the Mayor of New Orleans to thank for rejuvenating another malady that has plagued mankind since time immemorial: premature evacuation.

Marie's On The Roof

2005-09-19T08:58:00.000-07:00

My goldfish pond is home to one less creature today. Marie, a 3 year old fantail goldfish went belly up this morning. I still have one other fantail, Donny, plus "feeder" goldfish that I rescued from the tank at Wal-Mart, including Nicholas, Natalie, Aunt Susie, Bo and Walmart. I also still have my koi, El Guapo, Whitey, Rojo and Jackson. Doug gave Jackson his name because he was born black then gradually changed colors. Makes sense to me.

Discovering the death of a pet reminded me of a story - most everything does. A local bubba left home for the first time in his life and was going to be gone for about a month. He told his brother that he would be calling home every day to check on his mother, who had not been well and his beloved dog Butch.

The first week or so, everything had gone well. Bubba called every day and his brother assured him that his dog Butch and "Mama" were both fine. Then one day when he called home and asked, as he always did, "how's Butch?" his brother said "Butch died."

Bubba was shocked, and then he got mad. He didn't call home for several days because he was so angry at his brother for being so insensitive. Finally, he called and told his brother how he felt. Bubba said, "listen, stupid, you didn't have to just come out and tell me that Butch was dead. You could have sorta built up to it. You could have made something up to break it to me easy. " "How could I do that?" said his brother. "Well, when I called you could have said that part of the house where Butch slept was on fire but Butch had gotten on the roof - that I shouldn't worry because the fire department was on the way. The next day when I called, you could have said that the firemen had put the fire out and were about to rescue Butch. Then the next day you could have finally broken it to me by saying 'they did everything they could but it was too late and Butch died.' That way I could have been better prepared for it and the news wouldn't have been such a shock. Does that make sence to you?"

"Yes", said his brother, "I understand now." "Alright then" said Bubba, "how's Mama?"

"Well, Mama's on the roof....................."

True Courage vs. Whining and Complaining

2005-09-16T09:38:00.000-07:00

Last Wednesday I witnessed a true act of courage. Roger Clemons pitched the Astros to a win in an important game on the day of his mother's death. He did it because she told him to go out and do his job. Rather than talk about her own condition, she asked Roger how his team-mate Andy Pettitte's elbow was getting along. She was a true baseball fan to the very end.

In Houston, since the influx of thousands of newcomers to our city from New Orleans, we've had a steady barrage by the local media to emphasize everything they seem to think is wrong with America. We've seen on local TV, endless interviews with some from New Orleans who seem to specialize in complaining, moaning, begging and outright demanding to be taken care of while showing little interest to do anything for themselves. Certainly, many New Orleans evacuees handled their situation with dignity, decency and courage, but I've grown a bit weary of hearing the complaints and the demands to "show me more love" as expressed by one local interviewee.

It's inspiring to witness the dedication and courage shown by Roger and the lady who raised him during a time when so many are complaining about the generousity of others not being delivered to them in a manner they deem acceptable.

Idiots and Maniacs

2005-09-13T21:51:00.000-07:00

Back in 1983, I won a national contest and was named The United States of America's Most outstanding Driver. I got a trophy and everything although I can't find it right now. Anyway, it's comforting to me to know that I'm the absolute best, the most skilled driver on the road, yet I manage to co-exist on the same roads with some of the worst drivers who've ever been issued a license this side of Bagladesh or Mogadeshu while remaining completely unscathed and never once resorting to road rage.

Have you ever noticed how everybody who drives slower than you is an idiot and the ones who drive faster are maniacs?

I was doing just short of the speed limit today when I closed on some slow poke idiot so fast I had to slam on my brakes to keep from rear-ending him. He must have been doing about 35 in a 55 MPH zone. While I was still trying to clean the spilled coffee off my lap, some maniac passed us both doing at least 90.

People say to me all the time, "how do you manage to deal with so many idiots and maniacs on a daily basis and still maintain your sparkling, upbeat personality?" I try to be modest about it, but when you've got looks, personality AND you're the world's best driver, it's real hard not to be just a little glib about it.

And that's the truth.

Ranger Bob

2005-09-13T20:31:00.000-07:00

One day he's a scholar at The University of Houston studying the Greek classics.

Then he's a U.S. Army Ranger, leaping out of perfectly good airplanes into the jungles of Panama and surviving on what little the jungle offers up as sustenance, while his Harley-Davidson sits unused in a garage in Houston.

On another day, he's making his way across the country as a civilian pizza delivery man, with a mission to reach Las Vegas and get rich on the crap tables.

Next, he's in Washington State, going to school and training to be a preacher. Yes, a preacher. Holy Green Berets! His whole family could just hear his elegantly worded invitation to the congregation: "get saved or I'm taking you out, scumbag!"

Then, it's on to a new church in Georgia and ultimately to a well paying job near Fort Benning, installing armor on vehicles bound for Iraq.

Now it looks like my nephew, Ranger Bob is coming home to Texas in the near feature, his head clear and his pockets full of money. I think he's at peace with where he needs to be and that's with his family - the people who love him.

Even if he shows up broke and stupid, that's OK. Hurry home kid.

Definitely NOT Butter

2005-09-10T09:39:00.000-07:00

Eating healthy is not as hard as I thought it'd be but I'm going to give up on I Can't Believe It's Not Butter. I know butter. I like butter. That's not butter.

On my next trip to the bark and roots section of the grocery store I'll pick up another butter substitute and see if it's any better. Maybe I'll try some I Know Damn Well It's Not Butter. I can't wait to try Looks Like Butter But Tastes Like Crap. I hear it's really good on It's Not Bread, It's - Well We Don't Know What The Hell It Is.

I'm hungry. Feed me, See-mo.

Lemons To Lemonaide

2005-09-09T21:38:00.000-07:00

Sometimes life hands you lemons and you make lemonade. But maybe you don't really like lemonade and what you really wanted was lemon pie and now, damn it, you're out of lemons.

Of course, sometimes life pulls down your pants and runs a power sander across your naked butt, then pours lemon juice on your raw, abraded buttocks which would make you wish you'd gone ahead with the lemonade.

Life can really screw with your lemons.

Howdy, Stud

2005-09-07T23:30:00.000-07:00

I stopped at the hardware store and bought several new tools, including a stud finder. I'm not sure how useful this thing is - the needle on the thing won't point at anything but me. It's not telling me something I didn't already know. Sheesh, what a waste of money!

An Old Friend

2005-09-07T09:45:00.000-07:00

My friend Dale and I were told by our high school english teacher, Mrs. Jacks that we weren't college material. She told us we were too smart for our own good and never took anything seriouly enough. We weren't class clowns. We just thought of things for the class clown to do and put him up to it, then stood back and admired the chaos we'd wrought. She fussed at us several times and said, "you two goof-offs will never make it unless you get serious. Life is not a joke."

She was right about Dale being smart. He was brilliant. He memorized pages from the phone book for his own amusement. In spanish class, after the first two or three weeks of class he announced that he had now mastered the language and would be devoting his time in that class to other things for the rest of the school year. While the rest of us were still trying to pronounce spanish words, he decided to learn german, which he said was far more challenging. In six weeks he was fluent in german and for fun, refused to respond to anybody in english and insisted that his name was Adolph.

Dale was an imposing figure - 6'7" and around 300 pounds. He was one of five brothers who were all about the same size which made being a guest for dinner at their house an adventure. You'd bettter be quick and aggressive if you wanted something to eat or be prepared to go without. Whoever claimed to have seen a dog which had been thrown a bone signal for a fair catch must have eaten at their house.

Dale became a petoleum engineer and moved to Oklahoma where he lived for years. He moved around some and we lost contact with each other. I tried to find him a couple of times but he had always just moved to another location, probably chasing another oil strike or looking for some bigger challenge. After 30 years, I received an email from him that said "is that you? I moved back to Houston. Let's have lunch. Dale."

We got together for lunch the following week - same old Dale, only bigger. He called me the following week from a hospital and said he had "heart issues". I went to see him the following Saturday and was surprised to find that he couldn't walk. He had a wheel chair brought to his room and insisted on me wheeling him outside.

Between lunch and our visit at the hospital, we must have re-lived every crazy, silly thing we'd done in our mis-spent youth but both agreed that we wouldn't change a thing if we had it to do over again. We'd had a lot of fun. Like the time when we were 14 or 15 and rode our bicycles 11 miles to the river, built a raft out of drift wood then set it on fire while we were still on it. We had a bet on who would jump off first. He won.

Dale died the following week. He was buried in our old home town, three graves down from Mrs. Jacks.

Pitch In and Help Or Shut The Hell Up

2005-09-05T11:16:00.000-07:00

Watching the left's fanatical focus on politics during the humanitarian crisis caused by Katrina is eye opening. While bodies are still floating in the flood waters, rather than devote their efforts toward the obvious, the left is consumed with taking advantage of what they see as a political opportunity.

Some on the left are even considering whether they should send money that will be used to provide relief for citizens of red states. How can people be so consumed by political fervor?

The left doesn't seem to consider that it's possible for the problems caused by Katrina to be solved by any entity other than the federal government. Why give to charities when it's the federal government's job to fix this? Why volunteer to help when the National Guard will be along any minute now? Why encourage the victims to help themselves? Isn't that the government's job?

In the meantime, the right is busy giving and volunteering. The thought, just the thought of introducing politics into the mix at this point is not on the radar. We are too busy volunteering our time and giving until it hurts.

Where are you people on the left when we need you?

I Know, I Know

2005-09-03T13:56:00.000-07:00

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
Only darkness every day
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
And she's always gone too long
Any time she's gone away

Great lyrics. This guy's a writer! Brilliant.

I know, I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know, I know,
Better leave young thing alone.
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone.

He was doing so well. What happened? Did he lose his concentration? How old is his girlfriend, 12?

I think I could have done better. In fact, I know I can. I know, I know, I know I can.

Shameful Behavior

2005-09-01T11:03:00.000-07:00

Certainly, there are good people on the political left just as there are on the right. But there has to be a void in the lives of some of them when they see a disaster like Katrina as a chance to score political points against President Bush and Govenor Barbour of Mississippi rather than a time to unite as a nation for the common good. Politics is everything to them. It is more important than life itself. Family, friends, religion, career and love of country all pale in comparison to their need to score political points. I can't think of any other plausible explanation. How else can one explain it?

When the enormity of the disaster in New Orleans and the Gulf Coast became apparent, millions of Americans began to mobilize to do what ever was necessary to aleviate the suffering of the victims of the storm. At the same time, political pundits like the editorial writers at The New York Times, Democratic Congressman Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and the national Democratic Party were exploring ways to blame it all on their political adversaries.

Nothing is sacred to them. Nothing is off limits. There is nothing they will refrain from using for political purposes, even as people are being rescued from the attics of their homes. Even as bodies are floating down the Mississippi River on their way to the sea, Kennedy is raging about the unsigned Kyoto Treaty. New Orleans, that proud old city, long headed by Democratic Mayors, continues to drown while Democrats try to figure a way to blame it on Bush.

Let's finish rescue operations and help the survivor's first, damn it! Let's gather our dead and give them a proper burial. Let's restore order and put a stop to the lawlessness, then let's pitch in and rebuild New Orleans and the Gulf Coast. Then, at the proper time, let's look at what we might have been able to do to save lives and property. But let's vow to never, never become such political animals or tolerate those who become so jaded as to callously see loss of life and human suffering as nothing more than a political opportunity.

Getting Into It

2005-08-31T07:46:00.000-07:00

It's getting easier to stay on the Bark and Roots lifestyle change. I'm finding that the attraction to many foods is mental and that hunger is more a state of mind rather than a reality.

Jen has been working out for some time and now has her own personal trainer. I'm so proud of her and her determination to achieve a healthy lifestyle. She's my inspiration.

Jen suggested that I get a trainer too and I've been looking into it. I talked to one yesterday and he asked me if I could sit up and beg, roll over and go fetch. Since my wife trained me to do all those things years ago, I'll just stay on my own for now.

The Battle

2005-08-28T08:42:00.000-07:00

I'm in the midst of a battle to overcome my lifelong love of and addiction to all things good to eat. I'm staying away from chicken fried steak with cream gravy, hot home-made biscuits with real butter, mexican food, and pecan pie. I'm giving up a life-long family tradition of celebrating everything good or assuaging anything bad with food.

I have to do it. I know that the quality of my life depends upon my being able to change my lifestyle forever. I don't want to become one of those old men you see hobbling around on arthritc knees or riding motarized carts in grocery stores. My list is still long of things I haven't done yet but am determined to do - like take my not-yet-born grandchilren to the zoo and hike to the base of the Grand Canyon. I'm already at the point where back and knee problems have slowed me down. Slowing down on physical activity just adds to the calories in, calories out problem.

It's hard to stop doing what you've done all your life. I think I'd rather be involved in battlefield hand-to-hand combat. At least then, I could meet the enemy head-on.

I can't afford to lose this fight. If you pray, say one for me. I need all the help I can get.

Oh, and jelly doughnuts. I love jelly doughnuts.

The Wizzonator

2005-08-27T11:01:00.000-07:00

What is it about little boys and their inclination to take a "wizz" anytime, anyplace?

My daughter-in-law saw a dead bird in my yard and planned to tell me about it so I could dispose of it. A little boy about two years old, who was at our house with his mother spotted the bird about the same time my daughter-in-law did.

His reaction was a little different. He stopped in his tracks and stared in amazement, then dropped his pants and, before anybody could stop him, took a "wiz" on the dead bird.

What could he have been thinking? Has there ever been a little girl who would do such a thing? Is this a serial killer in the making?

I got a shovel and gave it a decent burial. That's the least I could do.

Tat Sing

2005-08-25T09:23:00.000-07:00

Sing was from Hong Kong and lived down the hall from me during my freshman year in college. I got to know him and we became friends, which to be honest, was a surprising development to me. Prior to college, I didn't even know anybody who was Chinese, much less have any Chinese friends.

He spoke English, although not all that well but he was learning fast. Several of us taught him some good old Americanized words he couldn't find in his English-Chinese dictionary and I was careful to tell which ones shouldn't be used in polite society.

His father was a cab driver in Hong Kong and it was his idea for Sing to come to America to study. Sing always spoke of his father respectfully but it was obvious that the man was not someone you'd want to disappoint. Sing was supposed to learn fluent English and get a degree before he would be allowed to go home.

In addition to the colorful words he picked up, Sing also learned to play poker, drink beer, ride a motorcycle and sing the National Anthem("what so prouddddweee we hail") with a decided Chinese accent. We learned what sugar coated seaweed his family mailed from Hong Kong tasted like. Tasting it one time made me say one of those colorful words. It as awful stuff.

The Thanksgiving holidays were approaching and Sing was surprised to find out that the other 200 or so inhabitants of the dorm were leaving town for five days or so. He said to me, "where you be going for the thanks you be giving days?" I said, "no Sing, it's Thanksgiving and I'm going home and spend a few days with my family - back where I grew up." Without hestation Sing asked, "can I go with you?"

Home was Jasper in "Deep East Texas," which is code language for "place where lots of Rednecks live." That's the first thought that came to mind when Sing sprang the surprise request on me. What would the locals do when they saw Sing? Many of the locals had never gone off to college or anywhere else for that matter. In fact, the furtherest many had ever ventured from home was to Louisiana to buy beer.

I told Sing I'd check and let him know. I called home and told my mother about my predicament and the first thing she said was "I hope he likes American food. I can't cook Chinese." I said "Mom, you mean you think it's alright for him to come home with me?" She said, "sure, if you want to do it."

I was reluctant to do it but I couldn't stand the thought of my friend staying in that huge dorm by himself for five days. I told him to pack his stuff, he was in for a cultural experience.

Everything went well and we had a great time. My Mother asked Sing lots of questions like "what does your father do for a living." Of course, that was no big deal because she asked everybody that question. The only real problem we had was an argument about fish heads. We went fishing and caught lots of fish but Sing wanted to keep the heads to make soup. No way would my Mom have allowed fish heads to be brought into the house much less experience the sanctity of one of her cooking pots. We ditched the heads but Sing complained about it for weeks.

Sing graduated early and the last I heard, was living in Chinatown in New York City and owned an apartment building and a Chinese restaurant. I'm going to try to look him up one day and stop by his restaurant. Maybe I'll sample some of his fish-head soup.

Petey the Power Punch Packing Pugilistic Pooch

2005-08-23T10:10:00.000-07:00

Jen called from college and asked if she could bring him home. Her mother said no. I said yes. The ayes had it - she brought him home.

He was a six weeks old mixed breed white-ball-0f- fur puppy, the last of his litter that nobody seemed to want. He had one ear up and one down along with a bit of an attitude. His Vet explained to me a few years ago that Petey considered his family to be his "pack" and that he recognized me as the Alpha dog. That was the good news. The bad news for the rest of the family was that he considered himself to be the Beta dog and everyone else was a mere pack member of no particular rank.

For years, he watched through a peep hole in the backyard fence at the goings-on in the neighborhood. He'd bark occasionally if someone he didn't know got too close to "his" yard. But he went absolutely nuts - berserk, out-of-his-mind, Norman Bates crazy when the Chocolate Lab from down the street casually sauntered by. The Lab would look at Petey as if to say to him, "I'm going to taunt you now you ugly little inferior white furry thing. I'm going to pee in your yard. You can't do a thing about it. You're locked up and always will be. Not me. I'm loose in the neigborhood and you're not. Now I'm going to pee in your yard again. Ha Ha." Petey went berzerk.

The vet said if we had Petey neutered, he'd calm down. He didn't calm down at all. Come to think of it, I wouldn't have either. Petey was "fixed" but he didn't know it and still thought he had big ones, if you know what I mean. He still barked at everything outside his yard and still tried to play a game I called "hide the salami" with anything that didn't run away or kick at him.

One day, someone left the gate open while Petey was in the backyard. He didn't just sneak out. He flew out of the gate and down the street like he was on a mission. It turns out he was. He went straight to the Chocolate Lab's house about 2 blocks away and found him lolling in his front yard with no clue as to what was about to happen.

Before I could get there, Petey pounced on the lab, who was about three times bigger than him and released years of frustration. He bit Him on both front legs and stripped some fur off his tail. He jumped on top and peed on him. Yes, he peed on him. He was on top and had the Lab by the throat when I got there.

I pulled Petey off and yelled at him to go home. He obeyed me because, like I said, I'm the Alpha dog. He trotted home with his head in the air and the fur on his back standing straight up and never looked back. I slinked home with my head down, hoping nobody else had witnessed the fight of the century.

Petey's 15 years old now and hasn't had a fight since that day, 7 or 8 years ago. He retired undefeated but unlike Mike Tyson, he never bit off any body parts - he just threated to. He has arthritis and sleeps most of the time, but even then his body jerks, moves and twitches. We think he's dreaming about his big day of kicking some major big dog hiney.

The Lab never walked down our street again.

Guest post by my brother....

2005-08-16T17:37:00.000-07:00

I have to elaborate on a Dad story. Uncle Otis started to tell it and stopped but it is too good to pass up. Dad had just put new carpet in the house when a problem arose. The new carpet and pad were taller than the previously used flooring. When Dad put the door to Jen's bedroom back on, the door wouldn't close because of the thickness. So Dad decided to fix this problem by taking the door outside and trimming it down to fit again, only he forgot to trim the bottom and trimmed the top instead. So now the door still doesn't close and has a three inch gap at the top. I think that is about the time my Mom called Uncle Otis to come over and help supervise.

I have so many favorite memories with my Dad. Learning to play sports from the master has always been a treasure. Riding four wheelers at the ranch. Listening to his high intellect and wisdom.

When I was about 4, I begged Dad to take me to the ranch and go hunting with him and all the guys. And can you believe it...he cratered to the desires of his little boy. He spent all weekend watching me instead of being able to do the things you do at the deer camp. Just another wonderful example of this wonderful selfless man who still has more patience with his boy than I can understand. There's a part of me, grown man that I am, who will always be that little boy who just wants to be with his Dad.

I love you so much Dad!!!!!

Doug

What A Party

2005-08-15T18:26:00.000-07:00

Getting surprised last week with birthday wishes by friends and family ranks right up there with the best and happiest birthday surprises of my life. I read the nice things that were said about me on the blog and was stunned into complete silence for perhaps the first time in my life. As busy as Jen is these days, she still managed to put it together with the help of her little (?) brother, Doug. Thanks kids. You never cease to amaze me.

The other birthday that compares with this one was quite a while ago - when I was seven. We lived in Jacksonville, Florida on the Navy base and I'd had the mumps, then the measels. All my friends had been playing baseball, swimming and riding their bikes all summer, but I'd been grounded, a virtual prisoner.

In a way, it hadn't mattered that much as I didn't have a bike anyway. I had a bat and glove though and the community pool was within walking distance and I was ready to make up for lost time before school started.

I expected to get a new baseball glove and the dreaded school clothes for my birthday. Instead of the glove, there was a shiney red and chrome bike, used but expertly restored by my Dad. Thanks to Mom and Dad, I was the envy of my friends as I raced through the neighborhood on my red bike on the way to school, wind blowing through my hair, a smile on my face while wearing my new clothes.

There was no bike this time but the smile on my face was just as big. Thanks again to my friends and family for your thoughtfulness.

Call For Wranglers

2005-08-15T18:08:00.000-07:00

The land I own in East Texas is so small in acreage compared to others around it that I've called it the Cheap Spread Ranch for lack of a better name. Before that, it was the ParKay Ranch, because it was such a cheap spread. (rim shot) But actually, it's not a ranch a all because I have no cows - not even one.

Here's what I've decided to do though: when I retire, I'm going into the miniature cattle business. They're smaller, don't eat as much, don't leave such big meadow muffins lying around and don't require as much land.

I'll also raise miniature horses to use during cattle round-ups. I wouldn't want to use full size horses because if one of them stepped on a miniature cow, I'd have a real mess on my hands, aka hamburger.

That presents me with another problem though. Anybody know any midgets who can rope and ride?

I'm still in the planning stage on this one. Maybe I'll get a goat.

Happy Birthday BigandMean!

2005-08-11T18:24:00.000-07:00

Mr. and Mrs. BigandMean

We’ve always known our Daddy/Pop was special.

He’s generous to a fault.

He’s has the kindest, biggest, most loving heart, which he tends to wear on his sleeve.

He’d walk through fire to give a perfect stranger the shirt off his back.

He’s the funniest person we know.

He’s a master story-teller.

His eyes twinkle when he says or does something naughty.

He’s the pied piper to all children. They flock to him, and he loves them all.

The ones fortunate enough to really know him, whether related to him or not, call him Uncle.

Every person lucky enough to meet him, adores him.

There's just something magnetic about him that is difficult to explain. You just have to "experience" him.

When he loves you, he loves you with every fiber in his being.

God truly blessed us with this wonderful man.

Happy Birthday!

Love you Daddy, Love you Pop!
Jennifer and Doug

......And now Dad, lots of people wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday! It's quite a motley crew of family and dear friends. The outpouring of love for you made me quite verklimpt. I know you are going to be floored. :)

BigandMean’s “BW” (Beautiful Wife), aka “Little-and-Nice
We met when I was a 19 year old freshman in college. He smiled at me, his beautiful green eyes sparkled, and he made a dumb joke that only I thought was funny. That set the pattern for the next 42 years of our life together. I’m convinced that God was guiding us that day – how else did we find each other in this crowded world? We created two wonderful children together and we’re patiently waiting (Jen inserts – “patiently waiting” my foot!) for some grandchildren to love and spoil together. I’ve consistently refused to weigh in on the blog, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity to say happy birthday to the love of my life. So, “Happy Birthday and many more”!!

Ala from Blonde Sagacity
Various friends of mine have had someone in their lives that they referred to as their ‘second father’. I never had anyone like that until I had the immense pleasure of meeting Big & Mean. Even before we actually met face to face, I had the distinct feeling that he was routing for me, that he cared when someone 'crossed the line' and upset me and that he 100% had my back. I am not a trusting soul by nature, but I immediately knew that he was someone to be trusted. Big and Mean and I share a striking similarity (other than our superior cerebral political views) and that is the fact that people often take us too seriously when we are sitting in our respective computer rooms laughing at what we have just written. I was so happy when ~Jen~ told me that she had asked B&M to co-blog with her and I have really enjoyed reading all the stories that make up their wonderful family. Big and Mean, you know how much I enjoyed meeting you and your beautiful wife. You have added laughter and a feeling of security to my online life and for that I deeply thank you. Have a wonderful birthday and have ~Jen~ introduce you to one of those Buttery you-know-whats!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

Bigeaux
There are more unforgettable stories between your Dad and I than you could put into a dozen volumes. He has always been one of my favorite people and I have always enjoyed him as a friend and brother in law.

One time when you were a baby, he decided (I am sure he had help deciding from his frau) to replace the seat on the toilet in the house over near Hobby airport. Nowadays those things are held in place by nylon bolts and nuts. Back when, they were secured by a brass nut on a brass screw and invariably the nut would freeze up on the bolt and be a real chore to get off. He was doing fine until the head of the bolt pulled out of the plastic seat began to spin freely. It was shaped just so you couldn't hold the bolt with a pair of pliers or vice grips. When he tried to hacksaw it, he couldn't get the blade to the bolt and if he did, it just spun.

In a fit of frustration he decided to just get a hold on it and jerk it free. He jerked and the whole toilet shattered and water went every where and was spraying from the refill line all over the bathroom. By the time he got the water off and replaced the toilet his frustration level was way over the top.

There are other stories about the time he and I hooked up the water to your mom's new ice maker and flooded the attic and the time he cut off the door to your room after you got new carpet but we will not go into those just now. I will say that we were just about as proficient as a Patrick McManus character in our escapades.

Charlotte
Ode to Big and Mean
There once was a man, Big&Mean
Known as the Kill It and Grill It King
His words, they are wise
I like the world through his eyes
Because he’s never petty or mean!

OK, that is my weak attempt at a limerick. Happy Birthday Mr. Mean!!! What a great day to celebrate – the day God graced the world with your presence. I can’t wait to have another bowling match – maybe when your girl returns from the Big Apple! Here’s a great big hug, coming your way!

Gill
I don't have an anecdote, or any particular story about my uncle. I just thank God we've had a mn like your dad to anchor our family all these years. While most of us were being tossed about like foam on the waves in this sinful world, he has been like a rock.
Norman walks the Christian walk without having to say anything, and has a great time doing it. He is a big kid at heart - but when people are in trouble - he is the man. Just like Jesus.
So I wish him the following on his birthday:
-the perfect vacation home by the perfect pond
-an eager fishing guide
-a peace that he will see Peatie in heaven
-a decent round of golf with old friends
-a republican president as long as he lives
-many more years to enjoy his family
-to hear the words "Well done, good and faithful servant" when his race is over.

Jason
My favorite Uncle Norman story has to be the summer we were staying at the beach house in Galveston, and he played a very naughty joke on Grandma. I think he was at his best when she was around, wasn't he? He left a piece of baloney on her door knob, and then a trail down the hall from her room to the kitchen (I think). I believe the intent was to poke fun at Grandma's healthy appetite for snacks. Oh, and she wouldn't believe it was Norman, she thought my dad had done it! I laughed so hard, tears were running down my face. I can't think about it now without a little laugh. Good times!

As for mushy stuff, I guess I can make a contribution. Your dad is one of the most kind-hearted and generous persons I know. If you were serving in the military together, you would know without a doubt that he would always have your back covered. Once you're a friend, you're his friend for life. I admire, respect, and love your dad very much.

Justice of Little Green Army Men
Dear Big and Mean:
Thanks for all that stuff from Texas. It's all hanging on my wall because I really liked it. I hope that you have a nice birthday. And for your birthday I am going to make you a book about a guy named Big and Mean. I hope that your birthday is fun in Texas.
Love, Justice

Michelle
I have known Norman since I was 11 years old. The first word that comes to mind to describe him is charismatic. Everyone loves Norm! I don't think he's ever met a stranger. He was always my favorite dad of all my friends because he had the greatest stories. The only problem was you never knew if they were true or B.S.. That's part of his charm. I always enjoyed exchanging jokes and hearing his latest tale. When I had my first child, Norman's witty advice was to spank it and ignore it all the time! That sarcasm was especially funny coming from one of the greatest dads out there. Here's to you, Norman. May you have a wonderful birthday and be surrounded by love.

Mike and Sue
Three of the luckiest, most fortunate people on Earth are my sister, brother and myself. On second thought luck had nothing to do with it, we were just fortunate enough to be born to parents who were genuine salt-of-the-earth people; people of integrity and character. For my "little" sister's entire life and most of my and big brother's youth we lived on a small farm near a small town in East Texas. A town that in many ways could be compared to Mayberry RFD.
During our youth, people in this town didn't lock their houses, much less their cars, as there was no reason for distrust. Most people in that town were givers, not takers. Making a positive contribution to society was viewed as worthwhile and important, and considered one's civic duty.

Dad worked as a Forest Ranger but also farmed the land to make ends meet. Mom was often out in the field by his side, trying her best to lighten his load. Dad also had a chicken house with 1000 laying hens. Obviously we all pitched in - if you ever want to teach someone about work habits and good work ethic, just send them to be a farm hand for one season. The example our parents set for us could not have been better.

So why am I telling you all of this? Well, I believe it gives you some insight to my big brother who I understand sometimes feels stranded here on Blogger Island. If you ever wonder where he is coming from, this is it, he is a product of his environment. He has always been a giver, the kind of person who wouldn't just loan you the shirt off his back, he'd give it to you, no questions asked, never expecting to be repaid. I am truly fortunate and proud that he is my brother. This is a special time of the year for him and all us who know him and love him, you see, he was born on Friday the thirteenth of August many moons ago.

Happy Birthday from your little brother Mike and wife Sue.

Riceburner
B&M I hope this isnt too late. Tho I missed the chance to meet you in Philly, I believe we could have a blast doing whatever. Besides having a cousin that i would like to meet (hint-hint) I admire everything i know about you and especially the father that you are to your children and the Husband you are to your wife (aka MRS. B&M) Look forward to fishing with you someday here on the Delaware or (better yet) in Texas. Happy Birthday (49 ?) and God Bless.

Rose from Anonymous Rowhouse
One of the highlights of my year was meeting Mr and Mrs BigandMean in person here in my hometown of Philadelphia this spring. My husband and daughter and I met them in a little playground downtown -- a playground where none of us had been before. We proceeded to have a lovely conversation and were gifted with the best popgun and book of poetry that the great state of Texas had to offer. Then I had the honor of taking them on a brief tour of Old City before our dinner engagement.

During our walk, I can't explain how sharply into relief the notion of being from the birthplace of liberty came to me, particularly when BigandMean and his wife and I stood in front of Carpenter's Hall and walked past the Liberty Bell. He spoke about how he had taught his students about these icons of our country's history and now he was looking at them. I was so honored, that here I was, some random blogger from a rowhouse, sharing this with them. It was one of those moments you don't forget.

Over the course of that marvelous evening, we spoke about the differences in spaces and topography between our regions. We were regaled with stories of four-wheel rides on his ranch and lots of antics that little Jen and her brother got entangled in when they were kids. We discovered how Mr and Mrs BigandMean met, and were treated with tales of their family's history. We spoke about raising children and the joy it brings. We spoke about everything under the sun, and I felt as if I had finally found marvelous relatives that I should have known all along.

It reminded me of how much we take for granted, in a way, coming from our respective places: but how a few words on a screen can draw us into a shared history that is at once highly individual and completely collective. That really is the miracle of blogging. It is from people like BigandMean and his wife, and the evening that Ala and 92Alpha and I were privileged to share with them, that we build what becomes a treasured personal history. And through friendship remember what is genuine, enduring, wonderful and true.

Roz
Norm, until recently, we've been the ones that married into this family. Melodye and Scott are still newbies to the clan (but that doesn't lessen their contributions!). Certainly, I concede your seniority but since I've just celebrated 25 years of wedlock in the family, I think qualify as an "old timer" -- is that a good thing? Anyways, you have been "the man" for many years now and everyone admires your steadfastness. We love you and honor you this birthday!! But don't for one minute think that we who have long memories have forgotten some of your finer moments -- chasing Chelsea with a crawdad, sitting in a blow-up pool with Kai, giving your daughter away at her wedding, graduating an Aggie and the list goes on. As you turn 83 this month, we salute you!!!

Scott
What can I say about Norman that people already don’t know from the instant you meet him. He was so kind and accepting from the first minute I met him. Hmmmm could it have been the fact that I was the one who now would take over all the things that are Jennifer (Car repairs, shopping bills, etc…). Nah it was just in his nature. For example, how many fathers would not get furious over a boyfriend wrecking the car you gave your daughter, that used to be her grandmothers, and had to bring her to the hospital. Not Norman for sure, his only concern was that we BOTH were going to be ok. From that day on I knew what kind of awesome man he was.

Hehe. Another little story that I always get a kick out of that shows how awesome he is. It was after I left my traveling job to get one so that I could return home every evening. Money was tight for a little while but I manged to save some to pay for the deer lease dues (Money is OK now Dad). Norm and Susie both came out to our apartment and we were going out to eat (I believe this was also when I was home from work with a broken ankle). The topic of the lease and deer hunting came up and Jennifer asked about how much it was this year. So Norman says “Oh don’t worry the boys overpaid last year so they don’t owe anything this year”. Jennifer and I just looked at each other and shared a silent chuckle. Jennifer always told me stories about how her dad did these sort of things. I can honestly say that my life has only gotten better since becoming apart of his family. Happy Birthday!

Susie S.
My association with Norm was second-hand for years -- Susie used my office as a lounge back during the good old days (when we all smoked) and I heard casual family tales. Then Jen came to me as a student worker and I got a daughter's view. Shortly thereafter, Doug joined my workforce and I discovered the 'guy' Dad. My direct association was still pretty much a professional relationship, but he was always so warm and friendly and humorous and sincere, I felt like he was a 'friend.' Now that he IS a friend, I know there isn't a difference -- he's still warm, friendly, humorous and sincere. His "Well, hello there!" always sounds like you are JUST the person he was hoping to see today -- and makes you feel that any day you don't hear that welcome is somehow less. LOVE YOU, NORM -- HAVE A HAPPY!!

Tesco from Blank Forever
BigAndMean, thanks for always getting ALa's back. You are the man.

Thank you so much everyone! Dad is going to be overwhelmed by all this love and affection.
Happy Birthday Daddy!

Get Outta Town!

2005-08-11T12:56:00.000-07:00

Does anybody ever stop being at least a little anxious around their in-laws? This week-end, Jen and Scott are going to upstate New York to attend Scott's Mother's wedding. She's marrying Charlie, who she's known forever, and Scott is going to be the best man. Jen will be meeting lots of in-laws for the first time and I wouldn't be surprised if she was a little uptight about it. I probably would have been. (not really)

Doug and Melodye will be going to California with his in-laws to visit Melodye's sister and her husband Justin and two little boys. Justin is a US Marine and is about to deploy to Iraq for the third time. God speed Justin and keep your head down, boy.

So, we'll have one "child" in New York and the other in California. Petey, the mixed breed 15 year old, potentially rabid, refuses to die arthritic dog will be spending the week-end at the local Doggie Motel. My koi and goldfish, squirrels and wild birds will have to fend for themselves. We're going to lake McQueeney in the Texas Hill Country near San Antonio for the week-end.

Adios.

Stranded On Blog Island

2005-08-09T13:47:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here, blogging away when I really ought to be doing something else.

Here's how I got started. I never intended to become involved with anything remotely connected to blogging. But my daughter Jen got involved with it and told me all about it. I had fun reading her blog and those of a couple of friends of hers. After a while, I began to leave comments, when the mood struck me, on all three blogs. Plus, it was a presidential election year and I had plenty to say about that pestiferous John Kerry guy. Thank you Ohio!

One day, a Canadian made some remarks on Jen's blog that were offensive to most non free range chicken eating Americans. The captious latte lover also said something particularly hurtful that was aimed at Jen. At that very moment, Bigandmean, with smoke coming from both ears, made his first appearance on the blogosphere.

I've been at it ever since, writing 3 or 4 times a week about whatever appealed to me at the moment. I got tired of politics and the senseless arguing associated with it after the election. The democrats continued to take a surprisingly infantile approach of personal attacks against the President and other non-liberals while trying to block his agenda rather than offer any concrete ideas of their own. They went further into Pee Wee Herman mode by continuing with four more years of their silly claims of stolen elections, hanging chads and voter disenfranchiment. Watching the democrats flounce around has become like watching a fat lady try to get out of a water bed - you don't want to look but your curiosity gets the best of you.

I've been discouraged too, by the lack of civil discourse regarding politics. The intelligent, good-natured exchange of ideas has been replaced by the Carville/Begala in-your-face style. People don't seem to give a second thought to throwing out blasphemous, defamatory claims that someone else is a liar, draft dodger or even a nazi. Expressed opinions can result in ad hominem attacks and threats flung from around the globe by guilt-ridden, but very angry out-of-power lefties who, I would guess, are doing all this naughty stuff while trying to make their way to the Canadian border.

I've worried about some of the regular posters who leave lots of comments, then disappear for awhile. I've felt compelled to come to the defense of some who were being treated unfairly, only to learn that for the most part, they never needed my help at all. I've marvelled at the writing abilities of Ala, Justrose and others. It's been fun. I've met some very nice people, learned a lot, and have managed to put some things in writing, like family stories for my kids that I might not ever have gotten around to doing.

My blog partner, daughter Jen has had so much piled on her at work that she hardly has time to do anything but eat, sleep and work. So here I am out on this island by myself, a nice place to visit but an island I never really intended to hang around on for very long.

Leroy Surprises The White Cow

2005-08-07T09:57:00.000-07:00

My friend, the talented writer Rose at http://anonymousrowhouse.blogspot.commentioned on her blog the difficulty at times of avoiding the use one of the most powerful words in the english language, the F*** word.

It reminded me of a story (surprise, surprise).

Two important events were occuring on a Texas ranch on the same Sunday afternoon: the preacher was coming to dinner and the cows were being "introduced" to the neighbor's bull, Leroy.

It was very important that someone monitor the introductions, to make sure that every cow of breeding age had been properly introduced. The rancher assigned his youngest son to this job while he and the Mrs. enjoyed their dinner with the preacher.

The rancher gave his son some explicit instructions as to how to communicate the progress of the introductions in front of the preacher. He said, "be sure and come to the house as soon as Leroy does his business but don't embarrass your mother and say 'Leroy f***ed one of the cows. Instead of saying he f***ed a certain cow, use a code word. Say that he 'surprised' her and I'll know exactly what you mean."

During dinner, the boy ran in, all out of breath, to report to his father. He said, "Dad, Leroy surprised the black cow!" His father said, "good job, Son. Now go back down to the barn and keep a watch. Let me know if Leroy surprises another one."

A few minutes later, the boy ran back in to make another announcement. His father said, "did Leroy surprise the white cow?" The boy said, "he sure did. He f***ed the black one again!"

Sometimes, the best laid plans.

A Reasonable Accomodation

2005-08-05T23:18:00.000-07:00

The American's with Disabilities Act (ADA) requires that employers and others who may have contact with the public, must "reasonably accomodate" persons with either mental or physical disabilities so that the disabled may participate in employment and other activities just as able bodied persons do.

I received notice that a woman in one of my classes had been mentally ill but was now recovered. I was told that she had to remain on her medications to maintain some semblance of control and that I should be prepared to accomodate an occasional episode of strange or unusual behavior. She was supposedly brilliant but given to occasional uncontrollable outbursts with the suspected culprit being Turret's Syndrome.

Things went reasonbly well for the first two weeks. She asked some questions that indicated to me that she was capable of understanding complex legal theories and was bright enough to understand the law cases we were discussing in class.

Then one day the wheels feel off. She said, "Dr. B., what court would you go to to have squatters evicted from your house?" "Well, you'd go to the local Justice of the Peace and file something called a Forceable Entry and Detainer. But how did 'squatters' get control of your house"?

I shouldn't have asked that. She said, "they moved in after I got kidnapped and held against my will by sub-humans who were trying to breed with me."

There was total silence while I was formulating my plan to try to "reasonably accomodate" her disability while trying to protect her privacy and salvage what little dignity might remain from a now very strained situation, when an older female student in the back row raised her hand.

I shouldn't have acknowledged her but I said "yes?" and she said, in a very loud voice, "Dr. B, this bitch is crazy"!

Momma said there'd be days like this.

Birthday Hugs To You Pop

2005-08-04T20:16:00.000-07:00

My kids have never heard this story. It's one that I conveniently put way back there in the back of my mind where I almost never go because it's one of the few painful memories I have of my parents.

Dad retired from the US Navy after serving in World War II and the Korean War. He returned to Texas so he could help care for his parents as they grew older and because Texas was home. He went to work as a forest ranger (think Smokey Bear) for the Texas Forest Service.

With two sons about to graduate from high school and go to college and a daughter coming along behind us, Dad uncharacteristically took a gamble. He quit his job with the Forest Service and took a job at a defense plant at Fort Polk, Louisiana, about an hour away, where he was making about twice as much money. The worst thing that could have happened did - after only 6 months the plant closed and Dad lost his job.

Jobs were hard to find. He could have gone to work at the navy base in Corpus Chisti, but the whole family would have had to move and he had promised us when we moved back to Texas that it would be the last one we'd ever have to make. I had gone to something like 20 different schools through the sixth grade and Dad was determined to let me stay in one place for a change. Besides, he needed to stay close to his parents.

Dad got some good news and bad news. His old boss at The Forest Service called and offered him his old job back. The bad news was that the job wouldn't be available for another six months.

So Dad bided his time by taking any kind of work he could get while he waited. For a while he was working three part-time jobs and sleeping only 5 or 6 hours a night. He was tough, a real man's man and he could handle it but Mom couldn't. My brother and I knew that she worried about him, about how hard he was working and the stress he was under. Even in the best of times Mom could find something to worry about.

I walked in from school one day and stood at the back door and hesitated before going in. I just looked in the window because I sensed that something was wrong.

Dad had his back to me and I could see that his hands were bleeding. He had worked that day building a barbed wire fence. The wire had slipped and cut through his hands and left skin hanging from ugly blue-red places that seemed to be on the entire surface of his palms. Mom was washing his hands, clipping the dangling skin with a pair of scissors and crying. She kept crying while she washed and clipped and I heard her saying, "baby, I'm so sorry" and he was saying, "it's OK, really, it's OK." Neither one of them saw me. I waited outside for what seemed like about an hour - until I heard laughter coming from inside. Laughter.

I walked in and Mom and Dad were both smiling and laughing about the bandaging job she'd done to his hands that made him look like a mummy. I laughed too and got busy on my homework. I never mentioned what I'd seen and I don't think they knew I'd been there. They wouldn't have wanted me to see that.

A few months later, Dad was a forest ranger again and all was right with the world.

Dad died way too young. He's been gone for 17 years now. Tomorrow would have been his birthday.

Quick Lunch? Think Again

2005-08-03T22:42:00.000-07:00

The woman in line in front of us at a sandwich shop looked normal. She was middle aged, casually dressed and typically suburban looking. It was obvious there was something wrong though because of the strained look on the face of the cashier. The cashier said, "I'm sorry, but I can't accept your coupon. It's for another sandwich shop, not this one." She said, "well, what's my total bill then?"

"$6.49" said the cashier. "That's too much" said the woman, "I've got a coupon." The argument continued for quite awhile with the woman seemingly unable to understand that her coupon was for another sandwich shop.

"Tell you what, even though the coupon's not mine, I'll honor it. Your total is just $5.40." The now really furious looking woman said "that's still too much. Are you charging me for cheese?" He said "yes, cheese is $1.00 extra."

Now she was really mad. "I shouldn't have to pay $1.00 for cheese." The poor cashier was doing everything he could to pacify her. The line behind her was growing longer. We'd been waiting about 5 minutes for this little drama to play itself out and it didn't look like it was going to end any time soon. The argument over cheese escalated, then the cashier ran up the white flag.

"OK, ma'm, I'll charge you just 40 cents for the cheese. So your total is $4.80." She looked in her purse, then at the sandwich, chips and a soft drink, then spun on her heels and stormed out of the shop without saying another word.

She'd caused quite a scene, made a dozen or so people wait almost ten minutes while she battled it out over coupons and cheese, and never got her lunch.

She must have been either off her medications or broke. In either case, she seemed to be a tortured soul. I almost offered to pay for her lunch. I wish I had.

Scouting Texas High School Football for Dear Ole Whatsamatta U.

2005-08-01T09:17:00.000-07:00

The football season is just around the corner, and as usual I'm really looking forward to it. My old high school team (where I am a legend), the Jasper Bulldogs, lost 49-47 in the state championship game last year and may be better this year.

Football is so big in Texas that many small towns simply close on Friday afternoons so everybody can travel to the game. Whether it's Cransfill Gap vs. Walnut Springs or Midland Lee vs. Odessa Permian, football is king.

I go to several games throughout the year but the state playoffs are what I really look forward to. The Houston area is a favorite venue for playoffs and it's not unusual for three games to be scheduled in a place like the Astrodome in one day. Imagine games at 1:00, 4:00 and 7:00 with thousands of rabid fans for six different teams coming and going throughout the day.

A few years ago I went to one of those all day extravaganzas by myself. I got there in the third quarter of the first game which I thought would be a blow-out and it was. There were many good seats on the 50 yard line that had been vacated by the not-so-faithful fans of the team getting blown out and I grabbed one.

When Game One mercilessly ended, what was left of the fans on my side of the Dome quickly vacated their seats and there was a rush by fans of the home team for the next game for the best seats. That's when I noticed that I was a minority of one white guy in a sea of red and yellow clad black folks.

The team on my side of the field was from the inner city. All the players were black. The band, the cheerleaders, the coaches and all the fans on our side of the field, except for me, were black. I felt like I was from outer space. Scotty (RIP), beam me up.

I could have gone to the other side of the Dome if I'd wanted to but all the good seats over there were already taken. Besides, I shouldn't have to move. Why should I? This is the country where we had a Civil War over equal protection for minorities and then passed The 14th Amendment in 1868 in order to constitutionalize those rights. We had Brown vs. Board of Education in 1955 which recognized that separate educational facilities were unequal and thus unconstitutional. We had The Civil Rights Act of 1964 which codified the concept that discrimination based upon race is unlawlful. On principle, I wasn't moving.

I heard people on my side of the field, not too subtlely wander aloud who I was. More than once I heard "who the hell is that white guy with the red cap?" "The red cap" part seemed redundant. They decided collectively that I must be a college scout, there to look over their kids and no doubt be prepared to offer some football scholarships to those who were worthy. Why else would one white guy sit right in the middle of 20,000 rabid black football fans? Why indeed.

An older man walked down my ailse and as he went by he said "scuse me coach" and I said "no problem." Then he said, "coach, I'm going to the concession stand. Can I bring you anything"? Before I realized it, I found myself ordering a diet coke and some peanuts. I offered him money but he refused to take it. When he came back, he asked me to keep an eye on a linebacker, #42, his grandson, and I promised I would. I even asked if his grades were OK and was assured that he was a good student. I also blurted out "you know, what colleges are really looking for these days is speed. What's his time in the 40?" When told that it was 4.5 I couldn't help but say that I thought the kid had a good shot at a full ride on scholarship. I'm afraid that I really got into the part of being a big-time college scout.

Throughout the game, I was asked to evaluate several other prospects, all of whom I announced had excellent chances of a solid college football career. One really chubby, slow and not so agile kid's mother assured me that he would get better when he "got rid of his baby fat" and I agreed with her wholeheartedly. I even told the Head Cheerleader's mother that her daughter was without a doubt, one of the most talented cheerleaders I had seen in all my years of watching high school football games.

"We" scored in the last two minutes and pulled the game out, winning over a near all-white suburban team that I had actually been rooting for until the game started. I stood up and cheered like everyone else. I high fived the linebacker's grandfather and the cheerleader's mother gave me a bear hug. I had bonded with my new team. It was a fun day at the Dome.

They never did ask me what college I was from, which was a relief. And I never drank so many free diet cokes in my life.

A Flying Pig

2005-07-30T16:01:00.000-07:00

Without regard to the fact that I put bird seed out for my feathered friends, the sparrows prefer to swoop down on the dog's dish and make off with some Purina. I have doves, pigeons, cardinals, and red-headed woodpeckers and they all relish the wildbird seed, but not the sparrows.

Today I found a baby sparrow in the dog's dish. There was no dog food, just a baby bird that looked like it had eaten so much it couldn't fly. I gave him some water in a saucer and he drank it right up. Then I sat him aside and filled the dog's dish back up with Purina Dog Chow but he hopped over and began to help himself. Again.

Eventually, I picked him up and put him in a tree, as far away from the dog's dish as I could get and still be in my yard. He was quickly joined by a bird which I would guess was his mother. She had a piece of my Purina dog chow in her beak which she offered to the little pig and which he quickly ate!

I've heard people say "that will happen when pigs fly." Well, there is at least one flying pig. He lives in a live oak tree in my back yard.

The Big Kahuna

2005-07-28T21:47:00.000-07:00

I've got a large extended family. It takes some effort to maintain contact with so many scattered over several states but I've managed to keep the lines of communication open with aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces and cousins. It takes some work to pull it off, but it's worth the effort. It's about family.

I don't have any grandchildren yet, but I know someday they'll be along. I can even picture what the first two will look like - a chubby faced little boy with reddish, strawberry blond hair and a big grin and a little girl with long blonde hair, big eyes and hugs for everybody. They'll be first cousins but be as close to each other as brothers and sisters.

They'll spend lots of time with me and their grandmother. We'll take them to movies, to the circus and to hockey games where I'll teach them to holler "he shoots, he scores, you suck" everytime the home team scores a goal. I'll also teach them to tell their mothers that they learned that from somebody other than me. We'll give them just about anything they want and spoil them so bad they'll think they're royalty. Their parents can straighten them out later.

I'll ask them "who's the handsomest, smartest guy in the whole world?" and "who's the Big Kahuna?" They'll say "you are Grandpa", because that's what I'm going to teach them to say. I'll also teach them to say "badges? We don't need no stinkin' badges" and "what we have here is a failure to communicate" because I think it's cute.

They'll spend week-ends with us at the Cheapspread Ranch and cry when the week-end is over and they have to go home.

I'll try to teach them some of life's lessons, including the fact that we're not perfect - just humans who can know right from wrong and still mess up once in awhile. Forgive yourself and forgive others who may fuss at you for teaching their children to say things like suck and showing them how to do the Italian salute.

I'll try to teach them humility, generosity and kindness without getting in the way of their parents. Most of all, I'll try to teach them that life is meant to be good - and usually is.

And that's the truth.

Happy Birthday Ala!

2005-07-26T19:58:00.000-07:00

Be sure and pop over to The Rowhouse and read Rose's Birthday Tribute to the Sagacious Blonde!

Love and kisses to my girls from Philly!

And Rose....make sure Ala gets a Buttery Nipple shot or two or four! *grin*

Eight Years? Is That All?

2005-07-26T11:10:00.000-07:00

We have what's called a bifurcated system in Texas for criminal cases, in effect, two different trials. The first one is all about whether the state has proven guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. If the jury agrees that the state has met it's burden of proof, then the second trial, regarding appropriate punishment begins.

As you know by now, assuming you've read the previous post, Delmy Ruiz, the famous Salvadoran tallywacker whacker was found guilty of aggravated assault on her boyfriend for severing his penis.

Yesterday, she was sentenced to eight years in prison. With good behavior, she'll be eligible for parole in three - rather a short sentence. Her ex-boyfriend was overheard to remark that her sentence was not the only thing that was a little short these days.

Another Bobittectomy

2005-07-22T22:48:00.000-07:00

A trial ended in Houston today with a guilty finding of aggravated assault in a case in which Delmy Ruiz has followed in the footsteps of the infamous Lorena Bobbitt and severed her husband/boyfriend Rene Nunez's penis. I would think that Rene would be awful aggravated alright.

Delmy, like Lorena, claims to have been abused so she whacked off his wee wee when he went night-night. This is almost too gross, and I'm sorry to have to mention this, but before it could be recovered for possible re-attachment, the dog ran off with it. Nobody said what breed the dog was but I'm betting it was a Dachshund - that's right, a wiener dog.

First, we in Houston had the famous death by Mercedes case in which a local dentist caught her cheating husband, also a dentist, shacked up with his secretary at a local no tell motel and proceeded to "accidently" run over him with her car - three times. Now this.

Ladies! Calm down, for God sakes. If this keeps up, every man in Houston will be trying to scrub the tire tracks off his back and insisting that the other guys remember to put the toilet seat down.

Like Lorena Bobbitt, the latest whacker of male ethos is from El Salvador. Is this activity that common down there? Are there hundreds, no thousands of poor souls in El Salvador who are penisless? Is El Salvador filled with poor, humiliated men who are now sitters instead of pointers and whose lives are completely pointless? Has their macho gone whacko? Are we letting any more women from that country across the border?

This penis whacking stuff is so common in El Salvadore that some women have complained that an ordinary kitchen knife is not the greatest tool re-tooling tool in the world. With typical American ingenuity and in the capitalistic spirit, Black and Decker has developed and patented a battery operated device that will get the job done with a minimum of effort and carry a one year waranty. They're calling it the Black and Decker Pecker Wrecker.

And that's the truth.

Word Power, Part 2

2005-07-22T13:21:00.000-07:00

And speaking of word power, how about these words - purportedly written by Sullivan Bellew while serving as an Union officer during the Civil War. On July 14, 1861, he wrote home to his wife:

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days, perhaps tomorrow and lest I shall not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I am no more.

I have no misgivings about or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how American civilization now leans upon the triumph of the government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing, perfectly willing to lay down all my joys in this life to help maintain this government and to pay that debt.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless. It seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but omnipotence can break. And yet my love of country comes over me like a strong wind that binds me irresistibly with all those cables to the battlefield.

The memory of all the blissful moments I have enjoyed with you come crowding over me and I feel most deeply grateful to God, and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And how hard it is to give them up and burn to ashes the future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our boys grow up to honorable man-hood around us.

If I do not return, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I loved you, nor when my last breath escapes me it will whisper your name. Forgive me my many faults and the many pains I have caused you, how thoughtless, how foolish I have sometimes been.

But, oh Sarah, if the dead can come back and flit unseen around those they love, I shall always be with you on the brightest day and the darkest night. Always. ALWAYS.

And when the soft breeze fans your cheek it shall be my breath. Or the cool air your throbbing temple, it shall be my sprit passing by.

Sarah, do not mourn me dead. Think I am gone and wait for me. For we shall meet again.

According to Ken Burns' PBS documentary, The Civil War, Sullivan Bellew was killed one week later on July 21, 1861 at the First Battle of Bull Run.

Word Power

2005-07-22T10:43:00.000-07:00

Words matter. The words we choose can motivate and encourage or they can deflate and discourage. They can be quickly forgotten or have a lasting effect that transcends time and be quoted long after the speaker of those words has died. Words can excite, inspire, anger and cause both joy and sadness. They have power.

In the past year of being involved with this phenomenom known as blogging, the words I've read on various blogs have effected me in many of the ways listed above. I've been motivated and encouraged by the words of my friend, political pundit extraordinaire Ala at Blonde Sagacity. I've been caught up in the extraordinary ability of my friend Rose of Anonymous Rowhouse to paint a verbal picture that can bring both joy and sadness to the reader. I've been surprised by the extent of hate and anger expressed by some politically left leaning bloggers towards President Bush and conservatives in general. The feelings such hate-filled speech generate are non-productive so I choose not to visit them as often as I did prior to the last election.

The words of my friend Allie at Desultory Butterfly give me faith and pride in a younger generation. I look forward to comments by Riceburner, Bonnie, Jenson, Jason, 92alpha, Scarlotta, Maidink, Alix, AFsister, my copious smiley face buddy Ben in Kansas City and many others. I'm continually inspired and gratified by the words of my own children, Jen and Doug plus those of various cousins, nephews and nieces who stop by once in awhile.

The blogging experience has been like that Clint Eastwood movie, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly - some of everything. But thanks to the good people I've met and the friends I've made while involved with blogging, it's been mostly good.

I remain awed by the power of words.

88 Years Old and Lost as a Goose

2005-07-18T12:34:00.000-07:00

I was gasing up at the local Pump and Rob when I noticed a little old lady struggling to place the nozzle back on the pump next to me. She couldn't have been more than 5 feet tall and weighed maybe 90 pounds.

I smiled at her and said "I'll help you with that", took the nozzle from her and returned it to its' rightful place. She said, "I'm 88 years old and still drive every day." I said, "well good for you ma'm. Have a nice day."

I sensed that she was one of those old folks who is lonely and would want to talk and tell a total stranger her life story. But I was in a hurry. Maybe some other time. Before I could make my escape she said, "do you know where the Social Security office is in Pasadena?" "No ma'm, I don't. Is that where you're going?"

She explained that she went there every month from her home in Deer Park but she must have taken a wrong turn. No doubt she had. She was 20 miles in the opposite direction of where she should have been.

I asked her for the phone number for the Social Security office so I could call them to find their location. She handed me her purse and said, "it's in there somewhere." I politely declined and said, "you really shouldn't let total strangers go through your purse. I'll just wait until you find it." She did and I recognized the street but it was a lost cause in trying to explain to her how to get there. In a moment of weakness I said, "I'll drive there. Just follow me."

She didn't follow me well. Several times she just veered off on a side street for no apparent reason. She'd be right behind me then take off in another direction, running red lights and stop signs with abandon. It looked like an out of control driverless car but if you looked closely you could see a clump of grey hair and a pair of tri-focals just below the streering wheel.

I did several U turns to catch up with her. Each time I caught up and motioned her over she'd say something like, "young man you're driving so fast I can barely keep up". "Yes Ma'm, I'll try to do better."

We finally got there, about an hour later. I walked in with her and every body there seemed to know her. After we said our goodbyes, I told the lady at the front desk about our little adventure and that I was worried about how my little old lady friend was going to get back home to Deer Park.

She said, "don't worry about it. She'll get home the same way she always does. She'll stop at a gas station and pretend to pump gas. Then she'll pick some customer out who she can con into showing her how to get home. She'll say, 'I'm 88 years old and still drive every day' and they fall for it every time."

And so they do.

The Parkay Ranch and Timber Buyers

2005-07-17T09:07:00.000-07:00

East Texas timber buyers haven't changed in over a hundred years. They discovered the dense pine forests and the majestic hardwoods of the river and creek bottoms in the 1920s and pounced on it with a vengeance. They're still at it.

To farmers and ranchers, the trees had little value. If someone offered them money for the trees, even though it wasn't much, they jumped at it.

In 1919 a timber buyer named Gilmer built a sawmill about three miles from my grandfather's land and named the town that sprang up around it Remlig - his name spelled backwards. By the mid 1920s the town of Remlig had a population of around 2500. There were churchs, grocery stores and even a movie theater. By 1928 it was all gone. They had cut all the marketable timber they could find and moved on. There's nothing left of Remlig now except the mill pond which is home to several hundred ducks during the winter and five or six full time resident otters.

While the timber buyers haven't changed much, the land owners have. They're more sophisticated and knowlegeable. For the most part, they no longer live on the land full time but have week-end or vacation homes there. They're not farmers.

The land has changed too. There are thick pine forests again and the hardwood trees like like beech, water oak and magnolias are back. There are huge freshwater impoundments which cover hundreds of square miles where small towns, farms and forests used to be. Five miles to the west on the Neches River is now the largest lake completely within the state of Texas, Lake Sam Rayburn, with a shoreline of over 500 miles. Fifteen miles to the east on the Sabine River is Lake Toledo Bend which spills over into Louisiana is even bigger than Rayburn.

I own some land in the area that used to belong to my grandfather. I call it the Parkay Ranch. (because it's one of the cheapest spreads around) The area has a large whitetail deer population, plus turkeys, ducks, armadillos, raccoons and coyotes. At night you can see more stars than you thought existed. One of my favorite things to do is to watch the show put on in the heavens at night by shooting stars and soundless, blinking sattelites that pass hundreds of miles overhead.

I'm building a swimming/fishing/kayaking lake on a small seasonal stream - not exactly the Neches or the Sabine. I have to remove about 200 pines trees to build it. Why not sell them to a timber buyer? I met with a buyer last week, which is how I know that timber buyers haven't changed since the town of Remlig became a ghost town. He offered me about 10% of the market value for the trees. He argued that the market is flooded with trees and supply has outpaced demand. I'll keep talking until I get a fair price but most of the land owners in that area will still get taken by the timber buyers.

Some things never change.

Pink Toenails

2005-07-13T08:15:00.000-07:00

Jen was 3 or 4 years old and just been indoctrinated into the world of feminine self adornment - she was the proud possessor of a pestiferously pink painted pedicure. (Say that 10 times as fast as you can)

I made the mistake of admiring her work. I said, "your toes are beautiful and you did such a good job". By the proud look on her face I knew what was coming next but she was too quick for me. Before I could weasel my way out of the box I was about to get in she said, "Daddy I can paint your toes just like mine." She was already going for the nail polish. I tried to think fast.

I told her that men didn't paint their toenails. I told her that even if men did paint their toe nails that I was in a big hurry to water the new tree I'd just planted before it got dark.

It was no use. Those big eyes welled with tears. The bottom lip poked out. "OK Daddy, if you don't like my toe nails I'll just go in my room and I won't bother you." I was toast. How do little girls learn such techniques for getting their way at such a young age?

I gave in. I don't go around bare-footed anyway. Who's going to know? I wiggled my toes as she giggled and painted with abandon.

It wasn't a bad job as far as having hot pink polish applied to your toes by a 3 year old goes. I rushed out to water my tree while there was still some daylight while my toe nails were still drying.

My neighbor across the street came over to visit when he saw me outside - something he always did. In mid sentence he glanced down, noticed my toes and headed back across the street as fast as his little short legs could carry him. He was never quite as friendly after that.

Anniversary!

2005-07-11T10:52:00.000-07:00

Holy cow! I missed the one year anniversary date of the blog!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chicken Hawk's Revenge

2005-07-10T10:53:00.000-07:00

My dad and uncles told me many stories about growing up on a farm and ranch in East Texas during The Great Depression. Many were true. Undountedly, others were a mixture of truths, half-truths and downright made up stories, created for the purpose of entertaining those five little boys who grew up to become master story tellers.

One of my favorites involved the capture of a chicken hawk. There were other predators in East Texas during the 1920's like bobcats, red wolves and coyotes that made it hard on farm families. There were even some black bears down in the river bottoms. But none could be as threatening as chicken hawks when it came to a pioneer family's very survival.

If you had chickens, and everybody did, chicken hawks could systematically kill and eat every one of the baby chickens. The older ones were experienced enough to run for cover when a hawk hovered over-head. The "bitties" were not. Over a period of time if somethng wasn't done to stop the carnage, there would be no more eggs to gather and no more Sunday dinners of chicken and dumplings.

My grandfather ordered that the hawks be shot on sight but they were too smart for that. They would fly high enough to stay out of range until the shooter gave up, then swoop down and be gone with a baby chick before the boys could scurry out with shotguns in hand.

One of the boys had an idea to set a live trap and to their surprise, they caught the king of all chicken hawks the first day. The oldest boy reached in the trap and grabbed the hawk with both hands as it bit a chunk out of his finger, leaving him in pain and more determined than ever to complete his mission as defender of baby chicks.

Now all they had to do was decide what to do with with a very bad and unruly killer of baby chickens and biters of little boys fingers. Whatever it was they decided on, for their own sake, had to involve the death penalty.

My Uncle Landon got blamed for coming up with the solution they settled on by majority vote. Grandpa kept dynamite in the barn to blow stubborn tree stumps out of the ground when he needed to clear more land. Why not get a stick of dynamite, tie it to the hawk's leg, light it and turn him loose? He'd fly off, maybe a quarter of a mile high and then be blown to kingdom come. They could sit back and watch the show and not have to worry about any more bitten fingers while dispatching mister hawk.

It worked perfectly - almost. The hawk took off like he had a lighted stick of dynamite tied to his leg - which he did. He circled once, then landed - on the barn.

It took a week to rebuild the barn. The boys told their father it must have been lightening. Grandma chastised Grandpa about keeping dynamite in the barn and blamed it all on him. Five little boys kept very, very quiet.

You've Had It Now

2005-07-08T15:04:00.000-07:00

The leaders of Islam, including the mullahs throughout the world should declare immediately that they uncategorically condemn such barbaric, inhumane terrorist attacks as happened in London on 7/7.

I give them one week to do it. If they haven't done it by 7/14, and I mean convincingly - no winks or crossed fingers - then I'm declaring a jihad plus a double fatwah on all of them. I'll also be sending them a genuine french quarter curse, a double whammy,the evil eye and will get my mojo working. Plus I might sue them all. They shouldn't have pissed me off. Again.

Me Lost? Never!

2005-07-07T18:28:00.000-07:00

So you took a wrong turn in a strange city. Are you lost? Maybe, but not me. I've driven in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Philadelphia, Boston, New York and London and never been lost. I took one wrong turn outside of Heathrow Airport in London, but that was because the Brits are still driving on the wrong side of the road. I ended up in a ghetto in East LA but managed a U turn on a one way street and lived to tell about it. I honked my horn with the best honkers in Philly and kept right on trucking. New York was a challenge but I managed to get where I was going on time by leaping a highway interchange barrier and walking down the on ramp to get to the rental cars at the airport. I wasn't lost. I just wasn't conventional.

If you get scared, upset or confused - yep- you're lost, but only because you allowed yourself to feel like some Hansel and Gretel who forgot to put out bread crumbs.

If all else fails, just remember this: you can't be lost if you don't care where you are.

Et Tu or Three Crows Jacques?

2005-07-06T21:26:00.000-07:00

How many bottles of English ale will you be having to wash that crow down, Mr. swarthy little French weenie man? Just last week Jacques Chirac was full of confidence that Paris would be awarded the 2012 Olympic Games. He exceeded the usual French penchant for rudeness by predicting a French victory, with Paris being awarded the games over England and Russia. He then complained loudly about the unpalatibility of English food and claimed that the only English contribution to agrculture was Mad Cow Disease. Jacques, your mother-in-law may not be a good cook either and she may have an unmentionable medical condition but it's impolite to shout it out to the world at the G8 conference.

The big day arrived today when the winner was announced. Moscow was eliminated and the French cheered. London, NOT PARIS, was announced as the winner and the French went into a colossal pout and immediately tried to surrender to a family of German tourists.

There is a God. He's not French.

The Declaration of Political Incorrectness

2005-07-05T08:47:00.000-07:00

The Declaration of Independance is a document that we Americans should read again periodically, lest we forget our heritage and the significance of King George's tyranical system of government without representation . July 4 seems to be an appropriate time of the year to pause during a lull of exploding fireworks and do just that.

Among the complants about King George inumerated by Jefferson, the one that leaves the biggest impression on me is "he has erected a multitude of new offices, and sent hither swarms of officers to harass our people, and eat out their substance". Sounds a bit like today's local, state and national government doesn't it? Ever run your own business? Did you take note of the "swarms of officers" from the IRS, local taxing authorities, Eminent Domain opportunists and code inspectors among others whose main function appeared to be to "eat out their substance"?

Of note also is the complaint about King George's use of Indians against the Colonists. Jefferson didn't refer to them as Native Americans. He called them "merciless Indian savages". How politically incorrect, TJ.

Political incorrectness runs rampart throughout. Jefferson certainly didn't consider it offensive when he said "...the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God entitle them..." Nor did he flinch from saying "...they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights..." Such statements, if made by a Supreme Court nominee while being questioned during confirmation hearings by Senators like democrats Biden, Leahy, Reid or Kennedy would draw an immediate rebuke followed by the customary NARAL/ACLU smear job. Clarence Thomas's belief in "Natural Law" was the primary focus of the attack on him during his confirmation hearing before the democrats settled on sexual harassment and Anita Hill as their best shot at derailing his nomination.

The last sentence is my favorite. It inspires and invigorates me. It stirs my feelings of love for my country and undying respect for the signers of The Declaration of Independance: "And for the support of this Declartion, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortures and our sacred honor". And so they did.

Kenny Rogers Gets Fined and Suspended

2005-07-03T22:13:00.000-07:00

This week, Texas Rangers pitcher Kenny Rogers was fined $50,000 and suspended for 20 games by Major League Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig for roughing up two protographers and damaging their equipment. Personally, I think he got off light. He should have been fined years ago for all those bad "The Gambler" movies he made and for pretending that he could act. The guy couldn't act bored at a YoYo Ma concert. And his music hasn't been so hot either since Dottie West died.

He might even be roughed up a little for continuing to call himself Kenny after he got out of kindergarten. In Texas, some little boys are nicknamed Kenny but when they grow up they switch to Ken or Kenneth before somebody beats the crap out of them.

By the way, Kenny just got selected to play in this year's All Star Game. He gets a bonus for being selected - $50,000.

And that's the truth.

Dada, dada, dada, daaaada - It's Your Birthday!

2005-07-02T10:11:00.000-07:00

We were young and she was our first. We were confidant, yet a bit nervous about this parent-hood thing. OK, I confess. I was scared to death.

I'd never had to take care of anybody but myself, then came the responsibility of marriage. That was not a problem because I got lucky and married "up". But this baby thing. What have we done?

Adding to the roller coaster of emotion that comes with expecting a baby came a shocker during the last weeks before she was due to arrive. The doctor made a mis-diagnosis. He said we wouldn't be having a healthy baby afterall - that something had happened and the unborn child would "dissolve" (still a horible sounding word), resulting in a miscarriage.

He was wrong. She was the most perfect, healthy, beautiful baby girl you could imagine. She was the kind of little girl that caused total strangers in public places to stop what they were doing and stare - a big eyed blonde with a permanent happy face.

She and I invented six characters in the form of kittens who were the subjects of bed-time stories. I'd set the plot for a story and she'd add her own version of what would happen next to Inky, Dinky, Blinky, Hot Dog, Playdough and Mavern. We'd both end up giggling until an adult (her Mother, the BW) intervened and restored order by making us both go to bed. She's still just as giggly as she ever was.

After she was born we'd sometimes go in her room at night while she was sleeping and just watch. She was our miracle. She still is.

Happy Birthday Jen.

That's My Boy

2005-06-28T20:37:00.000-07:00

Baseball was always Doug's sport. We even brought him home from the hopital dressed in little newborn clothes that looked like a baseball uniform. He was good enough that I'd kid with him and others when he had a good game by saying "that's my boy."

His baseball career ended when he was 14. He was playing football, got blind-sided and broke his collar bone. His doctor said a sliver of broken bone came close to his carotid artery and an inch or so more and it could have killed him. He had some loss of motion in his throwing shoulder and that pretty much ended his baseball playing days. We didn't care whether he ever played anything again - just so he was OK - and he was.

He's kept his interest in baseball just as I have. We follow the Astros and get together a couple of times a week to watch a game, talk strategy, discuss possible trades and plan our dream trip to Wrigley, Fenway and Yankee Stadium with Jen's husband, Scott.

We started throwing the ball around in the back yard a couple of months ago - just like we had for the last time 16 years ago. His arm strength is not bad but not as good as it could be. He started throwing a decent curve ball, a knuckle change and a four seam fastball.

Doug has a friend from college, Joe, who manages a team in an amateur league. He worked out with them one day and they invited him to play. It's good quality baseball with several former college players and I had to wonder if Doug's work-out had gone all that well or if Joe was being a little charitable. After all, he hadn't played since he was a kid.

Their first game was last Sunday afternoon and he thought he might get to play in the outfield a little. Surprise, surprise. Joe told him just before the start of the game that he was the starting pitcher.

He had a good first inning. In the second inning, he gave up a hit to a first basemen who looked like a gorilla. He struck out a batter, then started to run out of gas. He walked a batter, then another. Then he struck out another batter on a 3-2 curve ball that had the batter rocking back on his heels. What a pitch! It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon and the temperature was about 97. He was worn out. He walked another batter and Joe took him out.

After the game he said "man, Dad, that was fun." It sure was, Son. It sure was.

Oh why not. Here's another quiz thingy.

2005-06-28T14:10:00.000-07:00

?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla

Hat tip - AFSister

I love these Quiz thingies

2005-06-27T19:31:00.000-07:00

I am Chocolate Flavoured.

I am sweet and a little bit naughty. I am one of the few clinically proven aphrodisiacs. Sometimes I can seem a little hard, but show warmth and I soon melt. What Flavour Are You?

Hat tip to Texas Biscuit :)

The Great Galinto vs. Rat Boy

2005-06-24T10:12:00.000-07:00

What they called it was "raslin". What I called it was fake. They were my uncles and cousins from the deep south (where the family tree doesn't fork much) and didn't want to hear my opinion for fear I might screw up their recreational fantacy. Four of them offered to take me one hot summer night to an outdoor arena in Pensacola, Florida to watch The Great Galinto do battle with Rat Boy.

They were intent on proving me wrong and asked me to just keep an open mind. I promised I would, while crossing my fingers.

The Great Galinto was a huge Italian who looked a lot like Tony Soprano, only much bigger and with lots of facial hair. His gut hung over his black spandex trunks and he had obviously seen better days. Rat Boy was much smaller but looked to be in much better shape. He had a long nose and an asymetrical face with eyes set too close together. He really did look like a rat.

The GG I was told, used to be a good guy but had gone off up north to wrestle and he had turned bad. He was the one who we were supposed to boo. We were also supposed to watch for cheating, like pulling on the back of Rat Boy's trunks and yell about it at the top of our lungs to the referee. "That ref can't see everything, you know", said Uncle Bruce.

Rat Boy used to be a bad guy but had seen the light. He was resplendant in his white robe decorated with shiny red beads. His white spandex trunks were about three sizes too small.

Sure enough, The GG cheated like crazy. One uncle yelled as loud as he could, "ref, he's got him in an illegal choke hold, are you blind?" Another one was yelling about The GG sneaking some foreign object out of his trunks and rubbing it in Rat Boy's beady little eyes.

The whole place by now was in a frenzy as The GG was about to pin Rat Boy, and the only reason he was winning was all the cheating he was doing.

Rat Boy was counted out. There was loud booing, then a folding chair flew out of the stands and hit The GG right in the face. He was bleeding from above his eye, yet managed to reach down and pick up the chair and fling it back in the direction from which it came.

More chairs flew into the ring. Then Rat Boy began to help The GG throw them back! Now they were buddies, facing a common enemy.

The cops came and escorted the wrestlers out of the ring and out of sight. Two or three rednecks got arrested "just for trying to make sure Galinto didn't cheat."

Uncle Wayne said, "you saw that! It was real blood! The cops came and everything! You don't think it's fake anymore do you?" "Yes, I do. But when you guys come back can I come with you?" That was fun.

Live 8

2005-06-19T15:32:00.000-07:00

I work in the crazy alternate-universe of live music. I've been involved in the production work of concerts with as small of a capacity as 200, all the way up to events at the old Astrodome (I think the cap was around 60k).

Whoa -- I just realized I've been in the business for fifteen years.

*pausing for a moment of silence to mourn my youth*

Knowing how much work goes in to even the smallest of shows, I have been completely fascinated by the logistics involved in the "Live 8" concert that Bob Geldof is putting together. The challenge of working on an event with "5 concerts, 100 artists, a million spectators..." must be giving that brave man bleeding ulcers. I have the utmost respect for Geldof for thinking this up with Bono and then figuring out a way to pull the thing off. Wow!

I've been watching how this thing has come together closely, devouring any article I can find on it. Today Drudge linked a "Time Magazine" article on the event. I was pleasantly
surprised by several comments made, in particular by Geldof, about our country and our President.

BONO Warren Buffett gave me the best advice on this subject. He said, "Don't appeal to the conscience of America. Appeal to the greatness of America, and you'll get the job done."

CURTIS Insert in there "remarkably accurate impression of Warren Buffett."

BONO Onstage I talk about my first impression of Americans, which was watching a man walk on the moon. We thought, Americans are mad! But look what they can do when they get organized.

GELDOF America doesn't have a lack of empathy; they just don't know the issues as well. Actually, today I had to defend the Bush Administration in France again. They refuse to accept, because of their political ideology, that he has actually done more than any American President for Africa. But it's empirically so.
…and a little later….

BONO The most important and toughest nut is still President Bush. He feels he's already doubled and tripled aid to Africa, which he has. But he started from far too low a place. He can stand there and say he paid at the office already. He shouldn't, because he'll be left out of the history books. But it's hard for him because of the expense of the war and the debts. But I have a hunch that he will step forward with something. And it'll take somebody like him ...

Isn't it wonderful when people can reach across party lines and give credit where credit is due?It's such a rare thing these days.

I can't wait to read all the industry reports on the operational aspects of these concerts. I'm a geek for that sort of thing. :)

I'f you'd like to read the entire article, click here.

2005-06-17T11:56:00.000-07:00

Found this on Drudge. It made me giggle....

Former President Bill Clinton discussed his relationship with President Bush's father last night on CBS LATE SHOW.

Clinton: "I think we're good friends. I like him very much. I've always liked him. When he was vice president, I was still a governor. We worked together on a number of things. He hosted the governors, in 1983...at Kennebunkport."

When they made an announcement about raising funds for Tsunami relief in Houston former First Lady Barbara Bush "announced us. And she said she has started to call me son. I told the Republicans there, I said don't worry, every family has one, you know, the black sheep. I told them, this just shows you the lengths the Bushes would go to get another president in the family. I wish I could get them to adopt Hillary."

Back Seat Conversation

2005-06-15T21:30:00.000-07:00

Our niece Natalie, 8 years old, was having a discussion with 6 year old brother Nicholas as to what to name the souvenier astronaut bear she brought home from her visit to Space Center Houston.

The exchange, which took place in the back seat of our SUV on the way to a family get-together went like this: "I think I'll name her Rebecca Rowland because she flew an airplane to France and learned to speak french." Nicholas speaks up: "Well, of course she spoke french when she got there because that's what they speak there. They're french you know." "I know that, but that's not the point, Nicholas."

"Aunt Susie says I could name her Sally after Sally Ride, the lady astronaut." Nicholas again: "Ameia Earhart might be the most appropriate thing to name her, if she was really a girl that is." "Well, she is a girl." "She is not" says Nicholas. Natalie pounces. "A HA!!! See there? She is too a girl."

Good try Nic, but you lose. I'll explain it to you some day if you haven't figured it out on your own by then.

Incivility

2005-06-15T21:03:00.000-07:00

One of the few negative things about blogging is that some bloggers apparently feel free to forget about manners and common sense, if ever they had any.

I looked at one far left blog because one of its' authors had purposely or callously caused embarrassment to another blogger (a friend of mine)and was flippant and confrontational about it rather than willing to show any contriteness or regret for any harm he'd done.

After looking at the content of his blog, I understood. What a vile mess. The entire thing was an agglomeration of pornography and insults with some profanity thrown in to demontrate the pestiferous author's pathos for the subject.

Oh well. The less time spent dealing with such dis-sprited people the better. In the meantime let's have a party and celebrate the good that comes from this medium we call a blog.

Sibling Redemption

2005-06-13T21:27:00.000-07:00

Our nephew Jason of Tulsa, Oklahoma, his wife Gretchen and their two kids Natalie and Nicholas visited with us last week-end. Both kids are in the gifted and talented programs in their schools and are as sharp as they can be. Natalie is eight years old - going on eighteen, smart, giggly, very competetive and a risk taker. Nicholas is six, smart, funny, thoughtful and anything but a risk taker. He finished the first and second grade last year and was still bored in school.

We took them to the Boadwalk in Kemah, www.kemahboardwalk.com, to feed the stingrays and ride the ferris wheel and train on Friday. On Saturday, we took them to the park to play on the playground and feed the squirells. We spent a lot of time riding ATVs in the back yard especially when the water sprinklers were on.

The most fun they had though, was playing a simple card game - "Battle." Those kids both woke me up on Saturday and Sunday with a deck of cards in each hand, ready to rumble. Natalie almost always won and did her best to totally humiliate the losers after every game.

The highlight of the week-end for me was when Nicholas finally beat her, then launched into his version of Queen's "We Are the Champions". He went on and on - "and we'll keep on fighting till the end. We are the champions, we are the champions..." When he was finished, he added one last "ohhhhhh, yeahhhhhhhhhh." Natalie threatened to tell her mother on both of us - him for singing and me for laughing until tears ran down my face.

They went back to Tulsa yesterday. We miss them already and I haven't played a game of Battle in over 24 hours. I'm in semi-withdrawal.

Party invitation

2005-06-13T14:25:00.000-07:00

Party at Neverland, all week long.

Free to anyone who believed Michael was innocent.

Price of admission -- two young (or at least petite) children per adult, preferably male.

Adults must be trusting, gullible, and as dumb as a box of hair.

Oh to have been a fly on the wall....

2005-06-13T13:09:00.000-07:00

from eonline.com
CRANK CALLERS IN PARADISE: The busboy who found Jimmy Buffet's lost cell phone confessed to police that his friends may have used it to crank call Bill Clinton.

They "may" have? Why am I suddenly thinking about what the definition of "is" is.

Philadelphia Phreedom

2005-06-12T09:59:00.000-07:00

I read that the Philadelphia schools will begin next year to require all students to take a course in African-American studies. They already had the freedom to take the course as an elective. Now, they have fewer choices as the school board has made a choice for them.

I don't know for certain how Philly schools perform compared to suburban or private schools and have no intention of spending the time to research it. My guess, however, would be that they stink, they suck, they bite the big one, (sorry, I watched a little MTV the other night) just like most inner city schools.

Will this curriculum change help the performance of the students of Philly schools? Will they be more employable because of this change? Will they be more prepared for college? The answer is emphatically, "no." The only people who will become more employable will be the teachers who teach African-Amercian studies.

You won't find many politians or anyone else who is brave enough to speak the truth, but I am so here goes. Other than slavery, there is very little Black history in the U.S. prior to 1865. Since then,the country has made great strides to make amends for the abomination of slavery. We need less diversity, not more. We need more emphasis on America and less on Africa. High school students, be they black or white, shouldn't be required to study African, German, Italian or Irish history. If they have inquiring minds, let them take such courses as electives. America comes first. If being ethnic appeals to you more than being an American, then be prepared to be treated like an ethnic curiosity rather than a fellow American.

Look, slavery was wrong. It was an awful thing. I didn't do it but I'm sorry that my country allowed it for so long.

Descendants of slaves have made a tremendous contribution to the country and we are grateful.

Now let's get back to math and science or get prepared to say "you want fries with that?"

You Can't Go Home Again

2005-06-08T10:41:00.000-07:00

I've been bothered by the fact that when I drove by my Mother and Dad's house in East Texas recently, the place where I grew up, it looked abandoned. The yard needed mowing, the paint was peeling and all the fruit trees that my Dad so carefully attended looked dead.

The huge live oak trees that were in the front yard were gone, as was the white fence. I think they were victims of a road widening project but all the rest of the carnage was caused by the neglect of the people who bought it after Daddy died.

My brother and I took a trip to Pensacola, Florida a few days later. We were both born there. Our Mom was from there and we still have aunts and cousins who live all over the Florida Panhandle. If we couldn't go home to East Texas, at least we could visit our second home.

Not quite. Things change. Our aunt, Mom's older sister, was not anxious to allow others in the family to spend much time with us. We were "her company" and she was in no mood to share. Instead of telling one of her famous funny stories, she mostly wanted to talk about her failing health.

It was great to see cousins Chancey, Bobbie and Faye. I have two second cousins, teen-aged boys JD and Luker who call me "uncle" and seeing them alone is worth the trip.

A favorite uncle had other plans and we never saw him. Another uncle was out of town on business. Several cousins called to say hello and explain how busy they were and that they'd be sure to come by next time we were in town.

You really can't go home again, can you?

You're Fired!

2005-06-08T09:56:00.000-07:00

Ala at Blonde Sagacity mentioned the other day about hard it is to fire someone. Some people actually enjoy it. I don't.

The first time I ever had to do it, I was working at an insurance company in their worker's compensation hearings department while finishing up law school. The worker in question was an older lady just trying to hang on a little longer before she retired. The problem was, she was the most incompetent person I'd ever run across and she'd already been "transferred" out of every other department when her boss discovered the degree of her incompetence. My department was her last chance to keep her job.

Adding to the problem was that she was likable and sympathetic. She was raising her two grandchildren and was a widow. I assigned her a job she couldn't mess up - answering the phone.

I had to have instructions as to how to properly answer the phone and what to say when she did, taped to her desk right next to the phone. Still, she messed up a lot but we all covered for her. She was nice and there were these two little grandchildren.

All was fine until I received a phone call from our New York office from Mr. Gibbia, a fiery Italian with a vocabulary like Tony Soprano. Mrs. Incompetent answered his call and accidently hung up on him while tranferring the call to me. Before I could say "I've got it", the phone rang again, it was him and she hung up on him again.

The third time he called, I did answer it. He asked me who was the "crazy sounding bitch" I had answering the phone. I explained her situation, that she would retire soon, she was a widow, two cute grandchilren, etc., but that she indeed was totally incapable of doing anything that was remotely beneficial to the company. Without hesitation he said, "well, fire that bitch then."

I was stunned. I didn't want to do it and wasn't even sure how to go about it. I asked that she be given another chance and he said, "if you don't fire that bitch, I'll fire you." I said something like "sir, that bitch is history."

And she was. There was lots of crying and begging. It was awful.

I did manage to point her in the direction of a company that was looking for experienced office help. I ran mock interviews with her on my lunch hour. I told her what to say during an interview and how to dress. Then I received a call from an interviewer asking if I could recommend her and telling me that if I could, they'd hire her. I told him what a nice lady she was. I mentioned that she made the best lemon pie I'd ever tasted. I talked about her grandchilren. I avoided saying anything at all about her abilities, or lack thereof. I never mentioned that she was totally incompetent and he never asked. He just got tired of listening to me ramble on, thanked me, and then hired her.

I heard that about a year later, she retired when she reached her goal of full retirement age.

Sometimes you do what you gotta do.

I love my family.....

2005-06-07T10:52:00.000-07:00

.....gosh they crack me up.

First, I found out my baby brother Doug caught a 40 pound tuna on his 30th birthday in the Bahamas last weekend. How cool is that? While I'm thinking about it...what the heck do you do with 40 pounds of stinky fish anyway???? Ack! Good luck Melodye! Glad it's you stuck with 40 pounds of fish in your freezer this time!!!! heheheheee

And now, a glimpse in to a gathering en famile........My cousin Julie, who baked a pie for her son, put birthday candles in the pie, immediately after it came out of the oven. As my Mom, Scott and I stood there stunned and laughing, the candles melted in to a puddle of green, blue, pink and yellow wax. YUMMY!

Same cousin then makes pervy remarks about candle wax.....which sends my husband running for cover, and makes my Mother's jaw drop. "Candle wax? What on earth do you do with candle wax?". Thank goodness at that point I had consumed so much wine in a valiant effort to avoid consuming pie and cake (I was victorious!) that whatever happened next is fuzzy. I highly suspect that either Julie or I told Mom exactly what to do with the previously mentioned candle wax (sorry Mom).

Favorite random movie quote used by my Mother --
"You just cannot handle my Guatamalaness. My HEAT!"

But the greatest.....the thing that has had me laughing for two days....said by a female in a thick Southern accent because we had, as I mentioned, been drinking....
"Whadda WE know about humpin' DAWWWWWGS!"

Dad, that may have to take the place of "Does annnnnybody know wherrrrre we arrrrrrrre?" as my previous alltime favorite thing said by a relative.....

heheheheheheeeee

Local vernacular

2005-06-06T07:52:00.000-07:00

Only a Texan knows the difference between a hissy fit and a conniption fit, and that you don't "HAVE" them, you "PITCH" them.

Only a Texan knows how many fish, collard greens, turnip greens, peas, beans, etc., make up "a mess."

Only a Texan can show or point out to you the general direction of "yonder."

Only a Texan knows exactly how long "directly" is – as in "Going to town, be back directly."

Even Texan babies know that "Gimme some sugar" is not a request for the white, granular sweet substance that sits in a pretty little bowl in the middle of the table.

All Texans know exactly when "by and by" is. They might not use the term, but they know the concept well.

Only a Texan knows instinctively that the best gesture of solace for a neighbor who's got trouble is a plate of hot fried chicken and a big bowl of cold potato salad. If the neighbor's trouble is a real crisis, they also know to add a large banana pudding.

Only Texans grow up knowing the difference between "right near" and "a right far piece." They also know that "just down the road" can be 1 mile or 20.

Only a Texan both knows and understands the difference between a redneck, a good ol' boy, and po' white trash.

No true Texan would ever assume that the car with the flashing turn signal is actually going to make a turn.

A Texan knows that "fixin" can be used as a noun, a verb, or an adverb.

Only Texans make friends while standing in lines. We don't do "queues," we do "lines"; and when we're "in line," we talk to everybody.

Put 100 Texans in a room and half of them will discover they're related, even if only by marriage.

Texans never refer to one person as "ya'll."

Texans know grits come from corn and how to eat them.

Every Texan knows tomatoes with eggs, bacon, grits, and coffee are perfectly wonderful; that red eye gravy is also a breakfast food; and that fried green tomatoes are not a breakfast food.

When you hear someone say, "Well, I caught myself lookin'," you know you are in the presence of a genuine Texan.

Only true Texans say "sweet tea" and "sweet milk." Sweet tea indicates need for sugar and lots of it -- we do not like our tea unsweetened. "Sweet milk" means you don't want buttermilk.

And a true Texan knows you don't scream obscenities at little old ladies who drive 30 MPH on the freeway. You just say, "Bless her heart" and go your own way.

And to those of you who are still having a hard time understanding all this Texan stuff, Take two tent revivals and a dose of sausage gravy and call me in the morning. Bless your heart.

Private Petey Poulet-Bete Noire

2005-06-02T10:30:00.000-07:00

The BW's (beautiful wife) side of the family can boast of a sterling military background including Army Ranger Robert Derrick, Marine Corps veteran Gill Bashforth and of course, General Jimmy Doolittle.

My dad was a retired US Navy Chief Petty Officer and several of my uncles served in all branches of the military in World War II and Korea but without the BW's side of the family, my kids wouldn't be related to anybody important except me.

I'm a lot like many of my generation, including Bill Clinton and George Bush when it comes to military service in the 60's and 70's. There was this thing called Viet Nam. While I didn't actively avoid service, I sure didn't complain when my number wasn't called and the draft ended.

I can't say the same about all my ancestors. My cousin Joan, the family genealogist, discovered that we had ancestors on both sides of the civil war, including Private Petey Poulet-Bete Noire, who did it all by himself. He was a private in the 2nd Illinois Brigade from 1860 until 1862, then apparently served the Confederacy with General Edmund Molholland St. Vincent Millay's Mississippi Sissy-Boys-Hiding-Out-Til-The-War-Ends Brigade.

Private Poulet Bete-Noir was in only one recorded battle - The Massacre at Fort Kissurassgoodbye in 1865. It wasn't a real massacre. In fact, it wasn't a real battle. Private Poulet Bete-Noir was gathering food - he wasn't a hunter, when he fell out of a peach tree and broke his neck. He was the only casualty other than a few peaches. He received a military burial with no honors but with the undying devotion and sympathy of his fellow brigadets.

His direct descendants returned to France where they opened a caberet and learned to speak fluent German.

And that's the truth.

Memorial Day post on General James “Jimmy” Doolittle

2005-05-30T09:22:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, after a family funeral, I became acquainted with my grandmother’s cousin, Ella, for the first time. I was just beginning to become interested in family history and genealogy. Ella is an expert on Mrs. BigandMean’s (aka Mom’s) side of the family. We began trading emails, and she was full of great family stories. I had heard that we were related to Air Force legend/Aviation hero General James “Jimmy” Doolittle, and Ella turned out to know quite a bit about him and how we are related. I won’t bore you with the branches of the family tree. To sum up – we’re cousins.

I began doing some research on my own. It bugs the heck out of me that most people only know Gen. Doolittle from that not-so-great 2001 Ben Affleck movie "Pearl Harbor". In that film, Gen. Doolittle’s "famous 30 seconds over Tokyo" raid is sort of the climax of the film. Gen. Doolittle is portrayed by Alec Baldwin, which kinda chaps my Republican ass a bit (loathe his politics. UGH!), but his performance was one of the better things in the movie.

(Side note – my Great-Uncle Marvin on my Dad’s side was actually at Pearl Harbor. I remember Dad/BigandMean talking about asking Marvin if he ever saw the “Pearl Harbor” movie and what he thought about the realism. I can’t remember the details. Dad, maybe you can post about Marvin and the movie some time this week?)

Back to General Doolittle, one of several of my family members who have had their own action figures... :)

Here's a quote by my favorite President about General Doolittle:

“I like to think that many of the dreams of a strong America that we had [during WWII] are coming true today. This is only one more reason why the name of Jimmy Doolittle remains an inspiration to me and to the American people. The name's very mention reminds us that no matter how difficult the odds or how great the potential sacrifice, a dare for the sake of freedom and our fellow men is a dare well worth taking.” Ronald Reagan, paying tribute to General James “Jimmy” Doolittle at a dinner in Doolittle’s honor, December 6, 1983

Doolittle was promoted to lieutenant colonel Jan 2, 1942 and went to Headquarters Army Air Force to plan the first aerial raid on the Japanese homeland. He volunteered and received Gen. H.H. Arnold's approval to lead the attack of 16 B-25 medium bombers from the aircraft carrier Hornet, with targets in Tokyo, Kobe, Osaka, and Nagoya. The daring one-way mission April 18, 1942 electrified the world and gave America's war hopes a terrific lift. As did the others who participated in the mission, Doolittle had to bail out, but fortunately landed in a rice paddy in China near Chu Chow. Some of the other flyers lost their lives on the mission.

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On April 18, 1942, 16 Mitchell B-25 medium bombers took off from the aircraft carrier USS Hornet, positioned 750 miles off the coast of Japan. They dropped bombs on Tokyo, then flew on to China, where most of the crews had to bail out. The raid caused little damage to Tokyo, since the bomb load had to be decreased to accommodate the extra fuel weight. But the boost to morale was great. It gave Americans something to cheer about in the bleak early days of the war. Doolittle was advanced two grades to brigadier general the day after the raid and also received the Medal of Honor.

Doolittle spent the rest of the war as commander of various air force units. He led the 12th Air Force during the invasion of North Africa, the Strategic Air Force during the invasion of Italy, and in late 1944 he was promoted to lieutenant general and assigned to the 8th Air Force in England and the Pacific. He became known as a good commander of bombing groups, frequently inspiring his men by flying with them. He was always a proponent of daytime, precision bombing,feeling it was a "basic American principle" to harm as few civilians as possible.

While the 8th Air Force was still stationed in England, Doolittle was excited about the opportunity to be the first commander to lead air raids on the capital cities of all three of the enemies. He had led the first bombing raids on both Tokyo and Rome. When the 8th began to organize the first raid on Berlin, which would occur on March 4, 1944, Doolittle thought he had a chance to make history. But because he had been briefed on several top-secret operations, it was decided that his capture was too great a risk and he was not allowed to fly over enemy territory. Though Doolittle understood the reason, he was far from happy.

After the war, Doolittle retired from the air force and returned to Shell Oil as a vice president. He continued to serve the air force as well, serving on special committees concerning space and ballistic missiles issues. He chaired the board of Space Technology Laboratories and served as the first president of the Air Force Association. During the late 1950s, as the last chairman of the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA), he laid the foundation for its successful transformation into the new National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA).

On April 4, 1985, at a ceremony at the White House, Jimmy Doolittle was promoted to the position of general and given his four stars. Eight years later, Doolittle died at age 97 and was buried at Arlington Cemetery next to Josephine, his wife of 71 years. Many pioneers of flight died young, often through accidents. But Doolittle survived to live a full and illustrious life. When asked the secret of his longevity in such a high-risk profession, he replied that he never took an uncalculated risk but that he also had a lot of luck. He added that he wouldn’t want to live his life again because "I could never be so lucky again."

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A few more highlights of his extraordinary life:
- Received one of the first doctorates in aeronautics from M.I.T.

- Doolittle's doctoral dissertation, "Wind Velocity Gradient and Its Effect on Flying Characteristics," disproved the popular theory held by many pilots of the day that they could tell wind direction and the level plane by instinct even when they could not see the ground or horizon.

- As one of the first “scientific” pilots, he worked on aircraft acceleration tests and the development of instruments that would enable pilots to fly when they were unable to see the ground (called “blind flying”)

- Record holder – a daredevil pilot, he performed the first “outside loop” (aerobatics), made the first cross-country flight in less than 24 hours…and the list goes on for days….

- - - - - - - - - - - -

He was awarded the Medal of Honor, and was promoted from Colonel to Brigadier General for leading the first carrier-based bomber attack on mainland Japan in 1942. His citation, presented personally by President Franklin D. Roosevelt, reads, in part: "For conspicuous leadership above the call of duty, involving personal valor and intrepidity at an extreme hazard to life. With the apparent certainty of being forced to land in enemy territory or to perish at sea, General Doolittle personally led a squadron of Army bombers, manned by volunteer crews, in a highly destructive raid on the Japanese mainland."

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The first lesson is that you can't lose a war if you have command of the air, and you can't win a war if you haven't. General James "Jimmy" Doolittle

Road Trip

2005-05-26T10:40:00.000-07:00

My brother Mike and I are off today on our annual road trip. Last summer we went to Nashville for the Grand Ole Opry and on to Louisville and Churchill Downs, The Louisville Slugger Bat Factory, The Jim Beam Distillery and The Kentucky Horse Farm among other places. When we go somewhere together, we're up at daylight and running all day - almost attacking the place, trying to see as much of it as we can.

This summer, it's Pensacola, Florida where our mother grew up. We still have family there and will be visiting with uncles, aunts and cousins through Monday.

Things are different everytime we go to Pensacola. The old folks are dying, which is the main reason we're going when we are. Uncle Aussie, the water well digger who raised turtles in his back yard and was afraid of ghosts died last month. But that's another story.

I'll see you on down the road.

Howard Dean

2005-05-25T11:19:00.000-07:00

After watching Howard Dean's performance on Hardball with Chris Matthews, I've decided that anyone named Howard must be suspect. I don't personally know any Howards and can't think of many well known people with that name. Besides Howard Dean, there's another real depraved slimeball named Howard Stearn. The most admirable Howard I can think of at the moment is Howard the Duck. My apologies to any of you decent Howards out their in cyberspace.

After viewing Dean's interview and then reading a transcript, it's obvious to me that the man is totally devoid of grace and decency and is completely consumed - obsessed with politics to the exclusion of every thing else, even his own humanity.

I'm not certain whether it's his obsession with politics or his lack of tolerance for other's beliefs, especially those of Christians, which has made him into such a mean-spirited, morally deficient little man.

After all the accusations and inuendo about Tom DeLay, if any evidence indicates his guilt, we'll dump him post haste, just as we've done others from Nixon to Gingrich who crossed the line. We wouldn't tolerate a Bill Clinton or Ted Kennedy if they were Republicans and we wouldn't tolerate Dean's behavior either. He's an immoral embarrassment. If Democrats continue to embrace him and condone his behavior they can kiss the elections of 2006 and 2008 good-bye.

Besides, I hear he's a cross-dresser and is dating Marv Albert.

And that's the truth.

Let's Litigate

2005-05-24T11:27:00.000-07:00

Our legal system has come a long way since the days of feudal England when many of the disputes between neighbors were settled by the King's Lords who were living on the land on which the dispute arose(hence the term landlord). Many of the lords had no legal training whatsoever, and had attained their position either because they were born to it or had married into the priveledged class.

While this was not a perfect system, it did improve somewhat upon the popular, yet often fatal system of dueling to settle a dispute. There was nothing quite so final as death, and appeals were minimal.

We are the most litigious people in the world. Houston has more lawyers than the entire industrialized nations of Japan and China put together. If you have an auto accident in Houston and you're lucky enough not to get hurt in the accident, you could still get trampled in the lawyer stampede that will usually follow.

Remember the recent "finger in the chile" at Wendy's? Or was it a windbreaker in the chicken fingers at Chile's? At any rate, the lady who perpetrated the fraud got caught, but how many times had she and others like her sucessfully pulled off such shenanigans in the past? How about the creep who actually did discover an employee's finger in his cup of yogurt? It had just been severed in a yogurt machine and ended up in the cup amid all the confusion. He refused to give it to the victim to take to the hospital because he wanted to retain it as evidence! It might have been reattached but for the unconscionable greed of someone who thought he had struck the lawsuit lottery.

I think sanctions against vexatious litigants such as these ought to include being banned from access to the courts for life. Make them revert back to being required to challenge someone to a duel to the death if they want to litigate. Let's see how serious they really are.

There is, of course, a legitimate purpose served by so much civil litigation, but only if the plaintiff and his lawyer are honest and ethical. Remember the case in Florida where the surgeon amputated the wrong leg? The doctor amputated the patient's GOOD leg. Late for a golf game doctor?(hint-don't have anything that's important to you examined on a Wednesday-that's golf day). This poor patient then had to have his other leg amputated as was originally planned. He filed suit against the doctor, hospital and anybody else who was even remotely connected with what happened but he lost.

He didn't have a leg to stand on.

Doo Wop and Rock and Roll

2005-05-22T12:46:00.000-07:00

Each generation seems to think the music of their time is the best and anything that came before or after is awful. That's actually true when it comes to the music I grew up on - the music of the 60's. Before our time there was Big Band Music, and ballad singers like Nat King Cole and Rosemary Clooney. It just didn't move. The stuff that followed us, like rap, is just plain bad with no musical talent required to write, sing or even listen to it.

My generation's music is Doo Wop and Rock and Roll. Elvis, The Beatles, Little Richard, Chubby Checker, The Righteous Brothers, Sam Cooke, Janis Joplin, Frankie Valle and the Four Seasons and everybody who was at Woodstock - that's us.

Our music was good and the words even made sense. Since the 80's the words don't have to rhyme, they don't have to be relevant and God knows they don't have to have any real meaning.

I heard one of George Michael's songs from the 80's a few minutes ago and that's what set me off about this subject. While the music of Careless Whisper (song title edit by Jen) isn't bad, it just bugs me that he laments that he can't dance again because his feet are guilty. It seems that he was unfaithful and now he can't dance because "guilty feet have got no rhythm." It's important to remember that feet are innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt and have the right to a trial by a jury of their peers. If what I read in the papers was true, George was guilty of participating in lewd acts in public restrooms but his feet were completely innocent.

Consider the words to Ebb Tide, a Righteous Brothers song from the 60's: "First the tide rushes in, plants a kiss on the shore, then rolls out to sea, then the sea is very still once more". That's beautiful.

Now consider the words to a rap song I heard a few days ago that I'll have to paraphrase: "Hey bald headed woman, I've got this piece of biz for ya. Why don't you let my bald headed friend jump right in"? Did somebody stay up all night writing that? Were they drunk?

Now one more from my era, when the words were elegant,romantic, poetic and had real meaning. Just to drive my point home, consider the 60's classic by Otis Day and the Knights called Shamma Lamma Ding Dong. The words: "shamma lamma, shamma lamma ding dong. You put the um mau mau, back in my smile, child". That's about it. Notice the subtle near-rhyme at the end. See what I mean? Ah man, the 60's.

Shoulda Been A Cowboy

2005-05-19T21:21:00.000-07:00

I learned to ride a horse on my grandfather's big white lazy mule named Ole Jude. Ole Jude acted like a grumpy ole man - he was at least 20 years old the first time I rode him. My brother Mike and I would throw a saddle on him and both jump on, me in the front and Mike (three years younger) holding on for dear life behind me. We'd ride all over the farm, pretending to be Roy Rogers, "The King of the Cowboys" and his faithful sidekick riding on Trigger in hot pursuit of Black Bart. I never told Mike that the faithful sidekick was a girl.

I never did get Ole Jude to break into a gallop. The most he'd do is trot with an annoyed look on his big white face. Once in awhile he'd just stop completely, then turn and look at me as if to say "to hell with it - I ain't moving and you can't make me." It was probably a good thing because Mike was constantly sliding off the back and if we'd been going any faster he might have gotten hurt. Come to think of it, maybe that's why Jude refused to gallop.

Now, Ole Jude is long gone to that place in Heaven where all animals that tolerate children go when they die. I ride an ATV now instead of a horse or a mule, my 660 cc Yamaha Grizzly or my wife's 400 cc Kodiak. We ride the same roads and hillsides Mike and I chased Black Bart on aboard Ole Jude.

The last time I rode a horse made me glad I gave it up and took up 4 wheeling. I was riding a little paint when it threw me and my foot got hung in the stirrup. I was hanging up-side-down with the horse running in circles, completely out of control. I'd have died if the manager of the Wal-Mart hadn't come out and unplugged it.

And that's the truth.

Or not.

Doug Escapes Certain Death

2005-05-17T22:12:00.000-07:00

Jen mentioned it yesterday so I'll share the story about the time I was supposed to spank our son Doug but couldn't do it. I couldn't manage to stop laughing long enough to pull it off.

Doug was about the cutest little fellow anyone's ever seen. His sister Jen is five years older and treated him from the day he was born like he was her personal property to do with as she pleased. He was an unwilling guest at her tea parties, pretended to be a thrilled audience of one when she performed a one girl dance recital and even let her dress him up in one of her tutus. This is and never has been a kid that anybody could ever be mad at.

When he was three though, he did something that pushed it to the limit. His mom, the BW, was painting the back door when the phone rang. She left the brush and the paint bucket on the patio while she answered the phone.

Doug and his buddy from next door, also three years old but going on eight, had been paying more attention to the paint job in progress than anybody realized. Apparently, as soon as she answered the phone, they decided to pitch in and help with the painting until she got back.

They only had one brush between the two of them so somebody had to paint with his hands. They painted the concrete patio, a brick wall, the walls in the garage and each other. Then they knocked over the gallon can of paint and walked through it, leaving tiny painted foot prints everywhere.

After the phone call ended and the screaming subsided, the BW gave Doug a bath, then told to stay in his room until I got home. She told him that I was going to be up to spank him as soon as I got home from work or as Bill Cosby said in his famous To Russell, My Brother, Whom I Slept With bit, "the belt is going to wail tonight."

By the time I got home the mess was cleaned up. The only unfinished business was for me spank Doug. He obviously had thought about it for quite awhile. He didn't know what to expect because he'd never gotten a spanking. He knew it would be bad and obviouly knew it would involve hitting and that he would be the one getting hit.

I dreaded having to do it but decided that I'd just grit my teeth give him a couple of stearn swats on the butt. He was ready. When I bent him around to start the dreaded (for both of us) punishment, I couldn't help but notice that his little rear end was about twice it's normal size. I pulled his pants down and discovered that he had on not one, not even two, bit three pairs of pants. He even had a pair of shorts stuffed inside his outer layer. He had on two long sleeve shirts, a pair of boots and an old cowboy hat that was pulled down so low I couldn't see anything but a pair of eyes. No part of his little body was left uncovered. If this spanking he was supposed to get was half as bad as he'd been told it was going to be, he was getting as much protection as he could get. He looked like a mummy!

I couldn't help myself. I laughed so hard my side hurt. Doug laughed too. I said it wasn't funny. "Then why are you laughing Daddy"? "OK, it's funny. Now let's go downstairs". "Is the spanking over Daddy." I said, "yes, it's over - if Mom asks tell her it really hurt, OK.?

"OK, Daddy."

As a spanker, I was a total failure.

A Story For Jen And Doug

2005-05-17T10:30:00.000-07:00

With Father's Day approaching, I think about my Dad - Jen and Doug's grandfather, more often than usual. He's been gone for 17 years but it seems like only yesterday that we lost him. There has never been a kinder, more gentle man. He was the caregiver in his family, taking care of his parents in their old age, then watching without any bitterness or complaint as some of his siblings took advantage of his good nature. As my Uncle Marvin said, even the animals on the farm they grew up on liked him best because he was always so kind to them.

I saw him get mad only twice in my life - and both of those times I was the source of his anger - but I'll get back to that later.

He was a vigorous and athletic, very healthy 69 year old retired career navy man when doctors discovered he had colon cancer. He fought hard for a year and a half. He had radiation therapy first, then chemo therapy and finally surgery. Nothing worked. He never gave up, he just gave out. He was 70 when he died. We all thought he'd live to be 100.

The first time Daddy got mad at me was when I ran in front of his car. We were living in Memphis where Daddy was stationed at the Naval Air Station. I was about three years old (yes, I remember it) and had been playing outside when Daddy got home from work. I ran to greet him and ran directly in front of his car. He slammed on the brakes, got out of his car and hollered at me. LOUD. This from a man who seemed incapable of raising his voice. I ran into the house with him in hot pursuit. He caught me and gave me the only swat on the butt I ever got from him in my life.

The other time I saw him mad was when I was 9 years old and we were stationed in Jacksonville, Florida. He and I were fishing on the St. John's River. He was in the front of the boat and I was in the back. I walked up towards the front of the boat without warning just as Daddy was about to cast. A hook caught me in the left upper thigh and buried itself about an inch into my leg. He cut the fishing line, then cut through the lower portion of my jeans. The only part of the hook that was visable was the eye. Then it started raining. Then the motor wouldn't start. That's when I heard him say the only curse word I ever heard come out of his mouth. He let out with a very loud "shit-fire". I'd never heard that one before and figured it must have been a navy thing.

He was mad at me for not minding him by going to the front of the boat without warning. He was mad that I was hurt and he was mad at the weather and the motor and he said so.

Fishermen in another boat saw our predicament and towed us in. At the emergency room, the only pain I felt was when I got a pain killer shot just before they cut the hook out. I didn't cry but I did react in a time honored navy fashion. Just like Dad, I hollered "shit-fire"!

Dad laughed out loud. So did the doctor. So did I. On the way home, Dad asked me not to say that anymore. He said he wouldn't say it anymore either. As far as I know, he never did.

More On Cheerleaders

2005-05-14T21:34:00.000-07:00

Speaking of cheerleading, has any human endeavor ever become so totally useless?

Some little girls start off dreaming of making the cheerleading squad when they're as young as 7 or 8. And for what purpose? To cheer for their favorite team? Of course not. Most of them haven't a clue when it comes to sporting events or to the team they're supposedly cheering for. What they're after and what they'll get if they make the cheerleading squad is a fast lane to popularity.

In the meantime, those who don't make the squad may be heartbroken, doomed to a high school career of relative obscurity, perhaps four years of playing the bazoon in the marching band and hoping they'll at least be elected treasurer of the math club.

Damn it, I say that anybody who wants to be a cheerleader should have that right! Parents should ban together to demand that their pubesant daughters be allowed to titillate thousands of strangers and shake their groove things at sporting events if they want to. No one should be hoisted on the pyramid of failure and forced to tell their mothers, "Mom, I didn't make cheerleader." Let's demand that the legislature declare cheerleading to be an egalitarian extracurriculum endeavor , open to all. If cheerleading squads consist of every damn kid in school who wants to do it, who cares? Five hundred cheerleaders on the sidelines? Why not? Nobody's watching them anyway except their parents and a few perverts with binoculars.

Football's a different thing though. Don't mess with football.

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Bump and Grind

2005-05-13T12:41:00.000-07:00

The Texas House of Representatives just voted on a bill presented by Houston Representative Al Green to ban sexually suggestive dance moves by cheerleaders at public school events. They haven't gotten around yet to banning impure thoughts or making lust a misdemeanor but that could still happen.

It's not likely that the Senate will approve of Representative Green's proposal, or if they did that the Governor would sign it so it appears that it will be bump and grind as usual on Friday nights this fall.

Professional cheerleaders like The Laker Girls and The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders present something completely different for the legislature to spend their valuble time pondering over.

These women don't actually cheer do they? What they really do is appeal, to a limited extent, to the pruient interest of the predominently male audience at professional sporting events. They could put on a much better show and have the freedom to do what we all know is the real purpose for their presence if the legislature would simply do the right thing.

I'm talking about passing a law allowing professional cheerleaders to perform buck naked if they want to. Yes, I mean totally bare-assed naked with lap dances for the entire front row during time-outs.

Now that's entertainment.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the legislature - make yourselves useful.

The Halfastros

2005-05-11T11:54:00.000-07:00

Houston Astros baseball fans are back for another year of torture. It looks like we're really going to suffer this year. Two of our best players from last year's team, Jeff Kent and Carlos Beltran, signed with other teams. Our best all-around player, Lance Berkman hurt his knee in the off season and is just beginning to play again. We have no hitting, a bungling defense and our relief pitching consists of Brad Lidge and a group of amateurs. The Brewers may be better than we are! The Brewers!!!

The Cubs are still the same old lovable losers. The Red Sox may have ended their curse last year but the Cubs won't end their's anytime soon. The Phillies are bad, even though we gave them Billy Wagner.

The Texas Rangers have an exciting young team and my boys and I will probably venture up north one week-end this year to see them play. I love baseball and will watch high school or college ball if nothing else is available.

My Uncle Weldon was the same way, as was a friend of his he visited in the hospital once who was so ill he wasn't expected to live. The friend told Uncle Weldon that he hoped there was baseball in heaven. Weldon didn't hestate. He said that he'd prayed about whether there was baseball in heaven and had gotten a response from God. "There's good news and bad news. The good news is - there is basball in heaven. The bad news is - you're pitching Thursday."

That guy would joke about anything. Even baseball.

And that's the truth.

Dead Politicians

2005-05-08T18:56:00.000-07:00

The Mayor of Hedwig Village, Texas died last month but is still on the ballot. By all accounts, she's running a good campaign and is expected to easily win re-election.

The rumor is that she may win by a larger margin than she did the first time. The electorate of Hedwig Village seems to be pleased at the prospect of having a dead mayor. She won't be in the pocket of special interests groups. She won't drain the public treasury with pork barrel projects for her friends and supporters. She won't interrupt others at council meetings and she'll never, ever have an extramarital affair. In fact, she most likely won't do anything.

Maybe we should re-think the requirements for public office. Would we be better off with nothing going on at all in the state's capitols and in Washington? Maybe. At least they couldn't mess things up any more than they do now and the incidence of political graft would shrink to zero. Why don't we give it some thought? Getting our career politicians to pass a statute that would require them to agree to die before they could be re-elected or retire from office might be tough to get done but I'm going to work on it.

Cinco de Mayo

2005-05-05T16:04:00.000-07:00

Cinco de Mayo, The fifth of May, is not celebrated to any great extent in Mexico. It's celebrated in Texas because we have lots of Mexicans and they want something to celebrate.

Our major celebrations of patriotic origins are Cuatro de Julio, better known as The Fourth of July and San Jacinto Day. The Mexicans living in Texas pretending to be Texans of Mexican descent have never enjoyed our San jacinto Day celebrations, so in deference to them, we don't emphasize it anymore. San jacinto Day, for you non-Texans, is the day that General Sam Houston and 12 or 13 farmers won a battle against Santa Anna's army of some 20,000, killing about 3500 of them and leaving the rest of them running away screaming like girly men.

Cinco de Mayo celebrates the victory of a Mexican army over the French invaders in 1862 in Pueblo, Mexico and is also my nephew Dan's birthday. Yes, even the Mexicans kicked some French hiney. Didn't everybody? Come to think of it, if we celebrated a special day for everytime somebody kicked the hell out of the French Army we wouldn't have time for anything else.

So, let's celebrate something. Happy birthday Dan. And how about another pitcher of Margaritas for my table Jose? And happy Cinco de whatchamacallit.

Uncle Royal

2005-05-02T14:43:00.000-07:00

My Grandmother's brother, Royal Weatherford was a real character in the truest sense of the word. He'd do anything for a laugh and take any dare, even if it meant risking injury or getting arrested. In fact, the whole family was that way, even my Grandmother.

My Dad told me about the time when Uncle Royal was 19 years old or so and one of his friends bet him $5.00 that he wouldn't ride his horse through the front door of the church and out the back door during services.

It was an easy $5.00. Just when the preacher had invited all sinners to come down front and confess their sins and the choir had begun to sing "Just As I Am", Uncle Royal came galloping down the center ailse on a big white horse while letting out a rebel yell at the top of his lungs. While the preacher and the choir scattered for high ground, Uncle Royal and "Old Whitey" scooted out the back door and down the dirt road towards home.

That evening, his friend stopped by to tell Royal that he had been IDed that he was going to be arrested the next day for disturbing the peace. Royal didn't hestitate. He bet his buddy another $5.00 that not only would he not be arrested, but that he would be welcomed by the congregation at services the next week.

Royal went to visit the preacher the next morning. His story was that he was riding by the church and his horse, inexplicably, bolted and ran right into the open door of the church, even with him doing all he could to restrain him. He told the preacher that it must have been God's will that he be in church that day and it took a runaway horse to lead him to the way of righteousness. The preacher forgave him on the spot and invited Royal to church the following Sunday. He contacted the sheriff and told him that he was dropping all charges.

Royal showed up at church the following Sunday and gave an impassioned testimonial. After church he collected another $5.00, then doubled it playing poker that night.

And that's the truth.

Order CBFTW's (aka Colby Buzzell) book now!

2005-05-01T19:48:00.000-07:00

CBFTW's book is now available for pre-order on amazon.com! It is currently scheduled for release on October 20, 2005. Tooooooo cool.

Benjamin

2005-04-29T09:33:00.000-07:00

A little boy named Benjamin has cancer. He's 10 years old. I don't know him, but know about his situation from someone who does and that person contacted me about being a potential blood platelet donor.

Benjamin underwent a successful bone marrow trasplant. It seemed as though he might be about to completely recover. Now he's back in the hospital and may need surgery. I can't do a thing about it - not even donate again as his blood type changed from positive to negative after the transplant.

I've never been able to reconcile within myself as to why a loving God would allow something like this to happen. Is there some purpose to this? Why must the children suffer? Do I just have faith and accept that it will all be revealed to me in due time? Are there angels among us? Could they do something about this? Is Benjamin one of them, sent here for a purpose?

If you pray, would you add this little boy to your prayer list?

A Pusillanimous Meany

2005-04-28T08:16:00.000-07:00

Recently, my dear wife had to deal with one of those back stabbing cowardly folks who occasionally do mean things to others if they think it might advance their interest. She reacted with much more grace than I did. I wanted, for just a moment, to chop the offending bete noire off at the knees so she would think twice about engaging again in behavior so lacking in moral turpitude. The BW quickly got over it, said "consider the source" and went about her business.

That incident reminded me of the time several years ago that the law firm I worked for at the time assigned me to represent a member of "The Mexican Mafia" in a criminal case. The charge against him was dismissed and my client, to show his appreciation for my work, told me if I ever needed anybody "whacked" just to let him know. I laughed out loud, told him I wouldn't ever be needing him and advised him to get out of the whacking business. I'm not saying that I thought about having the pusillanimous meany whacked. I shamefully admit though that the thought of one of those Nancy Kerrigan knee jobs crossed my temporarily evil mind .

Ok, ok. I know. One of the Seven Deadly Sins is anger. Ah have see-innnnnned. I'm over it now - but I just can't stand it when some mean, unkind person hurts someone I love.

Now what was that guy's name? Was it Guido or Luis? Maybe it was Romando something or other - I've got to quit this fantasizing and get to work - but the mental picture I just gave myself dissipated the last ounce of anger I had and put a smile on my face. But damn it, Ah think ah have see-innnnnnned again. Whoops, I think that's another one. Well, nobody's perfect, except maybe the BW.

Liberals: Real Men or Kinda Girlie?

2005-04-25T15:58:00.000-07:00

Arnold Swartzenegger keeps getting into trouble with the press (hoo boy, I'm really scared now)by continuing to refer to Democrats as "girlie men". Maybe that's code talk and he really means that they're cowardly, dress like sissies and talk funny. I don't know.

It might mean that he thinks liberals are emotional cripples and act like weenies when the going gets tough. Like, instead of an up or down vote on judicial nominees they'd rather filibuster. Or, when they whine for years about the results of elections they've lost or refuse to do anything about social security except demogogue it because that's the more politically expedient thing to do. Maybe that's it.

Have you noticed a technique used by the liberal press when they want to take a cheap shot at a political opponent by starting off a sentence with "Some say........" Well, of course, some do say. But who? Well anyway, some say that liberals are girlie men because of their knee jerk negative reaction to the military and military men. Some say it's because they're frightened of uniforms. Or that they're afraid to undress in barracks with so many men around. I'm just saying, you understand, what some say about what Arnold says.

I think all would agree that Arnold is a manly man and of course, a Republican. Another Arnold, Benedict, was a Democrat who ratted his buddies out when the going got tough. Any girlie man vibes stirring out there? I'm just saying....., you know, I'm trying to figure out what Arnold meant by that girlie man remark. John Wayne was the quintessential tough guy Republican. John Wayne Gacy, the gay Chicago serial killer was a Democratic party precinct chairman. Does Arnold know something???

I could go on with this and perhaps never discover what Arnold really meant but it wouldn't be fair to Democrats to speculate without having some real proof. I mean, it would be pure speculation as to why someone like Barbara Bush, former first lady and mother of a president is a Republican and Barbra Streisand, nasally singer, bad actress, and married to a muffler spokesman is a Democrat. General Andrew Jackson, hero of the Battle of New Orleans - Republican. Michael Jackson, proprietor of Neverland, make that Onceeverynowandthenbutonlywithlittleboysland - Democrat. It's never ending. But what does any of this really prove? That John Wayne could beat up Michael Jackson? That Barbra Streisand will never have another hit record?

Beats me.

Consumer Warning - The Tick Scam

2005-04-25T15:40:00.000-07:00

I just registered again with the national "do not call" list to keep telephone solicitors at bay. I've now registered two cell phone numbers, a home number and two work numbers so I should be protected.

I expect that solicitors will begin to concentrate more on door to door home sales. We already have a Federal Trade Commission "door to door" sales rule which gives consumers up to three working days to cancel most sales where they are solicited at their home but the enemy is out there right now trying to figure out a way to get around the rules.

Let me warn you about the latest thing to be on the look-out for. If someone comes to your door saying they are conducting a government survey on deer ticks and asks you to take all your clothes off and dance around and shake like crazy to see if any deer ticks fall off you, don't do it! It's a trick! They just want to see you naked.

I wish I'd known about this yesterday. I feel so stupid.

I'll swear, that's the truth. Really.

Damn Thee - I Said Whoa

2005-04-22T07:48:00.000-07:00

Having recently visited the Lancaster, PA area and observed the way of life of the Amish, I have a renewed respect for living the simple life. There's something about living off the land that truly touches the soul.

I was impressed with the freedom of the women scurrying about in their horse drawn buggies. I even saw one pulled over by a police officer in Bird-In-Hand, PA. for running a red light. I was standing maybe 10 feet away and heard him tell her that he was giving her a verbal warning only. He also pointed out that one of the reins was wrapped around the horse's testicles. I heard her tell him that it was OK - that what he was looking at was the emergency brake.

And that's the truth.

Tribute to a fallen Hero, Cpl. Michael B. Lindemuth

2005-04-19T06:24:00.000-07:00

There's an extraordinary tribute to a fallen marine on my dear friend Ala71's site. Please visit her blog and read the letter written by a fellow Marine to the parents of his fallen brother. If you would like to leave a comment, the amazing man who wrote the tribute does read her site. There is also a link to a tribute site where you can leave a comment for the fallen Marine's parents.

Please click here to visit Ala71's site, "Blonde Sagacity".

So in love with this child...

2005-04-17T19:20:00.000-07:00

Scott and I spent the most wonderful weekend in San Antonio with my life long best friend Michelle, her husband Steve, and their beautiful daughter, the simply divine Miss L.

Michelle and I met in Junior High *mumble*mumble* years ago. We discovered we were born on the same day of the same year in the same hospitol, and that our mothers shared the same doctor. Her last name began with an A and mine began with a B, so we were probably next to each other in the nursery. Crazy, eh? Some people are just destined to cross paths.

Michelle and her family live about three hours away, so we don't get to spend quality time together very often. Miraculously, we were able to connect-the-dots between our crazy schedules and finally go on the mini-vacay we have been trying to set up for the last several months. I still can't believe we actually pulled it off!

Scott and I so enjoyed seeing life through little Miss L's astonishingly blue eyes. This child is truly a blessing. My heart skips a beat every time she says my name.

Thank you Michelle, for all the years of your steadfast friendship, love, and support, and for sharing your extraordinary daughter with me. I couldn't make it through this life without you! Love you three, soon to be four...

Obligatory picture of amusing sea creature from Seaworld....

The cutest little toes EVER!

Mom, Dad and Miss L petting dolphins...

The cotton candy that temporarily turned Miss L in to a smurf....

Miss L lovin' on Mom

Scott and Miss L requesting that I stop taking their picture...

Miss L flirting with Scott

Mom and Miss L shooting water at Daddy...

Scooby snacks are 'da bomb!

Labs Destroy Flu Vaccine

2005-04-14T08:40:00.000-07:00

A Houston radio station is reporting that several labs have destoyed the remaining supply of flu vaccine which had been alloted to the Houston area.

At the beginning of the flu season there was a near catatrophic shortage of the vaccine and now, while the flu season is still in full swing, labs are destroying the last of it. What is going on here?

Can't we get it right? Can't people learn to control their animals? You lab owners out there, ever thought of doggie obedience school? Sheesh.

HARassment or HaRASSment?

2005-04-12T11:37:00.000-07:00

Whichever way you choose to pronounce it, sexual harassment has been the subject dejour in the workplace since the days of the Democratic Party/Anita Hill hatchet job on Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas. Some folks feigned outrage at Ms.Hill's story claiming that Judge Thomas made a remark which included the words "pubic hair", thereby causing her to have 12 years of on the job emotional distress. These same folks gave a complete pass to the harasser in chief, former President Clinton at a time when Bubba was still under the impression that the word harass was two words instead of one.

In a recent case, a young woman who claimed to be a victim of "hostile environment" sexual harassment sued her employer because she was fired after she complained about it. The jury was stacked (some better than others) in her favor as it consisted of 11 women and one man, albeit an older fellow who seemed to be bored and wanted to doze off at the slightest opportunity. In fact, the jury foreman (I know, I know - say foreperson or "presiding juror" if you want to - I don't) was an attractive woman who kept nudging the old guy to wake him up when he began to snore.

At one point in the trial the victim became visibly upset when asked to describe something her boss had said to her that she found particularly offensive and embarrassing. She asked the judge if, rather than say such humiliating and embarrassing things in front of the jury, she could just write it down and have the bailiff show it to the jury. The judge agreed and the witness's written account of the offensive behavior was passed by the bailiff to the jury foreman.

The jury foreman carefully read the note before passing it on. It said, "I think you are so hot and I'd like to pour honey all over your body and lick it off." She turned to pass the note along to the juror seated next to her - the old fellow who was once again trying to catch a short nap. She gave him a sharp jolt in the ribs to wake him up, then handed him the note. He read it, smiled and winked at her, then put it in his pocket. The judge had to order him to let the rest of the jury read it over his objections that it was a private matter between him and woman who gave it to him.

And that's the truth.

Bury Him Already

2005-04-08T09:02:00.000-07:00

John Paul II was a man worthy of praise and adulation but I doubt he'd have approved of this week-long praise fest. One Houston radio station even announced that it had its' man on the scene and would be interrupting regular programming with up to the minute breaking news from Rome. I've got a scoop for the radio station. The Pope is STILL DEAD.

My friend, Mr. Malcolm mentioned the costumes of the priests. Have you checked out what The Pope's Swish guards are wearing? The best I can tell, they're wearing plumed helmets, bloomers, panty hose, and a crocheted vest. Is anybody really going to be intimidated by that group, especially when they see that the only visible weapon is a pointy stick? No wonder they call them the Swish guards.

Next, we'll have a week or two of speculation as to who the Cardinals will elect to serve as the next Pope. Personally, since they lost four straight in the World Series to the Red Sox, I think it ought to be the Sox doing the voting instead. Maybe the Cardinals get to do it because they have a lot of Latin players - or maybe it was the National League champions turn. I'm not sure. I'm a Methodist.

What Methodists Need - Better Costumes

2005-04-06T09:34:00.000-07:00

Pope John Paul II was no doubt a great man, and was loved not just by Catholics but by we Methodists and other Christians as well. He, along with Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbatrov converged on the world scene at a fortuitous time for us all and helped rid the world of the repressive communist rule of the USSR.

He also brought millions into the fold who had strayed away from the Catholic church and its' doctrine, even in the face of scandals involving hundreds of priests. He was a kind and gentle man who really did love his enemy. He believed fervently in the sanctity of life. All of these attributes contributed to the salvation of Catholicism during his regime but I think what really helped with his popularity was the Catholics secret proselytizing weapon - the costumes.

That black, sort of Zorro outfit with the smart red cap and sash is one that Protestants might think about whipping out once in a while. What's wrong with a little pomp and pageantry? That long white one with golden brocade and matching jewelry really caught my eye too. Gee, what do you have to do to get one of those? Don't even get me started on the hats.

Now that I think about it, Evangelical Protestants already dress that way on those television programs where they try to extract money from little old shut-in ladies by making them feel guilty for watching church without helping to pay for it. The jewelry, boufant hair and $500 shoes are most impressive. And those are just the men!.

Anyway, there are plenty of people out there including some preachers, priests and rabbis who, unlike Pope John Paul II need help in getting to heaven and if playing dress-up and wearing expensive jewelry can help, I'm all for it.

Written by Bigandmean's good friend and expert on cats and fashion, the effervesant
MR. MALCOLM

Sandy Berger - Thief Extraordinaire or Just Excited?

2005-04-04T21:14:00.000-07:00

Sandy Berger, former National Security Advisor to President Clinton just entered a guilty plea, admitting that he stole then destroyed top secret security documents from The National Archives. He's now a convicted thief, but at least he kept his pants zipped while stuffing them with the nation's security secrets. We've had enough of this group's affinity for inappropriate decisions involving zippers.

Many questions remain surrounding Berger's thievery. Why did he steal those particular defense related documents from the National Archives? What exactly were they? Why did he destroy them after the theft, then lie about it by saying they were lost?

Would those documents have shown that Berger and the Clinton administration were even more callous and incompetent regarding national security and terrorism than we thought possible? Would they have shown that Clinton and Berger put the country at greater risk than we thought they had then tried to use Richard Clarke and others to place the blame on President Bush?

We'll probably never know the answers to these questions, but thank God that Clinton, Gore and Berger are gone and the adults are back in charge. One more question, overheard recently which was asked of Sandy by his successor as National Security Advisor, Condi Rice: "hey Sandy, are those more top secret national security documents you've stolen from the National Archives and stuffed down the front of your pants or are you just glad to see me?"