Ring My Bell

I'm taking the low road today and talking about junk. I don't mean abandoned cars and nonworking appliances stacked in hillbillies yards, but rather genitalia. Male genitalia to be exact.

You see I read this news article ...

Penis Size Linked to Finger Length - ABC News

and, well frankly, I found it quite disturbing on several levels.

Before I start quoting certain sections let me paraphrase the piece for those who will not click over and read the news piece.

Korean researchers believe the length of a man's ring finger in relation to his index finger is a true indication of his penis length. According to these Koreans, the longer the ring finger in comparison to the index finger = the longer the penis.

And here was the photo that accompanied the article ...

Like every other man that reads this article the first thing I did was hold up my own hand. Now folks, I like to think of my self as a pretty confident sort of fellow. I've never felt the need to drive a Porsche, smoke giant, foul smelling cigars, or become a Day Trader. And yet, I was somewhat unnerved to discover my hand like like this ...

For a few fleeting seconds I thought I was going to have to scrape my pennies together and put a down payment on this ...

 but then I kept reading the article and realized these researchers were not only quacks of some sort, but freaks as well. Here is a quote  ...

The research team, led by urologist Dr. Tae Beom Kim from Gachon University in Incheon, Korea, measured the fingers and penises -- both stretched-out and flaccid -- of 144 men who were anesthetized before undergoing urological surgery. 


Okay, it's peculiar enough for a Doctor to devote so much time to the size of a man's hootus when Cancer, AIDS, and and a slew of other diseases remain uncured. But what kind of person goes around stretching out, and measuring a dude's junk when he's passed out on the surgical table?

Doctor Kim my friend, that is a serious party foul. Bust out the magic marker. Draw a vagina on his chest, shave off one eyebrow with your Bic, stuff tampons in his nostrils and take a picture of Walrus man, but don;t go messing with a dude's wang while he's passed out. I dare say that Doctor Kim was never chosen to be in a fraternity.

Another quote from the article ...

The length of the penis when stretched is believed to correlate to its erect length, the team reported. 

Man-oh-man. I don't even wanna know how they did this research.

And women laugh all you want, but this research didn't leave y'all out. It suggests that the longer your ring finger is in relation to your ring finger then the greater the chance you are a lesbian.

If this theory caught on the world would be full of index finger extensions. Playgirl would feature dimensions of a man's fingers int he centerfold. Dirk enjoys moonlit walks, cuddling, old movies and his turn off include women who smoke. Dirk is a 5-5 1/8th-4.

Matter of fact this theory would bring about the most hand scrutiny since OJ and the gloves.

So let's hear it. How does your ring finger stack up against your ring finger. Are you the next Ron Jeremy? Rosie O'Donnell? Or do you think this study is shakier than Mark Fuhrman's credibility?

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."

Hey, You Got A Pickup Truck

It's official.

I failed in my goal to blog every day this month.

But more and more it seems as if failure is the way of the world.

The stock market, dictatorships, Tiger Woods, The USA's credit rating. Things are falling all around us.

Not even my employer, the venerable United States Postal Service is immune.

Earlier this week Postal Management announced plans to shutter 60% of it operational facilities. Currently there are 308 such facilities. I work in one of them.

Is Amarillo, Texas important enough logistically or financially to make the top 40%?

I have my doubts.

We have geography on our side. The only operations plant close by is Lubbock 2 hours south but their building is small and old. They do nor house as much or varied equipment as us. We also have I-40, an important trucking route, running through town.

Amarillo is the only show from Dallas to Denver. Oklahoma City to Albequerque, but will that matter?

I have my doubts.

Will postal powers that be/congress care that a vast region will see their mail delayed both directions.

I have my doubts.

So what will that mean for me and my family? Well, unless the upcoming release of my book, of The Feedstore Chronicles sells tens of thousands of copies I will be forced to pack up and move to one of the few facilities that survives.

Dallas or Fort Worth? Oklahoma City? Denver?

Who knows which places will remain, but of those Denver would be my preference. I have family and many writing friends in the area. Besides, the hunting, fishing and great outdoors is better. I'm not a fan of state income tax or 3.2 beer or of leaving the great State of Texas, but heat/humidity/10 bajillion people/ and notoriously crappy postal facilities will keep me away from the DFW area.

So, while I hope Amarillo's faculty makes the cut, the time may come where this Texan becomes an ex-pat. On the bright side, that may be the only way I escape having Rick Perry as my Guv-nuh.

For 3 Easy Payments

I hate QVC.

Now before my wife chimes in her and rats on me yes, I did once buy something from QVC. A large electric fryer. And yes, I love that fryer as it has produced many a fine and tasty meal, but despite that fact I stand by my original statement -- I hate QVC.

My wife loves the shopping channel and she will sit there with it on, not really watching per-say, but keeping a wary eye for any titillating bargains that might pop up. She likes to read while the Barbie-fied or Ken-efied "hosts" peddle their wares. Hosts my ass. These people are modern day hucksters. Snake oil salesmen. They draw their readers in with polyester charm, and plastic smiles. 

I cannot read with the "hosts" tittering on about Ionic Air Purifier 3000. Used to be every space age technological advancement had 200 at the end of it, but I suppose now that we have moved beyond that year things have to be referred to 3000 to be cutting edge. When I create my great invention I'm gonna call it the Lettuce Obliviator 1952 and appeal to nostalgia to help me sell it.

Back to QVC.

The only thing worse is the callers who phone in to eagerly give their testimonial. They all sound like Waffle House waitresses, or Junior League rejects. If their voice hasn't been ravaged by cigarette smoke it's dripping with honey. I wish I could ignore most of it as my wife does but I can't. There I was not long ago trying to read while the QVC snake peddler droned on about he Ionic Air Purifier 3000. A bar fly of what sounded like considerable age called in to rave about the product.

Thad the QVC host : Phyllis in Tallahassee. Is it true you have already purchased the Ionic 3000?
Phyllis in Tallahassee : I did and I just love it. I'm a smoker Thad.
Travis, trying to read from the comfort of his couch : No shit

Sadly, much like football referees, neither QVC hosts or QVC callers can hear my commentary.

Phyllis in Tallahassee : And being a smoker, my house used to smell like cigarettes.
Thad the QVC host : You said used to Phyllis. Are you telling me the Air Purifier 3000 changed that?
Phyllis in Tallahassee : I sure am Thad. The second I plugged it in smoke poured right into my unit. Even though I didn't have a cigarette lit at the time.
Travis on Couch : (says nothing, but arches right eyebrow)
Thad the QVC host : That;s incredible Say that again Phyllis.
Phyllis in Tallahassee : It's true Thad. The smoke in the air flowed straight into my unit.
Thad the QVC host : So your unit pulled in Toxins you didn't even know was there.

Travis's wife who raises here eyes for the first time : Where are your going?
Travis, no longer sitting on couch : Outside. I can't stand to hear anymore about Phyllis and her toxic sucking unit.

Yep, I hate QVC.

Remember This Name -- Anita Howard

Back in May I introduced y'all to Anita Howard, one of my fellow Amarillo writers. Having read her work, I predicted big things for Anita and shared the trailer for her book Splintered.

Today Anita announced to the world that Splintered sold at auction in got a two book deal. It couldn't have happened to a nice person.

Congrats Anita!



**********************

Anita proves that the traditional dream is still out there to be had. However, as i indicated in my post yesterday, I no longer believe the long honored right way of ... writer writes book, queries and lands agent, agent pitches MS to New York. New York bestows its favor upon writer, all live happily ever after ... is the only or even best way to go.

It's been hard for me to abandon that dream especially given recent strides toward that goal. But in a series of events, I'm not ready to go into on here that track derailed earlier this week.

I have been described by more than one member of the publishing world as a regional writer. I still dispute that given that most of y';all who read and comment regularly live someplace other than the region I call home, but if the powers that be wanna label me a regional writer that so be it. I'll simply be the best damn regional writer I know how to be.

Long time readers might remember the days when I blogged every Sunday about my days working for the world's most morally bankrupt boss. Those tales about my teenage years working at the Feedstore were some of my favorite blog posts but I took them down when I turned The Feedstore Chronicles into a book. My rather vague post yesterday was the result of disappointment, anger, hope, and fear, but it was also about the resurrection of The Feedstore Chronicles and a brand new dream. Yeah, I'm still being vague i suppose but for the first time in months I feel like I'm headed the right direction again.   

It's A Jungle Out There

This isn't so much a post as it is a declaration.

For 11 years I've been chasing the publication dream.

I've tried to do everything the so-called "right" way.

I bought into the convention that the "right" way, was the only way.

Well the closer I get, the less I like the look of the conventional path. Sure the trail is well lit and groomed but guess what, I'm a bit darker and twisted myself. I like to stomp through the undergrowth even if I have to pick out a few stickers.

Travis is stepping off the path. Travis is taking the scenic route. Travis is going hiking.

Yeah I just went third person while talking about myself. So what?

Many Thanks

Not too long ago I released a small collection  of stories on both nook and kindle called Whispers. After an initial sales surge, thanks to many of y'all I know, the book has not sold very well, which would be both disappointing and disheartening if not for one saving grace ... the many wonderful comments and reviews I have received from those who have read the stories.

The latest of which can be found here at The Walking Man's blog. The Walking Man is a true wordsmith. A poet of outstanding talent whose prose I deeply respect. He rarely posts anything other than poetry so for him to honor me with his praise and blog space is a great honor for me.

At the risk of appearing braggadocios by tooting my own horn here are a few snippets gleaned from the Amazon reviews of Whispers.

"It's a wonderful balance of showing and omitting, of description and metaphor."

"Reading them is like touching a circuit alive with electricity. The tales are told simply but with great emotional power."


"Erwin is a strong and nuanced writer, and I enjoyed his stories so thoroughly that I read them in one sitting."

"While the subject matter might seem heavy, these are good summer reads that make you pause and reflect on your actions and the consequences."


"Travis Erwin is not afraid to spill his guts onto the page."

I appreciate those who have plunked down the 99 cents, and I doubly thank those who after reading the collection took time to email me, post a review on Amazon, Goodreads, and Barnes & Noble, or to plug the book on their own blog, Facebook, and Twitter for word of mouth is all a book like Whispers can rely on.