I've been trying really hard to blog at least once a week so here are some random thoughts from the past seven days.
You have probably heard that a private company SpaceX launched a rocket into space this week.
But did you hear that along with the cargo on board headed to the space station there was also a number of people. okay not really people, at least in the living sense, but their remains -- their ashes? For the sum of three grand Space X along with partner Celestis will release the remains of the dearly departed while in orbit.
Who says you can't buy your way into heaven?
James Doohan the actor who played Scotty on Star Trek was beamed up for the last time in this recent flight. Actually this was his remains second attempt as a failed mission dumped him into the Pacific ocean back in 2008.
Talk about Star Trek : The Next Generation
In other news I created this short video for my own, and hopefully your, entertainment.
And last but not least I have to share this with y'all. I write for a Texas football magazine and by far the largest part of the job is creating the profiles for the MANY high school teams here in the state. Some of these are really out of the way places. Tiny little towns that play 6 man football and almost no one except those from there have ever heard of. One such town's high school is nicknamed the steers.
Now for the uneducated a steer is a castrated bull. If you are really uneducated let me explain more. Castrated means the animals testicles have been removed.
Now in light of that fact having a football team called the steers seems rather asinine to me but as I was writing the profile and recapping their last season I noticed they had lost one game by two points. I couldn't resist writing this brilliant (if I do say so myself) line ... And in the final non-district tune-up, the Steers came up a pair short in a (56-54) loss to Silverton.
Showing posts with label Football. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Football. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Monday, January 16, 2012
Will Work For Food
My buddy Alex Keto sent me this story along with a note that it reminded him of my feeding the chickens story in THE FEEDSTORE CHRONICLES.
A man told police Baseer approached him but he refused the offer.
Baseer was arrested Wednesday on suspicion of prostitution.
I've seen enough crazy things to realize there are a lot of folks with shaky morals in this world but MgNuggets? Really? Sexual favors for mechanically separated chicken bits? Come on Khadijah, at least sell yourself for a Big Mac.
*****************************
Yes, my beloved New Orleans Saints went down in a turnover filled thriller, but I'll have all of y'all know my 9 year old son has avenged that defeat by repeatedly beating those damn Forty-Niners on EA Sports Madden Football game. So take that San Francisco.
*****************************
Anybody else heard that Rihanna song ... We Found Love? You know the one where she goes on and on about finding love in a homeless place. My wife swears she says hopeless place but my ears hear homeless place and if Ms. Baseer can find love in a Micky D's drive-thru than I reckon Rihanna can find it down at the Salvation Army.
A Los Angeles woman was arrested after she offered sexual favors in exchange for chicken McNuggets, Burbank police said.
Khadijah Baseer of Los Angeles reportedly opened customers’ car doors in the drive-thru of McDonald’s on the 1700 block of Olive Avenue about 11 p.m. Wednesday, asking for free chicken McNuggets in exchange for sexual favors, Officer Joshua Kendrick said.
Khadijah Baseer of Los Angeles reportedly opened customers’ car doors in the drive-thru of McDonald’s on the 1700 block of Olive Avenue about 11 p.m. Wednesday, asking for free chicken McNuggets in exchange for sexual favors, Officer Joshua Kendrick said.
A man told police Baseer approached him but he refused the offer.
I've seen enough crazy things to realize there are a lot of folks with shaky morals in this world but MgNuggets? Really? Sexual favors for mechanically separated chicken bits? Come on Khadijah, at least sell yourself for a Big Mac.
*****************************
Yes, my beloved New Orleans Saints went down in a turnover filled thriller, but I'll have all of y'all know my 9 year old son has avenged that defeat by repeatedly beating those damn Forty-Niners on EA Sports Madden Football game. So take that San Francisco.
*****************************
Anybody else heard that Rihanna song ... We Found Love? You know the one where she goes on and on about finding love in a homeless place. My wife swears she says hopeless place but my ears hear homeless place and if Ms. Baseer can find love in a Micky D's drive-thru than I reckon Rihanna can find it down at the Salvation Army.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Holy Pigskins
It all started with a pinky toe.
You see I am frugal, or as my wife likes to call me a tightwad.
My old pair of athletic shoes were just fine. Yes the pinky toe of my right foot was visible but so what? like 98% of the shoe was still intact. But no, my wife made me go buy a new pair last week.
Like I said I;m frugal so when I spotted these bad boys on sale for half price I jumped.
I don't usually go for such flashy footwear but at half price I couldn't go wrong. Or so I thought.
As any longtime reader of this blog knows I am a diehard New Orleans saints fan. Last night the saints battled the Detroit Lions in the wildcard round of the NFC playoffs.
You might notice the colors on that Lion helmet nearly match those on my footwear.
Call me superstitious if you will but when the score was 14-7 Lions I ripped those damn blue shoes off my feet and flung them across the room. From that point on my beloved Saints dominated and eventually came away with a 45-28 victory.
My apologies to Drew Brees and the other members of the Saints organization for letting my frugality damage the cosmic Karma of the WHO DAT universe. And don't worry I will not wear so much as a single red item this week as you prepare to take down the San Francisco 49ers next weekend.
GEAUX SAINTS!
You see I am frugal, or as my wife likes to call me a tightwad.
My old pair of athletic shoes were just fine. Yes the pinky toe of my right foot was visible but so what? like 98% of the shoe was still intact. But no, my wife made me go buy a new pair last week.
Like I said I;m frugal so when I spotted these bad boys on sale for half price I jumped.
I don't usually go for such flashy footwear but at half price I couldn't go wrong. Or so I thought.
As any longtime reader of this blog knows I am a diehard New Orleans saints fan. Last night the saints battled the Detroit Lions in the wildcard round of the NFC playoffs.
You might notice the colors on that Lion helmet nearly match those on my footwear.
Call me superstitious if you will but when the score was 14-7 Lions I ripped those damn blue shoes off my feet and flung them across the room. From that point on my beloved Saints dominated and eventually came away with a 45-28 victory.
My apologies to Drew Brees and the other members of the Saints organization for letting my frugality damage the cosmic Karma of the WHO DAT universe. And don't worry I will not wear so much as a single red item this week as you prepare to take down the San Francisco 49ers next weekend.
GEAUX SAINTS!
Sunday, September 25, 2011
A Taste T Weekend
It is only Sunday morning as I sit here typing this, but halfway through the weekend I gotta say this has been a great one.
My youngest son is playing club soccer for the first time and his kick-butt team got the weekend started off with an impressive 13-0 win over their opponent early Saturday morning.
My oldest kept the family pride rolling when his football team won in shutout fashion 34-0 Saturday afternoon.
Not to brag but i tossed in a win of my own with the turkey I brined and smoked all day Saturday. The bird was dang tasty and between my family and the fiends that came over we at the whole dang thing in one setting.
I also discovered a tasty new rum, at least new to me. Blackheart is a spiced rum that I found to be even tastier that my old favorite Sailor Jerry's.
I sipped a few Blackheart and Coke's while watching my beloved Nebraska Cornhusker's whip up on the Wyoming Cowboys. If the Saints will give the Texans a good thrashing today all of my favorite sports teams will claim victory in one weekend.
And in writing news, I have found out THE FEEDSTORE CHRONICLES will be released November 1st. My publisher blogged a bit about the book and if you hope over there now you can get your first sneak peak inside the book.
Here's hoping you too have had a great weekend!
My youngest son is playing club soccer for the first time and his kick-butt team got the weekend started off with an impressive 13-0 win over their opponent early Saturday morning.
My oldest kept the family pride rolling when his football team won in shutout fashion 34-0 Saturday afternoon.
Not to brag but i tossed in a win of my own with the turkey I brined and smoked all day Saturday. The bird was dang tasty and between my family and the fiends that came over we at the whole dang thing in one setting.
I also discovered a tasty new rum, at least new to me. Blackheart is a spiced rum that I found to be even tastier that my old favorite Sailor Jerry's.
I sipped a few Blackheart and Coke's while watching my beloved Nebraska Cornhusker's whip up on the Wyoming Cowboys. If the Saints will give the Texans a good thrashing today all of my favorite sports teams will claim victory in one weekend.
And in writing news, I have found out THE FEEDSTORE CHRONICLES will be released November 1st. My publisher blogged a bit about the book and if you hope over there now you can get your first sneak peak inside the book.
Here's hoping you too have had a great weekend!
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Fifty-Fifty - A Yellow Flag Tale
The mercury is still hitting the triple digit mark more days than not here in the Texas Panhandle. There is no crispness to our air as of yet. The leaves have not began to change. There is no frost on the pumpkins, and yet I feel as if Fall is but inched away.
Why? Because the kids have started back to school, which means in the afternoons you can hear that tell-tale pop of helmets echoing across the Texas landscape. Yep folks, it is time for some Friday night football.
Once upon a time, I donned the striped shirt each and every Friday to ref these games. I blogged about some of my more memorable reffing experiences back in 2007. That series of posts can be found here.
Given that Friday kicks off the 2011 high school football season here in Texas I thought I'd post another tale today.
I was down in the town of Plainview, Texas which is about an hour south of Amarillo. Game time was upon us so I strolled over to the visiting sideline and told the coach I needed a team captain for the coin toss.
Tho coach nodded and then turned back to his player. In very intense fashion he relayed these instructions.
"Okay, when the refs ask what you wanna do I want you to defer. If the other team one the coin toss and we can;t defer then we want to receive the ball. If we can;t receive because they wont he toss and elected to receive than we wanna kick from that end. Got it?"
The kid nodded.
"So one more time the coach said," Defer if you can. If you can;t defer we want to receive. If we can't defer or receive we wanna kick from that end."
"Got it coach," said the kid.
The coach sighed. "Repeat the choices back to me one more time."
I intervened. "Coach, we gotta have a captain. It's time to get started.
"Okay, okay," said, the coach. "Remember Jimmy Defer, receive, kick from that end. In that order."
I gritted my teeth. I'd never reffed a game from this particular team, but I certainly had never seen a coach so anal about the coin flip.
As the player and I walked to the center of the field the coach kept shouting out his instructions.
As we met at the fifty another official gave a few instructions and then told the kid I'd ushered out to "call it in the air."
As the shiny gold coin fluttered upward, the kid yells out "Defer!"
My fellow official snagged the coin and stared at the kid, "Son, you gottta call either heads or tails."
The kid looked horror stricken for a second and then turned to his sideline. "Coach, he says I can only say heads or tails! Which one should I pick!"
The coach shook his head and hollered back, "I don't give a Tinker's damn what you call just pick one!"
Again the coin arched skyward. This time the kids shouts, "Tails!"
"Tails it is," answered the other referee. "You've won the coin toss so the option is yours. What do ya'll wanna do?"
The kids smiled, raised his chin and proclaimed, "We wanna kick. From that end."
I grimaced. After all of the coach's instructions the kid had screwed up.
The other ref said, "You can kick alright but the other team gets to choose the end."
Choosing to kick meant the other team would get to choose at the opening of the second half. This meant the anal coach's squad would kick off and give up the ball to begin both halves of play.
I walked back to the sideline and said," Coach, I hate to tell this but y'all won the toss and your player chose to kickoff."
I expected the coach to blow a gasket but instead he smiled and and said to me, "Know what's really bad?"
When I shook my head, the coach said, " That is my smartest player."
Why? Because the kids have started back to school, which means in the afternoons you can hear that tell-tale pop of helmets echoing across the Texas landscape. Yep folks, it is time for some Friday night football.
Once upon a time, I donned the striped shirt each and every Friday to ref these games. I blogged about some of my more memorable reffing experiences back in 2007. That series of posts can be found here.
Given that Friday kicks off the 2011 high school football season here in Texas I thought I'd post another tale today.
I was down in the town of Plainview, Texas which is about an hour south of Amarillo. Game time was upon us so I strolled over to the visiting sideline and told the coach I needed a team captain for the coin toss.
Tho coach nodded and then turned back to his player. In very intense fashion he relayed these instructions.
"Okay, when the refs ask what you wanna do I want you to defer. If the other team one the coin toss and we can;t defer then we want to receive the ball. If we can;t receive because they wont he toss and elected to receive than we wanna kick from that end. Got it?"
The kid nodded.
"So one more time the coach said," Defer if you can. If you can;t defer we want to receive. If we can't defer or receive we wanna kick from that end."
"Got it coach," said the kid.
The coach sighed. "Repeat the choices back to me one more time."
I intervened. "Coach, we gotta have a captain. It's time to get started.
"Okay, okay," said, the coach. "Remember Jimmy Defer, receive, kick from that end. In that order."
I gritted my teeth. I'd never reffed a game from this particular team, but I certainly had never seen a coach so anal about the coin flip.
As the player and I walked to the center of the field the coach kept shouting out his instructions.
As we met at the fifty another official gave a few instructions and then told the kid I'd ushered out to "call it in the air."
As the shiny gold coin fluttered upward, the kid yells out "Defer!"
My fellow official snagged the coin and stared at the kid, "Son, you gottta call either heads or tails."
The kid looked horror stricken for a second and then turned to his sideline. "Coach, he says I can only say heads or tails! Which one should I pick!"
The coach shook his head and hollered back, "I don't give a Tinker's damn what you call just pick one!"
Again the coin arched skyward. This time the kids shouts, "Tails!"
"Tails it is," answered the other referee. "You've won the coin toss so the option is yours. What do ya'll wanna do?"
The kids smiled, raised his chin and proclaimed, "We wanna kick. From that end."
I grimaced. After all of the coach's instructions the kid had screwed up.
The other ref said, "You can kick alright but the other team gets to choose the end."
Choosing to kick meant the other team would get to choose at the opening of the second half. This meant the anal coach's squad would kick off and give up the ball to begin both halves of play.
I walked back to the sideline and said," Coach, I hate to tell this but y'all won the toss and your player chose to kickoff."
I expected the coach to blow a gasket but instead he smiled and and said to me, "Know what's really bad?"
When I shook my head, the coach said, " That is my smartest player."
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Primed and Ready
Last night, as I watched Deion Sanders deliver his induction speech into the NFL Hall of Fame, I was reminded of the time he flipped me the bird.
The year was 1998. The month December. Deion was playing for his third NFL team.
Being a New Orleans Saints fan of long standing I of course despise the Atlanta Falcons so when the dirty birds drafted the brash talking, cocky, cornerback out of Florida State I was quick to decide I didn't like him either.
From Atlanta, Deion moved on to the San Francisco 49ers and oh how I hated the 49ers because in those days they were the elite team in the Saints division.
And to top it off "Primetime" as Mr. Sanders billed himself signed on with the Dallas Cowboys. Given the fact 90% of my buddies were Cowboy fans and gave me constant shit about the Saints having never won a playoff game in the history of the NFL I didn't like anything about the boys with the blue star.
I viewed Deion "Primetime" Sanders as the epitome of the primadona athlete. He had no loyalty to his team or their fans. Only the the limelight and the almighty dollar. He was a defensive mercenary willing to play for Satan himself.
The morning of Sunday December 6th I woke up in my New Orleans hotel with a considerable pounding in my head. It was me, my wife, and a buddy who was a devote Cowboy fan. We had tickets for the Saints/Cowboy game at high noon but as my feet hit the floor I wasn't sure I'd love that long, for you see I'd had a bit TOO much fun the night before.
My buddy had never been to the Superdome so we headed to the game extra early to look around. With every heartbeat the throng in my skull hit harder than Deion ever did an opposing ball carrier.
In those days the Superdome had a sort of rundown mall attached to it. Most of the stories were empty and I've heard it has never reopened since Katrina but I can't say for sure, but we arrived before the doors to the dome were open so I headed over to the mall to buy some aspirin or Tylenol. I found the pills I needed but soon discovered at 9:05 on a Sunday morning there wasn't a single place open to buy a bottle of water or a can of cola. However, I did find a place already selling beer, so I bought a Blackened Voodoo Dixie and chased my medicine down with some hair of the dog.
We wandered over to watch Buddy D rant and rave as he delivered his radio show live from the mall. By the time I finished that first beer I was feeling much better so I bought another.
When the Dome doors opened we were some of the first fans inside. This was back int he days of Troy Aikman, Emmitt Smith, and Michael Irvin so the Cowboys were still a good team though Barry Switzer had began the act of destroying them so the end was near.
For the Saints it was the dismal Mike Ditka, Kerry Collins, Wilmont Perry years. My buddy was cocky confident. I was not, but by the time I finished my third and fourth Blackened Voodoo Dixie I was starting to feel some Who Dat magic.
Our tickets were on the next to the last row of the Superdome. As we sat down I noticed a lone player was out on the field running and cutting. The swagger - the do-rag - quickly revealed it was none other than Deion "Primetime" Sanders. He'd been injured and missed a few games for "turf toe" but the talk was he was going to play this week. Feeling rather boisterous I headed down to the bottom rail of the the Superdome's third tier and began calling out.
"Hey Deion!"
"It's just a toe!"
"Suck it up!"
He continued to run wind sprints and cuts for twenty minutes and I hollered down to him the entire time, never once getting a reaction.
"You're getting too old Deion!"
"Deion! You are passed your Prime Time!"
As he finished his warm-up Deion pimp walked towards the tunnel. His cocky swagger, along with the Blackened voodoo Dixie pumping through my veins, prompted one more taunt from me. "Deion! You Suck!"
Without ever turning around Primetime raised his right hand high in the air and extended one finger as if to say, Hey, loud mouth in the upper deck. I heard you and you can kiss my ass.
A half hour later, when the rest of the team came out, Mr Sanders appeared in a fancy gold trimmed suit and he stood on the sideline that day and watched a bad New Orleans Saints team kick the crap out of the boys with the blue star. Saint won 22-3 in total domination, but last night as I watched Deion deliver is speech I couldn't help but smile realizing not everyone has been flipped off by a Hall of Famer.
The year was 1998. The month December. Deion was playing for his third NFL team.
Being a New Orleans Saints fan of long standing I of course despise the Atlanta Falcons so when the dirty birds drafted the brash talking, cocky, cornerback out of Florida State I was quick to decide I didn't like him either.
From Atlanta, Deion moved on to the San Francisco 49ers and oh how I hated the 49ers because in those days they were the elite team in the Saints division.
And to top it off "Primetime" as Mr. Sanders billed himself signed on with the Dallas Cowboys. Given the fact 90% of my buddies were Cowboy fans and gave me constant shit about the Saints having never won a playoff game in the history of the NFL I didn't like anything about the boys with the blue star.
I viewed Deion "Primetime" Sanders as the epitome of the primadona athlete. He had no loyalty to his team or their fans. Only the the limelight and the almighty dollar. He was a defensive mercenary willing to play for Satan himself.
The morning of Sunday December 6th I woke up in my New Orleans hotel with a considerable pounding in my head. It was me, my wife, and a buddy who was a devote Cowboy fan. We had tickets for the Saints/Cowboy game at high noon but as my feet hit the floor I wasn't sure I'd love that long, for you see I'd had a bit TOO much fun the night before.
My buddy had never been to the Superdome so we headed to the game extra early to look around. With every heartbeat the throng in my skull hit harder than Deion ever did an opposing ball carrier.
In those days the Superdome had a sort of rundown mall attached to it. Most of the stories were empty and I've heard it has never reopened since Katrina but I can't say for sure, but we arrived before the doors to the dome were open so I headed over to the mall to buy some aspirin or Tylenol. I found the pills I needed but soon discovered at 9:05 on a Sunday morning there wasn't a single place open to buy a bottle of water or a can of cola. However, I did find a place already selling beer, so I bought a Blackened Voodoo Dixie and chased my medicine down with some hair of the dog.
We wandered over to watch Buddy D rant and rave as he delivered his radio show live from the mall. By the time I finished that first beer I was feeling much better so I bought another.
When the Dome doors opened we were some of the first fans inside. This was back int he days of Troy Aikman, Emmitt Smith, and Michael Irvin so the Cowboys were still a good team though Barry Switzer had began the act of destroying them so the end was near.
For the Saints it was the dismal Mike Ditka, Kerry Collins, Wilmont Perry years. My buddy was cocky confident. I was not, but by the time I finished my third and fourth Blackened Voodoo Dixie I was starting to feel some Who Dat magic.
Our tickets were on the next to the last row of the Superdome. As we sat down I noticed a lone player was out on the field running and cutting. The swagger - the do-rag - quickly revealed it was none other than Deion "Primetime" Sanders. He'd been injured and missed a few games for "turf toe" but the talk was he was going to play this week. Feeling rather boisterous I headed down to the bottom rail of the the Superdome's third tier and began calling out.
"Hey Deion!"
"It's just a toe!"
"Suck it up!"
He continued to run wind sprints and cuts for twenty minutes and I hollered down to him the entire time, never once getting a reaction.
"You're getting too old Deion!"
"Deion! You are passed your Prime Time!"
As he finished his warm-up Deion pimp walked towards the tunnel. His cocky swagger, along with the Blackened voodoo Dixie pumping through my veins, prompted one more taunt from me. "Deion! You Suck!"
Without ever turning around Primetime raised his right hand high in the air and extended one finger as if to say, Hey, loud mouth in the upper deck. I heard you and you can kiss my ass.
A half hour later, when the rest of the team came out, Mr Sanders appeared in a fancy gold trimmed suit and he stood on the sideline that day and watched a bad New Orleans Saints team kick the crap out of the boys with the blue star. Saint won 22-3 in total domination, but last night as I watched Deion deliver is speech I couldn't help but smile realizing not everyone has been flipped off by a Hall of Famer.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Czech Please
Blogging is like exercising. The longer you go without doing it the harder it is to get back in the groove.
But I've decided to challenge myself and post a new blog every single day in August. Can I do it? Hell if I know, but I'm gonna try and this spot is sort of my cleansing, info dump of all the things I've meant to blog in recent weeks but simply have not made the time to do so.
***************
I recently took a trip to Oklahoma City and while I plan to share a few of those sights and experiences let me say that was I not a dedicated and faithful husband and father I could very well be writing this update from the Czech Republic.
You see the World Cup of softball was going on in Oklahoma wile we were there and many of the countries were staying at our hotel. The Czech girls, one in particular were strikingly beautiful and that accent, well had she asked I just might have defected.
The Japanese girls were staying on my floor and it's no wonder the USA women beat them in the final because those Japanese players stayed up half the night making all kinds of damn noise.
My 20th class reunion is this weekend. Last night I partook in the pre-party mixer and had a blast. Several of my former classmates commented that they regularly read this blog as well as anything else I have out and available, but the highlight was when my old buddy Marcos Martinez (see I told you I'd give you kudos) walked up and handed me a beer. Not any beer I might add but an ice cold Shiner Bock. Marcos, who I hadn't seen or spoken to in 20 years said, "Here man, I bought this Shiner for you because I know its your favorite from always reading your blog and Facebook posts."
*****************
I recently finished reading blog pal Charles Gramlich's western story collection Killing Trail on my nook. Like Charles I cut my reading teeth on Louis L'Amour and along with the great original short stories Charles included a fine essay about Mr. L'Amour and his influence. If you have an e-reader and love a good western I highly recommend you purchase Killing Trail.
*******************
You know how clerks at the store use that felt marker to check you money. A yellow mark is supposed to mean it's legit and a black mark means it's fake? Well, I got to wondering where those marks go? I mean I never get a fifty that has dozens of yellow marks on it, so I did a google search and while I never discovered the answer to my original question I did find out those pens are nearly worthless.
The pens check for starch in the paper and given that money is made mostly of cotton it has none so a bogus bill made from starchy paper will turn the ink of the pen black. But most counterfeiters these days take small denomination bills and bleach them and then print a larger denomination so the pen will show it as a legit bill even though it is not. Also any paper even a plain sheet of computer paper will show as legit according to the pen if you first spray it with hairspray. And real money will show as fake if you use spray starch in it so I guess the moral of this story is keep your cash away from your ironing.
*****************
I am sick of summer. It's been miserable hot and dry here this year. Right at 2 inches of rain since January 1st. The lakes are drying up making fishing bad, the electric and water bills are soaring, now that Game of Thrones and Treme are over there isn't a damn thing worth watching on TV.
So Fall needs to hurry the hell up. I'm excited about football. My beloved Huskers are in a new conference ready to show Phats and the Big 10 boys what real competition is all about, The Saints very well could be better than their Super Bowl season, and since I wrote something close to a jillion High School profiles for Top O' Texas football magazine I even pumped for some real Friday Night Lights action. And Boardwalk Empire.
Thank God for HBO, good, reads, Shiner Bock beer, and of course football.
But I've decided to challenge myself and post a new blog every single day in August. Can I do it? Hell if I know, but I'm gonna try and this spot is sort of my cleansing, info dump of all the things I've meant to blog in recent weeks but simply have not made the time to do so.
***************
I recently took a trip to Oklahoma City and while I plan to share a few of those sights and experiences let me say that was I not a dedicated and faithful husband and father I could very well be writing this update from the Czech Republic.
You see the World Cup of softball was going on in Oklahoma wile we were there and many of the countries were staying at our hotel. The Czech girls, one in particular were strikingly beautiful and that accent, well had she asked I just might have defected.
The Japanese girls were staying on my floor and it's no wonder the USA women beat them in the final because those Japanese players stayed up half the night making all kinds of damn noise.
My 20th class reunion is this weekend. Last night I partook in the pre-party mixer and had a blast. Several of my former classmates commented that they regularly read this blog as well as anything else I have out and available, but the highlight was when my old buddy Marcos Martinez (see I told you I'd give you kudos) walked up and handed me a beer. Not any beer I might add but an ice cold Shiner Bock. Marcos, who I hadn't seen or spoken to in 20 years said, "Here man, I bought this Shiner for you because I know its your favorite from always reading your blog and Facebook posts."
*****************
I recently finished reading blog pal Charles Gramlich's western story collection Killing Trail on my nook. Like Charles I cut my reading teeth on Louis L'Amour and along with the great original short stories Charles included a fine essay about Mr. L'Amour and his influence. If you have an e-reader and love a good western I highly recommend you purchase Killing Trail.
*******************
You know how clerks at the store use that felt marker to check you money. A yellow mark is supposed to mean it's legit and a black mark means it's fake? Well, I got to wondering where those marks go? I mean I never get a fifty that has dozens of yellow marks on it, so I did a google search and while I never discovered the answer to my original question I did find out those pens are nearly worthless.
The pens check for starch in the paper and given that money is made mostly of cotton it has none so a bogus bill made from starchy paper will turn the ink of the pen black. But most counterfeiters these days take small denomination bills and bleach them and then print a larger denomination so the pen will show it as a legit bill even though it is not. Also any paper even a plain sheet of computer paper will show as legit according to the pen if you first spray it with hairspray. And real money will show as fake if you use spray starch in it so I guess the moral of this story is keep your cash away from your ironing.
*****************
I am sick of summer. It's been miserable hot and dry here this year. Right at 2 inches of rain since January 1st. The lakes are drying up making fishing bad, the electric and water bills are soaring, now that Game of Thrones and Treme are over there isn't a damn thing worth watching on TV.
So Fall needs to hurry the hell up. I'm excited about football. My beloved Huskers are in a new conference ready to show Phats and the Big 10 boys what real competition is all about, The Saints very well could be better than their Super Bowl season, and since I wrote something close to a jillion High School profiles for Top O' Texas football magazine I even pumped for some real Friday Night Lights action. And Boardwalk Empire.
Thank God for HBO, good, reads, Shiner Bock beer, and of course football.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Help Me Buy A New Shirt
I've made it no secret that despite being a native Texan, I am a diehard Nebraska Cornhusker fan and yet I sit here typing up this post wearing a t-shirt that reads "I AM A BOILERMAKER". Yes, Purdue is one of my beloved Huskers Big 10 conference rivals so while it feels a tad traitorous there are three reasons why I am able to actually wear the shirt. (And yeah I realize this is a crappy picture but I haven't mastered the art of the self portrait just yet.)
1) It is booty and pirates loves booty. I won the short by winning my blogging pal Phats' basketball bracket back in March.
2) It is black and gold. The colors of my fave NFL team ... The New Orleans Saints.
3) Purdue is the alma mater of the man, the legend, the best QB in Saints history Drew Brees.
In other news my mini collection of stories is now up and available at Amazon for reading on your kindle or PC. Actually it has been up for a while but I was waiting on Barnes and Nobel to make it available for the nook as well. Not sure what the hold up is but since they are taking their sweet ass time I figured I'd go ahead and announce it's availability on Amazon.
If I'm being completely honest, I'm putting these stores out there for myself more than anything else, but it is my hope that for the low sum of 99 cents Whispers worth your time and money as well. The stories are fairly short but I hope you will enjoy them and if so please mention Whispers on your blog, facebook, and twitter accounts. I''ll be indebted to those who help me spread the word.
If you do not have a kindle but would like to read the collection you can download a free kindle app for either your smart phone or PC.
1) It is booty and pirates loves booty. I won the short by winning my blogging pal Phats' basketball bracket back in March.
2) It is black and gold. The colors of my fave NFL team ... The New Orleans Saints.
3) Purdue is the alma mater of the man, the legend, the best QB in Saints history Drew Brees.
In other news my mini collection of stories is now up and available at Amazon for reading on your kindle or PC. Actually it has been up for a while but I was waiting on Barnes and Nobel to make it available for the nook as well. Not sure what the hold up is but since they are taking their sweet ass time I figured I'd go ahead and announce it's availability on Amazon.
If I'm being completely honest, I'm putting these stores out there for myself more than anything else, but it is my hope that for the low sum of 99 cents Whispers worth your time and money as well. The stories are fairly short but I hope you will enjoy them and if so please mention Whispers on your blog, facebook, and twitter accounts. I''ll be indebted to those who help me spread the word.
If you do not have a kindle but would like to read the collection you can download a free kindle app for either your smart phone or PC.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
The Big Mo
Writing is keeping me super busy at the moment, but I'm not complaining as finally I have a bit of momentum in the decade long pursuit of making a career at what I love.
For the second year in a row I'm freelancing for a Texas based football magazine by writing profiles of the many high school teams here in the state. Friday night lights, the authentic version. Mostly I enjoy writing the profiles, especially if handed over enough info to create a decent story, but I gotta say people who chose the various school nicknames were an unimaginative bunch. There are far too many Hornets, Bulldogs, and Panthers for my liking. Where is the originality people?
For example not far south of Amarillo is the small town of Hedley, Texas. Their mascot? The Owls. Who gives a hoot? There are at least a dozen teams that claim the wise feathered one as their mascot and the words Hedley Owls doesn't even roll off the tongue all that nicely.
If I was in charge I would rename the mascot. To me they would be the Hedley Horsemen.
Tell me that logo wouldn't look great on the side of a football helmet.
In other writing news the short story collection housing my modern day pirate tale, Plundered Booty is now available on not only nook and kindle, but at smashwords as well. Smashwords has a variety of formats from html and pdf for reading on your computer to most e-readers or even palm reading devices. The story has sold steady at the comments I have received have been favorable but I'm a bit disappointed that there are only 2 reviews at amazon and none at Barnes and Noble. If you've read I and my fellow authors would be grateful if you could leave a word or two at either site.
And of course I continue to write and promote my latest endeavor Lettuce Is The Devil which is one part cook book, one part collection of humorous essays, and one part memoir. It is perhaps the easiest thing I've ever written as it is the story of my culinary life.
Stop by either the Facebook page, the twitter feed, or the blog to get an idea of what I'm talking about. The Lettuce Is the Devil movement is catching on and soon I will have some news regarding that fact.
But for now, I wish you happy reading, productive writing, and tasty eating.
For the second year in a row I'm freelancing for a Texas based football magazine by writing profiles of the many high school teams here in the state. Friday night lights, the authentic version. Mostly I enjoy writing the profiles, especially if handed over enough info to create a decent story, but I gotta say people who chose the various school nicknames were an unimaginative bunch. There are far too many Hornets, Bulldogs, and Panthers for my liking. Where is the originality people?
For example not far south of Amarillo is the small town of Hedley, Texas. Their mascot? The Owls. Who gives a hoot? There are at least a dozen teams that claim the wise feathered one as their mascot and the words Hedley Owls doesn't even roll off the tongue all that nicely.
If I was in charge I would rename the mascot. To me they would be the Hedley Horsemen.
Tell me that logo wouldn't look great on the side of a football helmet.
In other writing news the short story collection housing my modern day pirate tale, Plundered Booty is now available on not only nook and kindle, but at smashwords as well. Smashwords has a variety of formats from html and pdf for reading on your computer to most e-readers or even palm reading devices. The story has sold steady at the comments I have received have been favorable but I'm a bit disappointed that there are only 2 reviews at amazon and none at Barnes and Noble. If you've read I and my fellow authors would be grateful if you could leave a word or two at either site.
And of course I continue to write and promote my latest endeavor Lettuce Is The Devil which is one part cook book, one part collection of humorous essays, and one part memoir. It is perhaps the easiest thing I've ever written as it is the story of my culinary life.
Stop by either the Facebook page, the twitter feed, or the blog to get an idea of what I'm talking about. The Lettuce Is the Devil movement is catching on and soon I will have some news regarding that fact.
But for now, I wish you happy reading, productive writing, and tasty eating.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Tag, You are It
Y'all did better than I expected with your guess. My friend Dee Burks did the best getting 9 of the 10. Dee along with another friend, Liz own and run TAG Publishing LLC. TAG is running a Great American Novel contest but the deadline to enter is fast approaching so if you have a manuscript ready to go jump on in there. click on the link for more info.
And here are the correct answers.
1. Claire Cook
2. Jonathan Franzen
3. Nicholas Sparks
4. Nora Roberts
5. James Patterson
6. Elizabeth Gilbert
7. Ken Follett
8. Sophie Kinsella
9. Janet Evanovich
10. Suzanne Collins
And as much as I would like to have a witty story or funny little anecdote to go add to this post I am simply not feeling very witty after my beloved Cornhuskers greased up their hands and couldn't catch a damn pass to save their life on Saturday.
Losing is bad enough. losing to that vile team from Austin plainly makes me sick. The officiating sucked as well but I don't want to sound like a rambling mad men conspiracy theorist so I won't comment on the fact that the Longhorns pay all the bills in the Big XII including the refs paychecks. I am sure the powers that be in the Big XII are smiling over the fact their orange darlings came out victorious. But like I said ... Huskers catch the DAMN ball!
At least the Saints finally played up to their talent.
And here are the correct answers.
1. Claire Cook
2. Jonathan Franzen
3. Nicholas Sparks
4. Nora Roberts
5. James Patterson
6. Elizabeth Gilbert
7. Ken Follett
8. Sophie Kinsella
9. Janet Evanovich
10. Suzanne Collins
And as much as I would like to have a witty story or funny little anecdote to go add to this post I am simply not feeling very witty after my beloved Cornhuskers greased up their hands and couldn't catch a damn pass to save their life on Saturday.
Losing is bad enough. losing to that vile team from Austin plainly makes me sick. The officiating sucked as well but I don't want to sound like a rambling mad men conspiracy theorist so I won't comment on the fact that the Longhorns pay all the bills in the Big XII including the refs paychecks. I am sure the powers that be in the Big XII are smiling over the fact their orange darlings came out victorious. But like I said ... Huskers catch the DAMN ball!
At least the Saints finally played up to their talent.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Another Link In The Chain
It's My Town Monday time here on the old blog. The wonderful Barrie Summy is hosting both at her blog and at the official My Town Monday site.
Rather than offer a post of my own this week I am going to give y'all a link to a fellow Amarillo blogger. A good friend of mine. Her post explains what I was doing this weekend (in both words and pictures) and why I didn't get a chance to create a post. While not exactly informational or educational in regards to life in Amarillo, it does take part in our fair city here in the Texas Panhandle. Stop by and tell Rebecca hi.
And if you have a post about your city, past, present, ... or if your name is Nostradamus ... future be sure and let Barrie know here or here.
Rather than offer a post of my own this week I am going to give y'all a link to a fellow Amarillo blogger. A good friend of mine. Her post explains what I was doing this weekend (in both words and pictures) and why I didn't get a chance to create a post. While not exactly informational or educational in regards to life in Amarillo, it does take part in our fair city here in the Texas Panhandle. Stop by and tell Rebecca hi.
And if you have a post about your city, past, present, ... or if your name is Nostradamus ... future be sure and let Barrie know here or here.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Willing To Bet Son
What if reality mirrored reality television?
What if you really could vote those who threatened or annoyed you off the island or out of the house?
Makes me wonder if I would make the cut. In some circles yes, but in others my opinionated self would no doubt get sent packing.
Heading into to work this morning I listened to one of my favorites Robert Earl Keen sing these lyrics ...
I don't wear no Stetson
But I'm willin to bet son
That I'm a big a Texan as you are
'Cause
There's a girl in her barefeet
'Sleep on the back seat
An that trunk is full of Pearl…and Lone Star
Given the fact that I do not wear a Stetson or drink Pearl or Line Star Beer that got me to pondering just how a big a Texan I am.
I am big in the literal sense. Six foot five and creeping ever closer to 300 hundred pounds with every fat greasy hamburger and side of fries I consume. And as everyone knows, EVERYTHING is bigger in Texas, so score one for my level of Texan-ess for being stacked higher and wider than most.
And I do drink Shiner Bock which is brewed right here in the Lone Star State. And I drive a four door Ford pickup. And I eat lots of beef. Like to shoot guns. I can hunt, catch, and dress my own meat. I own a damned nice pair of boots. I share a name with one of the Alamo's fallen heroes. I have tube floated the Guadalupe. Been to Luckenbach. Had a few too many at a Willie concert.
I could go on all day spouting off the Texan in me.
But what about the other list? The things that would get me voted off the island. The unTexan side of me that would spur my Tejas brothers to chase me across the Red River? After pondering for a bit I have come up with a short list of things that if commonly know could get me exiled from the greatest state in the land.
Even if he did make famous an iconic country song bearing the name of my hometown, I consider George Strait nothing more than a pretty face with a marginal voice. Then again I tend to shun singers that write very few of their own songs.
Like most Texans I am a rabid football fan, but ...
I do not root for this team ...
Or this one ..
Or even either of these ...
I am unapologetically a Nebraska Cornhusker and a New Orleans Saints fan.
Want more examples of my state disloyalty?
I did not burn my Dixie Chicks CD's when Natalie Maines dared to speak her opinions aloud.
Matter of fact, I attended a Chicks concert only days after the hullabaloo started. Worse yet, the concert was on enemy soil ... Oklahoma. A double act of treachery in the eyes of most Texans I'm afraid.
And while I'm on the subject, might as well bring up W.
He's got the hat and the accent and most Texans are proud to claim him. I'll even go so far to say he wasn't a bad governor. Certainly better than than the funeral director/car salesman of a leader we have had since the day George Junior vacated office. But other politics aside I began to remind people that George W Bush was born in Connecticut not Texas after his administrations shameful handling of the post Katrina Gulf Coast. When you can't take care of those in need in your own backyard then you are indeed one hell of a piss poor leader.
But there hasn't been a Democrat elected in my county since reconstruction so to even suggest George was anything but a great president is cause for deportation.
And to top it all off I don't own a horse, an oil well, or a belt buckle big enough to eat dinner off of.
But I can two-step, tell a yarn or three, and say y'all with the best of them so I'm gonna keep calling myself a Texan.
Also I've been to all the places mentioned in this song.
What if you really could vote those who threatened or annoyed you off the island or out of the house?
Makes me wonder if I would make the cut. In some circles yes, but in others my opinionated self would no doubt get sent packing.
Heading into to work this morning I listened to one of my favorites Robert Earl Keen sing these lyrics ...
I don't wear no Stetson
But I'm willin to bet son
That I'm a big a Texan as you are
'Cause
There's a girl in her barefeet
'Sleep on the back seat
An that trunk is full of Pearl…and Lone Star
Given the fact that I do not wear a Stetson or drink Pearl or Line Star Beer that got me to pondering just how a big a Texan I am.
I am big in the literal sense. Six foot five and creeping ever closer to 300 hundred pounds with every fat greasy hamburger and side of fries I consume. And as everyone knows, EVERYTHING is bigger in Texas, so score one for my level of Texan-ess for being stacked higher and wider than most.
And I do drink Shiner Bock which is brewed right here in the Lone Star State. And I drive a four door Ford pickup. And I eat lots of beef. Like to shoot guns. I can hunt, catch, and dress my own meat. I own a damned nice pair of boots. I share a name with one of the Alamo's fallen heroes. I have tube floated the Guadalupe. Been to Luckenbach. Had a few too many at a Willie concert.
I could go on all day spouting off the Texan in me.
But what about the other list? The things that would get me voted off the island. The unTexan side of me that would spur my Tejas brothers to chase me across the Red River? After pondering for a bit I have come up with a short list of things that if commonly know could get me exiled from the greatest state in the land.
Like most Texans I am a rabid football fan, but ...
I do not root for this team ...
Or this one ..
Or even either of these ...
I am unapologetically a Nebraska Cornhusker and a New Orleans Saints fan.
Want more examples of my state disloyalty?
I did not burn my Dixie Chicks CD's when Natalie Maines dared to speak her opinions aloud.
Matter of fact, I attended a Chicks concert only days after the hullabaloo started. Worse yet, the concert was on enemy soil ... Oklahoma. A double act of treachery in the eyes of most Texans I'm afraid.
And while I'm on the subject, might as well bring up W.
He's got the hat and the accent and most Texans are proud to claim him. I'll even go so far to say he wasn't a bad governor. Certainly better than than the funeral director/car salesman of a leader we have had since the day George Junior vacated office. But other politics aside I began to remind people that George W Bush was born in Connecticut not Texas after his administrations shameful handling of the post Katrina Gulf Coast. When you can't take care of those in need in your own backyard then you are indeed one hell of a piss poor leader.
But there hasn't been a Democrat elected in my county since reconstruction so to even suggest George was anything but a great president is cause for deportation.
And to top it all off I don't own a horse, an oil well, or a belt buckle big enough to eat dinner off of.
But I can two-step, tell a yarn or three, and say y'all with the best of them so I'm gonna keep calling myself a Texan.
Also I've been to all the places mentioned in this song.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Singing In The Rain
My least favorite type of blog post to read is one going on and on with excuses why said blogger has not posted in a few days, week's, months or years. They usually boil down to the fact said blogger has been busy, and the truth of the matter is we are all busy, as that is simply the way life is these days.
So guess what I'm going to do today? Yep. Blog about the fact I haven't blogged in nearly three weeks.
I could say I've been busy, but I've already established the fact I hate ... but I've been busy blog posts. Besides, what kind of third-rate writer would i be if I couldn't come up with a better adjective than busy?Therefore if I have to explain my three week blogworld absence with a single word I'm going to choose FLOODED.
The raindrops, metaphorically speaking, began to fall with a freelance assignment I picked up. I have been writing high school football team profiles for a regional magazine. It's a decent enough paying gig and it is a subject I like so the articles are in no way torture to create, but the more I write the more I get paid and getting paid to write is a good thing. The magazine profiles more than 200 teams and there are three of us writers so I have been working on them as fast as I can to make certain I get a nice check.
And wouldn't you know it, but my muse decided to grace me with her presence right smack in the middle of this freelance gig so I've been churning out chucks of The Feedstore Chronicles at record pace. Also in a fit of inspiration I had a vision how to make the beginning of the chronicles stronger so along with the nearly 20K new words I created with the football profiles and the chronicles I edited and revised another 25K words.
And the blog suffered.
Then the real raindrops fell. And fell. and fell. And fell some more.
5 inches of raindrops in less than two hours.
Soon that plethora of water formed a lake on my back porch. Then it began to seep through my back door.
Within fifteen minutes the water completely soaked the carpet. Jennifer and I made a mad dash to move the furniture out of the room. What we couldn't move we put tupperware bowl around the legs to keep from getting ruined. Making this all the more fun was the fact it was around 1 AM and the tornado sirens were going off.
The very next morning I ripped out 500 square feet of wet, soggy and ruined carpet and pad. Underneath I found this old commercial grade tile.
The tile proved easy to get up taking less than two hours. The mastic beneath not so easy. Some 25 hours of scraping scrubbing, sweating, and yes swearing, I know have a bare concrete floor which i plan to stain to look like natural stone in the very near future.
I find it ironic that I lived next to a creek for better than a decade and now once did I ever have an issue with flooding. Yeah that abode did burn to the ground, but it never flooded. So then i move to town, on a sort of hill no less and my entire living room floods. No It is not a flood that would impress Noah, Nashville, or New Orleans, but it was more water than I certainly wanted.
I had the fire and now the flood. I'll be sure and take pictures to post when the plague of locusts arrive.
Oh, but I haven't ran out of excuses yet.
Next, the family and I went on a little mini vacation to Colorado. I plan to blog about our mountain adventures in greater depth but for now I'll leave you with a shot from Garden of The Gods in Colorado Springs.
So guess what I'm going to do today? Yep. Blog about the fact I haven't blogged in nearly three weeks.
I could say I've been busy, but I've already established the fact I hate ... but I've been busy blog posts. Besides, what kind of third-rate writer would i be if I couldn't come up with a better adjective than busy?Therefore if I have to explain my three week blogworld absence with a single word I'm going to choose FLOODED.
The raindrops, metaphorically speaking, began to fall with a freelance assignment I picked up. I have been writing high school football team profiles for a regional magazine. It's a decent enough paying gig and it is a subject I like so the articles are in no way torture to create, but the more I write the more I get paid and getting paid to write is a good thing. The magazine profiles more than 200 teams and there are three of us writers so I have been working on them as fast as I can to make certain I get a nice check.
And wouldn't you know it, but my muse decided to grace me with her presence right smack in the middle of this freelance gig so I've been churning out chucks of The Feedstore Chronicles at record pace. Also in a fit of inspiration I had a vision how to make the beginning of the chronicles stronger so along with the nearly 20K new words I created with the football profiles and the chronicles I edited and revised another 25K words.
And the blog suffered.
Then the real raindrops fell. And fell. and fell. And fell some more.
5 inches of raindrops in less than two hours.
Soon that plethora of water formed a lake on my back porch. Then it began to seep through my back door.
Within fifteen minutes the water completely soaked the carpet. Jennifer and I made a mad dash to move the furniture out of the room. What we couldn't move we put tupperware bowl around the legs to keep from getting ruined. Making this all the more fun was the fact it was around 1 AM and the tornado sirens were going off.
The very next morning I ripped out 500 square feet of wet, soggy and ruined carpet and pad. Underneath I found this old commercial grade tile.
The tile proved easy to get up taking less than two hours. The mastic beneath not so easy. Some 25 hours of scraping scrubbing, sweating, and yes swearing, I know have a bare concrete floor which i plan to stain to look like natural stone in the very near future.
I find it ironic that I lived next to a creek for better than a decade and now once did I ever have an issue with flooding. Yeah that abode did burn to the ground, but it never flooded. So then i move to town, on a sort of hill no less and my entire living room floods. No It is not a flood that would impress Noah, Nashville, or New Orleans, but it was more water than I certainly wanted.
I had the fire and now the flood. I'll be sure and take pictures to post when the plague of locusts arrive.
Oh, but I haven't ran out of excuses yet.
Next, the family and I went on a little mini vacation to Colorado. I plan to blog about our mountain adventures in greater depth but for now I'll leave you with a shot from Garden of The Gods in Colorado Springs.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Cha- Ching Indeed
Needless to say I am one happy dude. My beloved Saints are Superbowl champs.
If my live blogging the big game annoyed you I am sorry, but I thought a few of you might enjoy reading the notions filling my head as I watched. For the record I only three things twice, I refrained from cursing but not yelling and when Tracy Porter intercepted that Manning pass I grabbed my oldest son and tossed him above my head four or five times. Normally this is not a feat I can perform, as he is nearly 90 pounds and only an inch shy of five foot, but caught in the moment he was light as a feather.
After the game I received about 50 text messages and a dozen phone calls. Perhaps the coolest conversation I had was with my old FFA teacher from high school who remembered I was a big Saints fan even back then. Pretty cool to know one of your teachers is thinking about you some nineteen years after you've graduated.
Football is now over so I am shifting much of my energy on writing.
I knew this was gonna be a great year and everything still points that direction so I need to get my work out into the marketplace and keep the good times rolling.
If my live blogging the big game annoyed you I am sorry, but I thought a few of you might enjoy reading the notions filling my head as I watched. For the record I only three things twice, I refrained from cursing but not yelling and when Tracy Porter intercepted that Manning pass I grabbed my oldest son and tossed him above my head four or five times. Normally this is not a feat I can perform, as he is nearly 90 pounds and only an inch shy of five foot, but caught in the moment he was light as a feather.
After the game I received about 50 text messages and a dozen phone calls. Perhaps the coolest conversation I had was with my old FFA teacher from high school who remembered I was a big Saints fan even back then. Pretty cool to know one of your teachers is thinking about you some nineteen years after you've graduated.
Football is now over so I am shifting much of my energy on writing.
I knew this was gonna be a great year and everything still points that direction so I need to get my work out into the marketplace and keep the good times rolling.
Friday, February 5, 2010
My Brain May Very Well Short Circuit
As the title of this post suggests my neurons are firing rather erratically this week. Here is but a sample of the jumbled mess bouncing around my skull.
*******************
Most of y'all know I work at the post office. i do maintenance on the machines that sort your mail. From letters, to the big flat envelopes, to packages. Nearly every piece of mail is sorted via automated equipment these days and it is my job to do the daily and breakdown maintenance on these machines. Often I find mail pieces that happened to fall into the wrong place and sometimes this mail is damaged. Earlier this week I found such a piece, a trade magazine called FN which stands for footwear news.
Normally I place this mail in the area to be repaired without a second thought but this particular mag caught my eye. Okay, It caught my eye because every single show model pictured had on a low-cut shirt. These models also happened to be very well endowed. Which got me to thinking is it really smart to avert all of the attention to the upper half of these women when what you are selling is strapped to their feet?
*****************************
Speaking of feet. My 7 year old was walking on top of a frozen snow drift earlier this week and suddenly proclaimed, "Look I'm just like Jesus! I can walk on water."
***************************
Here we are on the eve of Super Bowl Eve and I am already in a frenzy of anticipation. My beloved New Orleans Saints are finally in it and in a sign of my sickness I have been having dreams at night about the big game. I tried to watch the NFC conference game stone-cold sober and nearly stroked out. For the Superbowl I plan to walk the fine line between drunk and incoherent. If I go to far over the line I may not have my full capacities and miss something, but too far on this side and y'all will be sending flowers to my funeral. I'd hate to see what my blood pressure will be like around 6 PM Sunday.
Can I get a WHO DAT?
Even if you have nothing to add via the comments please drop in and offer a WHO DAT or Geaux Saints to let me know you are there.
***************************
Diehard. I've used this term to describe my fan-dom before but suddenly it strikes me as a weird description. I think I will use the term devoted from now on. Cockroaches, wild boars, and unfullfilled dreams. Those are things I would describe as diehard beings.
**************************
Speaking of death. I still wonder if you have a pre-bought funeral plot and you walk on it can you make yourself shiver?
*************************
And I'm a little late with this one for the blog (you should be on my twitter or facebook list and you would have seen it in a timely fashion) but who decided a groundhog and his shadow were good barometers of the future? Had to be some drunk redneck. Anybody other Nostradamus would have used a crystal ball, tea leaves, or tarot cards. heck if a Magic 8 ball is better than a fat rodent.
Again I say ... Can I get a WHO DAT!
*******************
Most of y'all know I work at the post office. i do maintenance on the machines that sort your mail. From letters, to the big flat envelopes, to packages. Nearly every piece of mail is sorted via automated equipment these days and it is my job to do the daily and breakdown maintenance on these machines. Often I find mail pieces that happened to fall into the wrong place and sometimes this mail is damaged. Earlier this week I found such a piece, a trade magazine called FN which stands for footwear news.
Normally I place this mail in the area to be repaired without a second thought but this particular mag caught my eye. Okay, It caught my eye because every single show model pictured had on a low-cut shirt. These models also happened to be very well endowed. Which got me to thinking is it really smart to avert all of the attention to the upper half of these women when what you are selling is strapped to their feet?
*****************************
Speaking of feet. My 7 year old was walking on top of a frozen snow drift earlier this week and suddenly proclaimed, "Look I'm just like Jesus! I can walk on water."
***************************
Here we are on the eve of Super Bowl Eve and I am already in a frenzy of anticipation. My beloved New Orleans Saints are finally in it and in a sign of my sickness I have been having dreams at night about the big game. I tried to watch the NFC conference game stone-cold sober and nearly stroked out. For the Superbowl I plan to walk the fine line between drunk and incoherent. If I go to far over the line I may not have my full capacities and miss something, but too far on this side and y'all will be sending flowers to my funeral. I'd hate to see what my blood pressure will be like around 6 PM Sunday.
Can I get a WHO DAT?
Even if you have nothing to add via the comments please drop in and offer a WHO DAT or Geaux Saints to let me know you are there.
***************************
Diehard. I've used this term to describe my fan-dom before but suddenly it strikes me as a weird description. I think I will use the term devoted from now on. Cockroaches, wild boars, and unfullfilled dreams. Those are things I would describe as diehard beings.
**************************
Speaking of death. I still wonder if you have a pre-bought funeral plot and you walk on it can you make yourself shiver?
*************************
And I'm a little late with this one for the blog (you should be on my twitter or facebook list and you would have seen it in a timely fashion) but who decided a groundhog and his shadow were good barometers of the future? Had to be some drunk redneck. Anybody other Nostradamus would have used a crystal ball, tea leaves, or tarot cards. heck if a Magic 8 ball is better than a fat rodent.
Again I say ... Can I get a WHO DAT!
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
I Like It When Pigs Fly
I'm in yet another blog slump. But on the good side of that I have been doing much better with my fiction writing.
I'm also in a blog reading slump. I apologize for that, but there simply never seems enough time to make the rounds these days.
I've recently read and critiqued a couple of manuscripts and short stories for writing friends. All good stuff which reminds me just how stiff the competition is for the few meager opportunities out there for we unknown writers.
I did survive the NFC conference game, but just barely. Several of you emailed to ask and as my beloved New Orleans Saints battle the Vikings I nearly had two strokes, one heart attack, and a brain aneurysm.
I, as a lifelong Saints fan have had lots of people tell me the Saints would NEVER make it to the big game. Apparently the play by play man for the Saints Radio has heard the same. I love the end of his call of the game wining kick. Give it a listen if you haven't heard it.
I admit it, that clip brings tears to my eyes every time I hear it.
I, the guy who only a few short years ago swore of all organized religion, am in the process to become Catholic. It has been a long slow and reluctant religious journey for me, and one day I might share some of my thoughts over the years in regards to religion, but I feel with all of my heart that I have arrived where I need to be. Some who know me might suggest that along with the Saints going to the Super Bowl me finding religion is proof that the pigs have flown and that Satan is wrapped up in a Snuggie demanding Hitler to toss another log on the fire.
I feel optimistic about my writing career this year. More so than I probably have a right to given the fact I basically threw in the towel last year and wrote next to no new material. Nevertheless something, a hunch I suppose, tells me that my current project, a coming of age memoir of my days working at a feedstore for the world's most morally bankrupt man, will be the one to finally see publication. Why you ask? One I think it plays into my strengths as a story teller and two it is the one thing I've written that I'm almost afraid to let others read. I was but a naive and ignorant 16yo kid when I went to work at the feedstore and like most teenage boys I did lots of stupid stuff, had many an idiotic idea and thought and in order to tell the story right I will have to expose my own stupidity and confess things that I've previously shared with only a select few.
But as an agent once told me ... If you're writing is not strong enough to piss at least a few people off, then it's not strong enough to truly reach any one.
I'm also in a blog reading slump. I apologize for that, but there simply never seems enough time to make the rounds these days.
I've recently read and critiqued a couple of manuscripts and short stories for writing friends. All good stuff which reminds me just how stiff the competition is for the few meager opportunities out there for we unknown writers.
I did survive the NFC conference game, but just barely. Several of you emailed to ask and as my beloved New Orleans Saints battle the Vikings I nearly had two strokes, one heart attack, and a brain aneurysm.
I, as a lifelong Saints fan have had lots of people tell me the Saints would NEVER make it to the big game. Apparently the play by play man for the Saints Radio has heard the same. I love the end of his call of the game wining kick. Give it a listen if you haven't heard it.
I admit it, that clip brings tears to my eyes every time I hear it.
I, the guy who only a few short years ago swore of all organized religion, am in the process to become Catholic. It has been a long slow and reluctant religious journey for me, and one day I might share some of my thoughts over the years in regards to religion, but I feel with all of my heart that I have arrived where I need to be. Some who know me might suggest that along with the Saints going to the Super Bowl me finding religion is proof that the pigs have flown and that Satan is wrapped up in a Snuggie demanding Hitler to toss another log on the fire.
I feel optimistic about my writing career this year. More so than I probably have a right to given the fact I basically threw in the towel last year and wrote next to no new material. Nevertheless something, a hunch I suppose, tells me that my current project, a coming of age memoir of my days working at a feedstore for the world's most morally bankrupt man, will be the one to finally see publication. Why you ask? One I think it plays into my strengths as a story teller and two it is the one thing I've written that I'm almost afraid to let others read. I was but a naive and ignorant 16yo kid when I went to work at the feedstore and like most teenage boys I did lots of stupid stuff, had many an idiotic idea and thought and in order to tell the story right I will have to expose my own stupidity and confess things that I've previously shared with only a select few.
But as an agent once told me ... If you're writing is not strong enough to piss at least a few people off, then it's not strong enough to truly reach any one.
Monday, January 11, 2010
A Cop Out
I am a huge fan of the famed, fables, and highly talented Erica Orloff. I loved her novel romance Freudian Slip, as well her YA series Magickeepers, but I first got to know Erica via the blogosphere and it was her daily blog that made me a fan. No one does as a good a job of tying in the events of everyday life and applying them to writing the way she does. Her blog never fails to make me stop and think.
Today I'm going to try and emulate her by comparing two of my passions -- Writing and football.
Most people who know me would describe me as a mild-mannered guy and truly I'm not all that excitable except perhaps when I open my burger at the fast food window to discover lettuce and tomatoes on my meal, or, while watching my favorite teams play football.
Yes, I confess I am a television screamer. I have been known to leap a coffee table in a single bound in order to be inches away from the television screen. I feel certain the players, coaches, and refs can hear me better of I am close enough for my angry spittle to land on their faces.
And given my 4 years of experience as a high school ref here in Texas I feel certain that my expertise is sufficient to criticize these people who have spent a lifetime reaching the pinnacle of their profession.
In other words I become an irrational idiot while watching my teams play.
And who are my teams? The Nebraska Cornhuskers when it comes to college football and the New Orleans Saints in the world of NFL ball. Who Dat!
Today I'm going to focus on the latter the New Orleans Saints.
I have been a Saints fan for years. Since the early eighties when I was old enough to start rooting for a particular team. I chose them because of family I had that once called New Orleans home. I have nothing but fond memories of visiting them and my great uncle Jack took great care of me when we visited and once I even got to see the Fonz inside the Superdome as part of a Mardi Gras celebration.
Trust me to a seven year old kid in the late 70's that was the epitome of cool.
So I became a devoted Saints fan. A member of the Who Dat nation.
But sadly the Saints have never been an NFL power. Until this year.
More often than not, the boys in black and gold have broken my heart dashed my hopes. But root for them I did anyway. And here is an example of my fervor.
October of 1997 I am weeks away from my wedding and the Saints are playing a Sunday night game against the Bears. My soon to be wife and I have already purchased a home together but I'm the only one living there as out nuptials are still a few weeks away. It is a warm Indian Summer kind of evening. Friends are over to watch the game with me and I attempt to cook them burgers on my miniature George Foreman grill, but I end up burning the meat and filing the house with smoke which means we have to open ALL the windows to breathe.
The game is somewhat boring but the Saints carry a lead late into the 4th quarter thanks to their defense. Then Chicago scores a long touchdown to go ahead with less than a minute to go. To add insult to my anger and disappointed the TV cameras focus in on the Bear player who scored while he dances, shows off and mugs for the home crowd.
The Saints offense has done nothing all night and now they have very little time to move the ball downfield and no timeouts. So I have no hope.
Pinned deep after the kickoff it looks bleak, but then the unthinkable happens. On almost the last play of the game the Saints complete an 80+ yard play to score. I jump up and screamed at the top of my lungs (cover your eyes if you want to maintain your image of me as a pure and virtuous gentleman) "Take that you dancing showboating son of a bitch! You can dance your happy house right back to the locker room cause WE (yeah I used we as if I had been blocking downfield for the receiver) just broke it off in your effin ass!"
I did my own little happy dance as the last ticks on the clock slipped away.
All but one of my friends got in their car and drove away as I set about finding a snack for my now ravenous gut. After all I'd burned the burgers so there hadn't been much to eat.
I never gave a thought to what my screams and shouts must have sounded like to my new neighbors. I was caught up in the euphoria of the Saints victory as well as my hunger. I found a loaf of banana nut bread my grandmother had made, cut of a few slices for my friend, poured us two glasses of milk to wash it down and returned to the living room.
But then I heard my dog growling from outside. I sat my snack down and opened the front door. Only to find a county sheriff's deputy with a can of pepper spray poised at the ready to squirt my Chesapeake Bay Retriever, Rosie.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"Can you call your dog off?" The officer asked never taking his eyes of her exposed teeth.
"Rosie come." I patted my leg and she trotted to my side.
"You mind locking her up?" The deputy asked.
I opened the front door and let Rosie in.
The deputy then proceeded to tell me that a neighbor had called dispatch and reported a domestic disturbance in progress. They claimed I was new in the neighborhood and I was in the act of beating my wife. Being a bit slow I still had not connected the dots that my earlier screaming had prompted the visit.
I explained that I was not even married, but was to be in a few weeks. However my fiance was at work and had not been to the house all day. The deputy asked if he could take a look around and with nothing to hide I invited him in. He checked the rooms and even opened a few closets before asking if my and my lone friend that had stayed had been fighting. We both answered no, but then it hit me so I said, "We were watching football and I got excited when the Saints came back and won. I did yell pretty loud."
"What did you yell?" the officer asked.
I explained and he grinned. "Yeah that would sound kind of bad to someone down the road." Still grinning he pointed at the banana nut bread and glass of milk I had yet had a chance to eat. "You guys enjoy your snack but do me a favor, next time the Saints play close your windows."
So what in the world does this have to do with writing you ask?
Not much. Oh I could draw some kind of weak analogy between the disappointment of being a lifelong Saints fan and a writer trying to sell a manuscript, but I couldn't do half the job Erica does on a daily basis. Her comparisons actually make sense and are always timely and well thought out. Besides having rambled on long enough already, I just wanted to give Erica a shout out and a plug for her books because she really is that talented.
Go check her out now.
Today I'm going to try and emulate her by comparing two of my passions -- Writing and football.
Most people who know me would describe me as a mild-mannered guy and truly I'm not all that excitable except perhaps when I open my burger at the fast food window to discover lettuce and tomatoes on my meal, or, while watching my favorite teams play football.
Yes, I confess I am a television screamer. I have been known to leap a coffee table in a single bound in order to be inches away from the television screen. I feel certain the players, coaches, and refs can hear me better of I am close enough for my angry spittle to land on their faces.
And given my 4 years of experience as a high school ref here in Texas I feel certain that my expertise is sufficient to criticize these people who have spent a lifetime reaching the pinnacle of their profession.
In other words I become an irrational idiot while watching my teams play.
And who are my teams? The Nebraska Cornhuskers when it comes to college football and the New Orleans Saints in the world of NFL ball. Who Dat!
Today I'm going to focus on the latter the New Orleans Saints.
I have been a Saints fan for years. Since the early eighties when I was old enough to start rooting for a particular team. I chose them because of family I had that once called New Orleans home. I have nothing but fond memories of visiting them and my great uncle Jack took great care of me when we visited and once I even got to see the Fonz inside the Superdome as part of a Mardi Gras celebration.
Trust me to a seven year old kid in the late 70's that was the epitome of cool.So I became a devoted Saints fan. A member of the Who Dat nation.
But sadly the Saints have never been an NFL power. Until this year.
More often than not, the boys in black and gold have broken my heart dashed my hopes. But root for them I did anyway. And here is an example of my fervor.
October of 1997 I am weeks away from my wedding and the Saints are playing a Sunday night game against the Bears. My soon to be wife and I have already purchased a home together but I'm the only one living there as out nuptials are still a few weeks away. It is a warm Indian Summer kind of evening. Friends are over to watch the game with me and I attempt to cook them burgers on my miniature George Foreman grill, but I end up burning the meat and filing the house with smoke which means we have to open ALL the windows to breathe.
The game is somewhat boring but the Saints carry a lead late into the 4th quarter thanks to their defense. Then Chicago scores a long touchdown to go ahead with less than a minute to go. To add insult to my anger and disappointed the TV cameras focus in on the Bear player who scored while he dances, shows off and mugs for the home crowd.
The Saints offense has done nothing all night and now they have very little time to move the ball downfield and no timeouts. So I have no hope.
Pinned deep after the kickoff it looks bleak, but then the unthinkable happens. On almost the last play of the game the Saints complete an 80+ yard play to score. I jump up and screamed at the top of my lungs (cover your eyes if you want to maintain your image of me as a pure and virtuous gentleman) "Take that you dancing showboating son of a bitch! You can dance your happy house right back to the locker room cause WE (yeah I used we as if I had been blocking downfield for the receiver) just broke it off in your effin ass!"
I did my own little happy dance as the last ticks on the clock slipped away.
All but one of my friends got in their car and drove away as I set about finding a snack for my now ravenous gut. After all I'd burned the burgers so there hadn't been much to eat.
I never gave a thought to what my screams and shouts must have sounded like to my new neighbors. I was caught up in the euphoria of the Saints victory as well as my hunger. I found a loaf of banana nut bread my grandmother had made, cut of a few slices for my friend, poured us two glasses of milk to wash it down and returned to the living room.
But then I heard my dog growling from outside. I sat my snack down and opened the front door. Only to find a county sheriff's deputy with a can of pepper spray poised at the ready to squirt my Chesapeake Bay Retriever, Rosie.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"Can you call your dog off?" The officer asked never taking his eyes of her exposed teeth.
"Rosie come." I patted my leg and she trotted to my side.
"You mind locking her up?" The deputy asked.
I opened the front door and let Rosie in.
The deputy then proceeded to tell me that a neighbor had called dispatch and reported a domestic disturbance in progress. They claimed I was new in the neighborhood and I was in the act of beating my wife. Being a bit slow I still had not connected the dots that my earlier screaming had prompted the visit.
I explained that I was not even married, but was to be in a few weeks. However my fiance was at work and had not been to the house all day. The deputy asked if he could take a look around and with nothing to hide I invited him in. He checked the rooms and even opened a few closets before asking if my and my lone friend that had stayed had been fighting. We both answered no, but then it hit me so I said, "We were watching football and I got excited when the Saints came back and won. I did yell pretty loud."
"What did you yell?" the officer asked.
I explained and he grinned. "Yeah that would sound kind of bad to someone down the road." Still grinning he pointed at the banana nut bread and glass of milk I had yet had a chance to eat. "You guys enjoy your snack but do me a favor, next time the Saints play close your windows."
So what in the world does this have to do with writing you ask?
Not much. Oh I could draw some kind of weak analogy between the disappointment of being a lifelong Saints fan and a writer trying to sell a manuscript, but I couldn't do half the job Erica does on a daily basis. Her comparisons actually make sense and are always timely and well thought out. Besides having rambled on long enough already, I just wanted to give Erica a shout out and a plug for her books because she really is that talented.
Go check her out now.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
A Little Dark Humor
A good while back I posted a blog about a friend of mine who'd been given only a short time to live by his doctor. Of course I can't find the post now, but in it I told my favorite story about my friend. Both then and now I will call him Joe.
I'll retell the short version for those that missed it. Joe came into work one night looking like someone had decided to grind his face into hamburger. His nose was bleeding, his lip swollen and busted, and the skin on his face was battered and red. When someone asked Joe what happened, he matter-of-factly stated, "I stopped at Toot and Totum on the way into work. While I was pumping gas I spotted this old boy I owed an ass whooping."
Before anyone could say a word, Joe piped in with, "Now I owe him two."
Shortly after that original post a miracle happened when Joe's cancer suddenly went into remission. The doctor's couldn't explain it, but the three months they had given him turned into better than a year of cancer free life fro Joe.
Three weeks ago those same doctors confirmed what Joe's body had already been telling him. The cancer was back.
Joe's stomach tumor grew five times in size in less than a month and now Joe is in yet another round of chemo in a battle for his life. Of course I'm pulling for him to win this battle, but given our usual banter is one of harassment and good natured ribbing I'm not going to put on satin gloves and treat him as a frail sickly invalid.
Joe would never want or expect me to do that.
So that brings us to my story. Last night while watching my beloved New Orleans Saints, under the stellar leadership of their QB Drew Brees, dismantle the Tom Brady led, almighty New England Patriots, Joe says, "Brees is okay but he's no Romo."
Joe like most folks here in Texas bleeds Dallas Cowboy blue. No one in their right mind would ever claim Dallas QB Tony Romo is better than Drew Brees but in the nature of our fun, Joe threw that statement out."
I countered with the truth that the sweat dripping from Brees's balls has more talent than Tony Romo.
So today Joe calls me up and says, "I can't take the risk of you being a pall bearer at my funeral and having you lean down and say Romo sucks just as they close the casket. So I'm gonna scratch your name off the list and add Tony Romo's."
Not about to give in I said, "Don't do that. Romo will miss the hole in the ground and dump you out right there on the hard cold earth."
Joe was admitted into the hospital tonight, but just a few minutes ago he called to tell me not to get my hopes up, he's not going anywhere until the Cowboys ruin the saints perfect season in a few weeks. I can only hope and pray that Joe will feel up to watching the game with me on December 19th, because despite his poor choice in football teams, he truly is a hell of a friend.
I almost feel bad for the beat down the Who Dats are gonna put on his beloved 'Boys. I said almost. I've been a Saints fan for far too many lean years not to thoroughly enjoy this shining season.
Geaux Saints!
The original Joe story can be found here. I owe the location of the link to the sleuth work of Hilary. Thanks Hilary.
I'll retell the short version for those that missed it. Joe came into work one night looking like someone had decided to grind his face into hamburger. His nose was bleeding, his lip swollen and busted, and the skin on his face was battered and red. When someone asked Joe what happened, he matter-of-factly stated, "I stopped at Toot and Totum on the way into work. While I was pumping gas I spotted this old boy I owed an ass whooping."
Before anyone could say a word, Joe piped in with, "Now I owe him two."
Shortly after that original post a miracle happened when Joe's cancer suddenly went into remission. The doctor's couldn't explain it, but the three months they had given him turned into better than a year of cancer free life fro Joe.
Three weeks ago those same doctors confirmed what Joe's body had already been telling him. The cancer was back.
Joe's stomach tumor grew five times in size in less than a month and now Joe is in yet another round of chemo in a battle for his life. Of course I'm pulling for him to win this battle, but given our usual banter is one of harassment and good natured ribbing I'm not going to put on satin gloves and treat him as a frail sickly invalid.
Joe would never want or expect me to do that.
So that brings us to my story. Last night while watching my beloved New Orleans Saints, under the stellar leadership of their QB Drew Brees, dismantle the Tom Brady led, almighty New England Patriots, Joe says, "Brees is okay but he's no Romo."
Joe like most folks here in Texas bleeds Dallas Cowboy blue. No one in their right mind would ever claim Dallas QB Tony Romo is better than Drew Brees but in the nature of our fun, Joe threw that statement out."
I countered with the truth that the sweat dripping from Brees's balls has more talent than Tony Romo.
So today Joe calls me up and says, "I can't take the risk of you being a pall bearer at my funeral and having you lean down and say Romo sucks just as they close the casket. So I'm gonna scratch your name off the list and add Tony Romo's."
Not about to give in I said, "Don't do that. Romo will miss the hole in the ground and dump you out right there on the hard cold earth."
Joe was admitted into the hospital tonight, but just a few minutes ago he called to tell me not to get my hopes up, he's not going anywhere until the Cowboys ruin the saints perfect season in a few weeks. I can only hope and pray that Joe will feel up to watching the game with me on December 19th, because despite his poor choice in football teams, he truly is a hell of a friend.
I almost feel bad for the beat down the Who Dats are gonna put on his beloved 'Boys. I said almost. I've been a Saints fan for far too many lean years not to thoroughly enjoy this shining season.
Geaux Saints!
The original Joe story can be found here. I owe the location of the link to the sleuth work of Hilary. Thanks Hilary.
Friday, October 9, 2009
V is for Victory!
It seemed like it should have worked out fine.
That's exactly what The Missouri Tigers head coach must have been thinking when my beloved Nebraska Cornhuskers scored 27 unanswered points in the fourth quarter of last nights game to come back and triumph over their Big XII rivals. It was a sloppy game played in a torrential downpour, but at least the good guys won.
Go Big Red!
No doubt this wasn't the post Lisa had in mine when she suggested I start a post with the first line "It seemed like it should have worked out fine," but since I got caught up watching the game last night instead of writing, this is what you get.
I have another busy weekend of flag football games, but this Saturday is also the annual Carnival at St Mary School. If you are here in Amarillo be sure and stop by between 12 and 7 for some great fun and even better Mexican food. Hope to see you there.
That's exactly what The Missouri Tigers head coach must have been thinking when my beloved Nebraska Cornhuskers scored 27 unanswered points in the fourth quarter of last nights game to come back and triumph over their Big XII rivals. It was a sloppy game played in a torrential downpour, but at least the good guys won.
Go Big Red!
No doubt this wasn't the post Lisa had in mine when she suggested I start a post with the first line "It seemed like it should have worked out fine," but since I got caught up watching the game last night instead of writing, this is what you get.
I have another busy weekend of flag football games, but this Saturday is also the annual Carnival at St Mary School. If you are here in Amarillo be sure and stop by between 12 and 7 for some great fun and even better Mexican food. Hope to see you there.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Satan Is A Midget
Yeah, I know that the title of this post is not PC, but given that not even the ACLU would file suit on behalf of Lucifer I went ahead and used the offensive term anyway.
That brings us to the means in which I acquired knowledge of Beelzebub's diminutive nature.
The story goes something like this and does not involve a fiddle of gold.
My grandpa dies just a few days after my oldest son was born. Due to the fact that both my son and my grandpa were in the hospital dealing with heart issues they never had the chance to meet in person. (For more on that story click here to read the tale of my journey into fatherhood)
However, my mom has family vacation videos of bygone years in which my boys have been able to see and hear my grandpa, their great grandfather.
So out of the blue my 8yo asks the other day, "Mom, will I be able to talk to Grandpa Howery when I get to heaven?"
Jennifer answers that yes, he will get that chance.
T then points to the ground and asks, " But what if I go to the other place."
"Be good and you won't have to worry about that," She answered.
"What does the other place look lie anyway," he asks next.
At this point my 6 yo son, who had been listening quietly chimes in and says, "It's hot, dark, and there is lots of lava." Then holding his hand out about chest high on his own small body he said, "And there is a little dude with horns."
************************************
Flag football is going strong, but sadly I cannot report a victory yet. Vince Lombardi I am not. Between two years of coaching (1 team last year 2 this season) my record as head coach is 1 win, thirteen losses. The lone victory came last year when one of the teams failed to show up.
But I am proud to say all, but one kid that played last year came back so I count the experience as a success. If the kids learn and want to keep playing I feel as if I am doing something right.
***********************************
Writing is going slow, but at least it is going again. I couldn't say that for most of the summer.
***********************************
After seventeen years at the post office working first nights and evening and then daytime hours, all with crappy days off, it looks as if I'll finally get a daytime job with weekends off starting at the end of October. That will be great for family activities and mean no more 12 hour days and four hour lunch breaks to coach football.
*********************************
My goal for next year is to make at least two writer's conferences. I really need to buckle down and do more to jump start my writing career. Once upon a time a had lots of personal
contacts among agents and editors but in recent times that number has dwindled. Far too many deaths, retirements and layoffs in the business for me to not be more proactive.
********************************
I am starting a new project involving the kids at the Catholic school where my wife teaches and boys attend. I will be teaching basic writing to the kids as well as moderating discussion on novels already published in the young adult genre. I have already started a new blog to record these lessons and discussions so be sure and sign up to follow the things that go on there. I hope it will be a great place for both kids and adults and maybe you can engage your own children and take part via the internet. Sign on the follow that blog now so you'll be aware when I update the content. http://younglit.blogspot.com/
*******************************
So that's what is going on in my world. What's shaking in yours?
ps I hope to catch up soon and start visiting your blogs with more regularity.
That brings us to the means in which I acquired knowledge of Beelzebub's diminutive nature.
The story goes something like this and does not involve a fiddle of gold.
My grandpa dies just a few days after my oldest son was born. Due to the fact that both my son and my grandpa were in the hospital dealing with heart issues they never had the chance to meet in person. (For more on that story click here to read the tale of my journey into fatherhood)
However, my mom has family vacation videos of bygone years in which my boys have been able to see and hear my grandpa, their great grandfather.
So out of the blue my 8yo asks the other day, "Mom, will I be able to talk to Grandpa Howery when I get to heaven?"
Jennifer answers that yes, he will get that chance.
T then points to the ground and asks, " But what if I go to the other place."
"Be good and you won't have to worry about that," She answered.
"What does the other place look lie anyway," he asks next.
At this point my 6 yo son, who had been listening quietly chimes in and says, "It's hot, dark, and there is lots of lava." Then holding his hand out about chest high on his own small body he said, "And there is a little dude with horns."
************************************
Flag football is going strong, but sadly I cannot report a victory yet. Vince Lombardi I am not. Between two years of coaching (1 team last year 2 this season) my record as head coach is 1 win, thirteen losses. The lone victory came last year when one of the teams failed to show up.
But I am proud to say all, but one kid that played last year came back so I count the experience as a success. If the kids learn and want to keep playing I feel as if I am doing something right.
***********************************
Writing is going slow, but at least it is going again. I couldn't say that for most of the summer.
***********************************
After seventeen years at the post office working first nights and evening and then daytime hours, all with crappy days off, it looks as if I'll finally get a daytime job with weekends off starting at the end of October. That will be great for family activities and mean no more 12 hour days and four hour lunch breaks to coach football.
*********************************
My goal for next year is to make at least two writer's conferences. I really need to buckle down and do more to jump start my writing career. Once upon a time a had lots of personal
contacts among agents and editors but in recent times that number has dwindled. Far too many deaths, retirements and layoffs in the business for me to not be more proactive.
********************************
I am starting a new project involving the kids at the Catholic school where my wife teaches and boys attend. I will be teaching basic writing to the kids as well as moderating discussion on novels already published in the young adult genre. I have already started a new blog to record these lessons and discussions so be sure and sign up to follow the things that go on there. I hope it will be a great place for both kids and adults and maybe you can engage your own children and take part via the internet. Sign on the follow that blog now so you'll be aware when I update the content. http://younglit.blogspot.com/
*******************************
So that's what is going on in my world. What's shaking in yours?
ps I hope to catch up soon and start visiting your blogs with more regularity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)