Germane Eclecticism

The Freedom to Believe

2010-09-04T14:19:00.003-04:00

New York City has so many cultures, so many races, so many languages--and so many religions. As evidenced by the Baptist churches in my neighborhood, even my own faith is represented here in this giant melting pot.

And I am ashamed of myself. Let me explain.

I would estimate that 90% of my friends are agnostic or atheist. I am a 100% believer in my Christian faith. I know my prayers have been answered too many times and that my faith has pulled me from the brink of tragedy so often that a higher power, for me that means Jesus, must be involved. My belief and faith is ever growing in my heart. My righteousness? Well, that's another issue.

I am ashamed because if any of my non-believer friends want to see an example of someone trying to live a righteous life, and they look at me, they are going to see failure. Some times I manage to receive the strength from my Savior to do the right things--to love others as myself, to give when asked, to pray often and to pronounce my thanks and gratitude for every blessing bestowed upon me. But it is the big and visible things where my failure is greatest. The body is a Temple of Christ, and I don't treat mine as a Temple should be treated. Sometimes I let my frustrations interfere with my thoughts, which should be focused on thinking and doing the will of Christ. The number of my personal failures could take up pages. I am guilty of being a weak ambassador for my Lord.

There is a reason that God has put me where I am today. I don't know the reason, and I may never know the reason. But I do know that I am traveling a journey that God is guiding. And as the Bible teaches, I want to submit myself to God's will--which means listening to that still, small voice and prayerfully considering my thoughts and actions.

I am not ashamed of the fact that my beliefs have a stark difference from the "establishment" Baptists that have turned "church" into corporate conglomerates. Here is the kicker: I don't believe that Baptists will be the only ones in Heaven! Jesus said, "I have other sheep ye know nothing about." I don't know if that means other planets, other faiths, or other life-forms. But I do know that part of what will make Heaven a glorious place for me will be learning about all these other sheep.

God's still working on me. I need to stand out of the way. Because when my friends or their friends hear the word "Christian," I don't want them to think of me as being like all the headline-grabbers of our lifetime who teach and preach hate and confusion. And let me be very clear about this: preaching hate and confusion is from the devil! It is evil! And in this nation, they don't have to answer to us, but a day of reckoning will come.

I love my friends. I want to see them on the other side of the River Jordan. I know I will see some of them, but I want to see all of them. In my heart, I believe my calling is to live my life as righteously as possible to be an example. Then, one day, somebody is going to ask me, "why are you so happy? What is that glow about you? How do you manage to stay so cool under pressure?..." And on and on. And then I will be able to share with them my testimony. But before they will listen to my testimony, they will have to see me living it.

And remember, God is Love. When you hear someone try to teach or preach anything else, you can be sure that he is confused. And Satan is the author of confusion. Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, and all the others: I open my arms to you. God has already blessed me with a heart full of love. It is humbling and joyful to me to share that love with you. And, allowing the strength of my Lord to work through me, when I am able to share my love with you, it will be complete and irrevocable. It will be forever. For that is the way the Love of the Lord is to me. Emulating that Divine Love is a task for which I am not worthy (and never will be), but which I accept. And only, only, with the continuing strength and guidance of my Lord will I ever be able to reach even the most minute speck of success.

There is neither Jew nor Gentile

No slaves or masters

No male or female

For we are all one in Jesus Christ

Galatians 3:28

Don't Unpack Yet

2010-09-01T14:50:00.002-04:00

War is Hell. And the US is claiming to be winding down a warfront in Iraq. But my prediction is that the US will be forced to return within 24 months. Why? Iran will invade Iraq as quickly as possible because the Iranian leadership wants to taunt the US all it can.

History will be repeating itself. In more ways than one. But mark this day, Wednesday, September 1, 2010, as the day I predicted the US would be back in Iraq will at the firepower it can muster before September 1, 2012.

Just like the US came to the aid of Kuwait, it will come to the aid of the Iraq of its own creation, which still has no stable government and citizens who believe Saddam is still alive and this is some big game. It won't be a game. It will be death and pain and suffering all over again. Lord, please have mercy.

A Book Publishing Mantra

2010-07-21T11:01:00.003-04:00

You may not realize it, but there is a phrase heard in book publishing houses all across North America on a daily basis. To call it a mantra is imprecise. It is more accurate to call it an exclamation or epithet.

Here it is:

"Get that whackjob's review off of amazon!" Or, a variant: "Get that nutjob's review off of amazon."

This phrase is uttered after (and only after) an author who compulsively checks his amazon "ranking," and searches for new reviews, finds one that offends his sensitive temperament. He will then call his agent or his editor, who will then call someone in sales or marketing, and utter one of the phrases above. Or something that means the same thing. Then the salesperson begins the tedious process of assessing the review to determine if anything in it can truthfully called "unfair." If so, then begins a month-long flurry of email exchanges flying (in my case) from the East Coast to Seattle and back. And after that, if amazon agrees, anything a reasonable person may find offensive or unfair is removed from the amazon website.

Just another reason that the book industry will always need salespeople!

Starting Over Again

2010-07-16T12:55:00.003-04:00

Well, just came to an understanding with somebody with whom I'd had a couple of dates. I made the mistakes of being too nice, too eager, too open, and too vulnerable, trying too hard, being over-analytical and presenting a facade of insecurity. The opportunity to date this person came out of left field, and not having dated in YEARS, I don't know the rules. Now my emotional "walls" are thicker and stronger than ever and I'm not sure when I will ever be trusting enough to date again. If ever I do date again, I have learned some very valuable lessons about keeping myself less excited and more cautious. (And when I say that, I imply NO mistrust of the other person, who is truly a great individual in difficult circumstances. I am talking about trusting myself to be self-disciplined.)

I can't really articulate all the things I'm feeling right now, but as I sort them out, I know that things will be fine. But for now, I am falling into the trap of shutting down, isolating myself and basically being unavailable. Thankfully, I have the old fallback of work--and there is plenty of it to do. I will bury myself in work and travel and exploring new things in new places to keep my mind focused on what is in my control, and not focused on what is over and done.

It hurts like hell, but soon, the pain will pass. I know that from experience.

Non-smoker's Journey

2010-07-07T02:09:00.003-04:00

Okay, for anyone still following along in this little corner of the interwebs, it's just now approaching 2:30am on Wednesday, July 7th. That also means (24 + 7) 31 hours without a cigarette. The withdrawal symptom I most feared has not happened: irritability. I have remained as happy as ever, as far as I can tell. (Have I snapped at YOU? Lol.)

Other symptoms of withdrawal, some surprising to me, have happened. Fitful sleep, which I've always had, but now just seems even more pronounced. Sort of like a car that needed new shocks, but now also has flat tires. But at night #2, I am resisting ANY sort of meds. No Ambien, no Lunesta; no Valium, no Xanax, no Ativan (in fact, nothing from the benzodiazapine family). I'd rather suffer the symptoms as my body detoxifies, at least from the nicotine. The success rate for quitting Heroin is twice as high as the success rate for quitting cigarette smoking. This will soon be a real feather in my cap!

Indigestion like crazy. I must have been eating Pepcid like candy today. But I just took a Pepcid Complete to help get me through the night. So, correction to the above paragraph: one med to help get me through the night.

Another withdrawal symptom: inability to focus. An expense report this morning had errors in 3 separate line items. That has NEVER happened to me. First one was an error in calculating mileage; second was an error in which I entered a subtotal rather than a total from a receipt. The third was an error where I mis-calculated tolls from the RFK Bridge (formerly known as the Triboro Bridge). Now, in spite of these errors, I can, at nearly 2:30am, recall them clearly. I can also tell you that taking all three of these errors into consideration, my expense report was still only eight cents from what the correct amount is.

A little bit of light-headedness is also striking me from time-to-time, but cigarettes also did that, so no big deal.

I think of having a cigarette periodically, but I am not dwelling on it. That pleases me.

A higher energy level is something else I'm feeling. I kept thinking of productive things to do today after work. Among those "productive" things was addressing another symptom of withdrawal: sky-high libido. Nowhere in the literature that I have seen is increased libido a symptom of nicotine withdrawal. I think I remember reading somewhere that smoking suppresses the libido. If that's the case, DAMN. Forget saltpeter in prison--give 'em nicotine. I had to "take matters into my own hands" more than once after work today.

My personal history is full of instances of over-analyzing things. That has also become more noticeable to me. Things between the Good Nurse and me ended many months ago. I had decided to hide myself away in work, and in so doing, hide myself away from the world so that dating ever again would not be something necessary for me to face. I had it all worked out. My need for social activities could be satisfied by the occasional vist to the Web for Saturday night karaoke, at which there is rarely more than 6 people, anyway. No risk of "falling" for someone. My need for time on the beach or time in the mountains could easily be married with my work travel. But then something strange happened. Someone I met during basketball several years back invited me to pop by a place called the Cage in Hoboken, NJ, for karaoke the last Friday of May this year. There I became reacquainted with another basketball mate whom I remembered, but who did not remember me. (Subsequent to this meeting, I even proved to him I remembered him by correctly telling him the color jersey he wore when our teams played each other.) So, cut to today. We have spent some time together. And, as par for me, I am over-analyzing every-damn-thing. And it's even crazier in my head with nicotine withdrawal. If the basketball mate doesn't disappear during nicotine withdrawal, maybe there's hope yet. The weirdest part, though? While ethnically, the Good Nurse and Basketball Mate are very, very different, their parents come from the same general area. Same area as the Marcos' in the Philippines. And, they both are related to the Marcos,' meaning that they might be related to each other. Now try not to over-analyze that my friend, and then we can talk.

I suppose that's about it for right now. As a reminder, this is my blog, written by me, for me. You are merely being allowed a glance at what I write. So if you don't like this, move along. If you are a friend or loved one, your input is welcome. :-)

You Read it Here First

2010-06-24T11:15:00.002-04:00

Just over a year ago, I wrote about the idiocy of GM closing so many dealerships, among other observations.

Well, guess what: GM is now RE-OPENING many of those dealerships. The world would be such a better place if everyone would just listen to me and submit to my will.

Next note to GM: it is a dumbass move to "re-brand" Chevy as Chevrolet. "Chevy" is cool, and hip, and shows up in songs. "Chevrolet" conjures of images of those cheese-eating, yellow-bellied Frenchies. It will also hurt people in less-literary areas. They might confuse "Chevrolet" with "Charolais," a breed of cattle.

So, this time, you have a chance, once again, to listen to me and not be stupid: do not try to eliminate "Chevy" from the vernacular of your customers. Why? Because the customer is (almost) always right! And this, time, the evidence is clear. Who wants to drive his Chevrolet to the levy?

2011 Prediction

2010-06-22T07:36:00.002-04:00

During my short life, I have always heard the rants of anti-incumbency. But already in the primaries, we are seeing that people are actually acting on it this year! This spells trouble for the Republicans, and my prediction is that Mitch McConnell will lose his post as party leader in the Senate when the next Congress convenes. (A no-name candidate under indictment won a primary in North Carolina last month, you might remember.)

The Republicans will be the party to suffer because they are being split by the "Tea Partiers." The blame will fall directly on McConnell, Kentucky's senior senator. Right where it belongs with his "sky is falling" rhetoric every Sunday on the news show circuit.

Beyond that, this nation is experiencing a change in political climate that is impossible to predict. But can getting McConnell out of our faces really be a bad thing?

A Post Only for Documentation

2010-06-21T03:43:00.003-04:00

It's 3:45am or so as I write now. If you enjoy this, great! If not, that's fine by me. I'm writing only for me as I want to remember a couple of crazy dreams just finished right before I awoke to take a whizz...

1. Stuck on a small boat, trying to get from the hotel of a resort back to the "mainland" to catch an airplane somewhere. Along with some family members, including my mother and my brother are at least one member of the New York Knicks (Danilo Gallinari), Tommy Lee Jones, and Johnny Cash. I'm trying to speak with Johnny Cash, but can't get a word in over the other passengers.

2. I am working for the city of New York and on my lunch break, I get a parking ticket. A reporter for the New York Times sees this and decides that unless I sign some document, he's going to put in the paper that a city employee was spotted at a Manhattan gay bar. (As though THAT would be news...)

3. While touring the White House, I am confused by the labyrinthine doors and find a bedroom housing an elderly woman watching TV and welcoming all the tourists (more like Graceland than the White House). Her room is all pink or mauve or something, with white, very deep-pile carpet--probably shag. (Again, more like Graceland than the White House.) She is sitting up in the bed holding the remote and happy as can be. Next, I find myself on a terrace bar, clearly for the use of the Secret Service, because the only ones there are all wearing those Secret Service earpieces and enjoying a brewski. But, the weird thing is that they are all hippie-appearing. Long hair and such.

4. Next, back in Kentucky working on somebody's farm. Lunch is served (dinner is what it's called on the farm). I chow down on all the good food set out on the table and then see that there was also pizza after I'm already full. So I snag a slice of sausage and pepperoni for later.

REMEMBER: NONE OF THESE THINGS HAPPENED. THESE ARE ONLY DREAMS.

Not being a dream interpreter, I have no idea what these mean. But if I read this again fully conscious, I might make some sense of it. And, finally, I post it here only because I don't have a notebook and pen handy. Laugh, cry, ignore or stare expressionless if you happen across this post. Just remember, as I quote my favorite Tommy Lee Jones line from "The Fugitive," when Harrison Ford tells Tommy Lee Jones that he didn't kill his wife and jumps from the spillway pipe of a dam: I DON'T CARE!

A Fly-Fishing Picture that Didn't Make Facebook

2010-06-20T21:44:00.003-04:00

This is my fly-fishing instructor, who is an expert in the field. In fact, he had asked me not to use his image on Facebook because his likeness and words are commercial properties that hold real, honest-to-goodness, financial value to him. I have respected his wishes on Facebook, but among the 3 or 4 readers of this blog, I wanted to let you know that "Jack" (not his real name) is one of the finest fellas that makes his home in central PA and there is no better, more professional, more patient or more skilled of a fly-fisherman one can be blessed to have as a teacher than "Jack." He is a world-renowned expert, best-selling author, industry-leading editor, award-winning photographer, and championship competitor. Sometime, come down to this area of PA, and I will introduce you to this giant in the field of fly-fishing. (And since he knows nothing about this blog, I can confess to you how delightfully cute it is that every Wednesday night, he has a "play-date" with his young daughter. If I ever were to be a dad, I want want to be a dad like "Jack.")

"Jack" is studying the water for some pre-fishing recon.

Another Father's Day Come and Gone

2010-06-20T21:02:00.003-04:00

Dusk is settling upon the little hamlet in central PA that is my part-time home. My grand plans for this Father's Day were insignificant. I am reading three books right now, a fantasy title from my friend Chris Evans, a book on preparing to hike the AT, and a very academic tome on Truman and MacArthur. All of these are enjoyable, but I spent $6.98 at a bookstore yesterday to pick up a remaindered copy of a Patricia Cornwell novel so that I could enjoy the best of escapist fiction. I had decided that when it cooled off this afternoon, I would enjoy this treat on the back deck with visions of a cool breeze dancing across the freshly cut grass dancing in my head. Well, it's cool enough now, but it's also too dark. To turn on a light would merely invite bugs to annoy me. And my way of dealing with annoying bugs while reading is to slam the book shut when one alights on a page. But I digress.

This Father's Day found me scrounging through my address book, looking for a doctor friend to help me with an attack of bleeding ulcer. Only once or twice a year does this happen now, because I have (mostly) learned what triggers these attacks: red wine, acetaminophen, jalapenos, uncooked strawberries, and a few other things. Usually, one of the over-the-counter meds can prevent an attack. But without prevention, an attack will cause me to double over in pain, the feeling akin to a knife sawing in and out of my abdomen. I can tell (believe it or not) when mere GERD becomes ulcerative and bleeding.

Alas, of the dozen or so MDs, DOs, PAs and ARNPs in my address book, none could I reach. I began my search for an UrgentCare center, the nearest of which is at Holy Spirit Hospital just a couple of miles from my Camp Hill location. Finally, an MD friend returned my call, made a call of his own to Rite-Aid and presto! Prev-Pak in my hands (Prevacid with an antibiotic). For you see, stomach ulcers are caused by bacteria, but can be triggered by certain foods. In the end, my new vision of a peaceful, easy evening will be a peaceful, easy evening in the digestive track. So far, so good.

But back to Father's Day. I couldn't help but wonder if Father's Day might also be a trigger for the attack of the tummy, in the psychosomatic sense. When I started running around doing errands this morning, every damn station on the radio was playing songs related to "daddies" or "fathers" or whatever bullshit. The lady at Arby's wished me a wonderful "Father's Day." I looked at Facebook for a little bit and Father's Day wishes abounded. Finally, my PA landlord asked me something innocuous about Father's Day. Then I started figuring. I'm not exactly sure, but my best guess is that it's been 15 years since I've seen the excuse for a man who was married to my mother for 30+ years. My mother, my brother and I all still can show the scars on our bodies and tell of the scars on our hearts that came from the hands and screams of henry.

I may have said it before, but I have a step-mother I've never met, along with two step-brothers. Since my mother left my father, he has been in and out of jail, along with his new wife, been kicked out of church for having two living wives, decided to start preaching in an attempt to make an end-run around that, and become more of a thorn because I sometimes feel guilty in my mind, thinking there must have been something that I could have done, or should have done, that would have changed everything!

In a cruel twist of irony, henry once promised me a trip to visit Gettysburg. I was scheduled to deliver the "Gettysburg Address" during a school play in 2nd grade. Rather than just read it, henry encouraged me to memorize it. I love a challenge! So, there I was, timid, young feller of 7, reciting words I didn't know to entertain a hometown crowd. Here it is 2010 now, and that is one more disappointment in henry (the emotional pains are much deeper and longer-lasting than the physical pains). The irony? I spend a lot of time within spitting distance of Gettysburg. I still want to go, even though it's now 32 years later. And one of these days I will go. But I won't go alone. I'm going to drag along an honest-to-goodness loved one! (Salve for the soul!)

And then it dawned on me that so many of my loved ones have lost their fathers to the next life, like my PA landlord. I merely have lost my father to this life. That helps the self-pity a bit, because at least I have a choice. Those who lose their fathers to death didn't have a choice. Their fathers were stolen. My heart hurts for them. I can't honestly say that it hurts more for them, because I will never know that pain--only mine. But I'm reasonably sure that some of that pain must overlap. For that, I share your sorrow, and tomorrow, this "Hallmark Holiday" will once again fade into the background for another year. Giving me the time to forget the bad times, and my loved ones time to remember the good times.

While wailing in tummy pain today, I did get a little dewey-eyed. But I didn't cry. I made up my mind a couple of years ago that never again will anyone ever see me cry, and I've been mostly successful at that. I'm getting even better with each passing day. The best way to avoid letting someone see you cry is to make sure you never cry. One more item on the list of self improvement that I soon will be able to mark as "complete."

The Beginning of the End

2010-06-06T21:31:00.004-04:00

It's 9:30 here in these eastern United States as I write this. In just under 2.5 hours, I will reach the ripe age of 39. And I'm not happy about it. Although it does beat the alternative...

Being stuck tonight in central Pennsylvania, many miles from loved ones is heartbreaking to me. I can think of many things I would happily sacrifice to share a hug right now with someone who has a piece of my heart. I'm sure that tomorrow when I awaken, I will feel much better, as it is promised in the Bible. But until then, I will depend on the kindness of sleep--if it will come--and the superficial escapism of reading a joyful book to take my mind away from my self-pity.

I don't believe I am interested in spending much more time in central PA. My employer's headquarters is here and I love my job, but what price happiness? I will gang warily until I get inspiration for what to do next. For now, it is up to me to bite the bullet and to march strongly forward until the next new path reveals itself. One consolation is knowing that at least I'm not in Indianapolis (no offense, Mr. Sears).

New York's Senior Senator

2010-04-18T22:00:00.003-04:00

I'm all for Chuck Schumer's recent efforts to restrict carry-on fees that airlines might charge their passengers.

One point of advice for the senior senator, though: what you have facilitated is known as "collusion." Any agreements the airlines have made to you will be void if challenged in court, assuming whichever court might hear a claim follows the law.

Is there some sort of legislative immunity senators have to allow them to broker illegal deals?

RESPECT

2010-04-12T15:01:00.002-04:00

Regardless of the lable, Democrat or Republican; conservative or liberal, holding federal elective office does not entitle you to respect. For those of us with even a remotely vague grasp of U.S. history, we allow you a modicum of "courtesy," not unlike that afforded to winners of beauty pageants. For elected, federal officials have not accomplished anything more substantive than winning a popularity contest, as has a "Ms. Oregon" or "Ms. Arizona," or any other title-holder of that sort.

This rather lengthy preamble serves as notice that I hereby charge with TREASON any member of the U.S. Senate or House of Representatives who has not actively pursued equal rights for female warriors who suffer combat injuries, and are forbidden from being classified as "combat" veterans.

Women are fighting and dying for this country in forward combat positions. They receive no recognition for their heroism, by law. Upon their return to these United States, they are denied medical treatments related to combat, and available for their male counterparts--for lack of a penis.

No longer will I use the honorific of "Senator" for someone like Mitch McConnell who allows this travesty. Further, because of this malfeasance and treason, and that of his colleagues who fail to treat our Women Warriors as equal to the males alongside them who serve this nation, McConnell and his ilk don't have enough regard from me to apply even "sir" or "ma'am" or "Mister" or "Miss." Were I to see McConnell tomorrow, if I ventured to address him, it would be as "Mitch." Or something that rhymes with that. Were I to see Harry Reid, it would be "Harry," or maybe even, "Hey, you."

Sure, there is opportunity for these criminals to mend their ways and do what is right. In fact, it is incumbent upon them to do what is right in order to comply with their oath of office--you know, the one where they promise to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States. If and when that happens, I will revisit my beliefs and determine for me if they have earned enough respect to be addressed by a title as lofty as "Senator" once was.

Momma Gets Her First Text Message

2010-02-25T10:37:00.002-05:00

Early this morning, Momma got her first text message. She told me about it in a phone call a short while ago. At first, she heard a "beep." She ignored it. Then, another "beep." Since her puppy dog, Jose Cuervo, hates "beeping" noises, he promptly hid under the bed. Momma figured it must be the "battery low" alert in one of the smoke detectors. So she went to the one nearest her bed and took out the battery in the smoke detector. Back under the covers once again, she soon hears another "beep."

This time, she goes to the 2nd nearest smoke alarm and removes the battery. Then, another "beep." This takes her to the third-and final-smoke alarm in her house. From which she promptly removes the battery.

Finally, in bed once again, and tucked in for a couple more hours of sleep, another "beep." Then, and only then, does she notice the light flashing on her cell phone. My brother had texted her. The text informed her that he has now successfully lost 15 pounds on the no-carb diet.

Now she feels compelled to reply. But she doesn't know how. Her success in reply resulted in nothing more than this: GI.

She has promised to get in touch with her grandson, Jake, to learn this newfangled texting technology. But first, she has the chore of putting batteries back in all the smoke detectors and getting them back on the wall. Why did brother text instead of call? Well, he was working a 7pm to 7am shift over at the adult-diaper factory and didn't want to wake her. He won't make that mistake again, I'm really quite sure.

Corporate Speak/Consultant Speak

2010-01-03T23:45:00.004-05:00

I remember reading or hearing in a newscast about some people somewhere deciding what words were overused in 2009 and should be banished from the English language (e.g, apps, Obamanomics, etc.). I'm gonna do 'em one better. Here is a list of words/expressions resulting from what can best be called "Consultant Speak" or "Corporate Speak" and cover the past DECADE, and should be banished, IMHO.

1. REACH OUT-as in, why don't you reach out to the client and determine the immediate need.

2. MY CONCERN IS-as in, my concern is that the revenue won't meet the ROI. (ROI=return on investment)

3. PROACTIVE-as in, let's be proactive...this one is redundant. We are either active or reactive.

4. CHALLENGES-as in, one of our challenges is that the product is late. Call it what it is: a problem.

5. OPPORTUNITIES-synonymous with #4. An "opportunity" is a problem. It differs from "challenge" in that a solution is chronologically closer.

6. PULL TOGETHER-as in, will you pull together the data on the XYZ project?

7. CIRCLE BACK/CLOSE THE LOOP-instead, why not just say, "let's finish this now."

8. INCENTIVIZE-come on now, this isn't even a real word. When people say this, what they mean is, "let's manipulate the situation to get what we want."

My list is not exhaustive, so now add yours!

Why The Best Ideas Won't See the Light of Day

2010-01-02T23:11:00.002-05:00

I write here with the United States on my mind. And while I haven't completely finished my thought process, here are a couple of the best ideas my simple mind can grasp and a little commentary on them.

THE PUBLIC OPTION-I know that "big insurance" and "big medicine" are against what is being called the "public option" in President Obama's efforts to reform health care in this nation. And I know why--it's all about the money they fear losing. Personally, I don't believe we need a new public option. At least 51 already exist in the form of Medicare/Medicaid. Rather than create a new governmental agency to develop a public option, it makes sense to me that the more efficient way of providing the "public option" is to let the federal government just funnel money to each state and let the states administer any "public options." They already have the infrastructure in place. They are, ahem, shovel-ready to provide a "public option." Even more important to note in identifying the efficiencies of state-administered health service is this term: reasonable and customary. That term describes the amount insurance companies base their payments to health-care providers. If you choose a provider whose rates are significantly above what similar providers charge in the same area, then you pay the extra cost. This is important because what is "reasonable and customary" in, for example, Huntsville, Alabama, is going to be far different that what is "reasonable and customary" in Manhattan. On a recent visit to Kentucky, I visited a general practitioner who does not participate in my health insurance. So I payed 100% of the bill myself. It was $40. Here in Manhattan, a visit to a GP or internist is at least $100--and that's for the cheap ones. So, in summary, the easiest and most efficient way to provide a "public option" is to use what is working already and fund it. Am I missing anything important with this argument?

FLAT TAX-A second great idea is not mine, but I am a fan of its goal: the flat tax. Pick a percentage, and the economists can determine what percentage works, and tax EVERYONE'S income (all income) at that level. Salary, capital gains, inheritance, lottery winnings, interest income, gifts--all income, one percentage. But it will never happen. Why not? Well, first of all, the IRS would have to fire a lot of people. Companies like H&R Block would have to close. Many, many CPA's would have to find new careers. But, oh how efficient that would be. Automatic deduction of 10% from any money you receive (just a percentage used as an example) from anyone. No more rushing to the post office on April 15. No more quarterly filings for the self-employed. No more hours of pouring over receipts and trying to determine what is deductible and what is not. Indeed, a great idea--but a political "third rail."

POSTAL SERVICE-As a bonus, here is a third great idea. Again, not mine, but well overdue: no regular postal delivery on Saturday. Liberals and Conservatives both should be jumping all over this! Why? Well, first of all, reduced FTE's (full-time equivalent; a measurement of payroll expenses). Secondly, it helps the environment by having 52 additional days a year without postal vehicles polluting the air. (Rural areas still have mail carriers driving from mailbox to mailbox.) And finally, if you absolutely must have something on Saturday, the Postal Service can arrange for pick-up at your nearest post office or charge a premium for Saturday delivery--like the private sector! (As an aside, Social Security checks never get scheduled for Saturday delivery. They are due to recipients on the 3rd day of the month. If the 3rd falls on a Saturday, the checks are scheduled to arrive on the Friday before. Isn't that amazing?) All great ideas for putting the Postal Service back in the black.

Okay, I have shared enough of my brilliance for now. I will give you a chance to digest this and I will expound again in a few days. Enjoy!

It's Gonna Get Worse Before It Gets Better

2009-12-28T15:02:00.002-05:00

Folks, think about it for a few minutes. Another inept "terrorist" attempts to bring down a US aircraft, above one of the densest populations of Muslims in the United States. Al Queda is claiming credit now. Their funding and recruitment must be suffering terribly.

And speaking of funding, where does it come from? It comes from the US, China, Russia, western Europe and all other countries who are engaged in economic relationships with countries like Saudi Arabia and others flush with oil.

All the while, industrialized nations are seeking (and finding) alternative sources of fuel, more-efficient use of oil/gasoline, and operating smarter in general. This means that funding will become even more difficult for terrorist organizations that operate from places like the Middle East.

President Obama is right in his move to increase troop levels in Afghanistan. The other major source of funding for extremists is the trade in harmful drugs coming from that nation which has a major leadership vacuum. Had the prior occupant of the oval office, along with his cronies, pursued bin Laden rather than going after the "man who shot (at) my Daddy," things might be different now. Maybe not, but maybe.

Iran, Iraq, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, UAE and others will begin swinging back to being countries with falling income and anarchy will break out. I believe this will happen in the lifespans of most people reading this post.

Now is not the time to be timid or complacent. The US must continue on its path to wean itself from dependence on foreign oil. The US must maintain a strong military. The US must drop silly rules that punish females who find themselves in combat and eject homosexuals for who they love.

Yes, things will get worse. As the oil-rich nations see wealth slipping through their fingers like sand, their desperation will turn even US allies into mercurial dictatorships hell-bent on holding on to anything possible to preserve a way of life to which they have become accustomed.

Keep the military strong. Keep working on oil alternatives. Let the terrorists kill each other, and let Allah sort them out.

The Fallacy of Global Warming

2009-09-10T13:55:00.003-04:00

Just in case you continue to scratch your head over Al Gore's incoherent ramblings about global warming, here is some real science that can help: Milankovitch cycles.

Now, I'm all for being a good steward of our environment. Reducing pollution, reducing waste, reducing consumption; all of those are things we should consider for our basic health and the health of other creatures with whom we share this planet.

However, fearing that cows in Argentina who fart to much or getting hairspray from an aerosol can will destroy our climate just does not pass the smell test, no pun intended

Again, reducing harmful chemicals from the air we breath is a good and noble and desirable goal. But forces far beyond our control will determine whether our climate warms or cools. Maybe this is why Al Gore doesn't hesitate to fire up a private jet when he goes to receive an award from some starstruck organization.

Little Car, Little(r) Me

2009-09-01T11:24:00.003-04:00

It's been said that New York City is a town of functional alcoholics (who said it I don't know). While I don't think of myself as an alcoholic, I certainly more than met my quota of happy hours being in the city during the week.

That has changed. Dramatically.

You see, now that I am spending my weekdays away from the city, I am driving. And as I have gotten older, I am more cognizant of the risks of hurting someone else if I enjoy happy hour and then get behind the wheel. (It's usually the innocent people who get badly hurt or die and the drunk driver who walks away from accidents like this.) I could not live with myself if I were to hurt someone while driving impaired. Not to mention the risks of getting arrested for DUI.

But something odd has happened as I recently realized that days without a drink have turned into weeks without a drink. I have lost almost 20 pounds. I didn't realize just how many calories that alcohol was adding to my diet. That's the only thing it could be, since I passed my pre-employment physical with flying colors (well, almost--have a hernia that has to be repaired). Oh, and suddenly I am finding that cash doesn't escape my wallet as frequently.

So now I am the proud owner of a tiny car that gets wonderful gas mileage. And I suppose the loss of weight will help my health. Except now I have to buy some new belts.

One negative to the reduction of alcohol from my diet: trouble sleeping. I have suffered from insomnia from time-to-time in my life. Alcohol, as a central nervous system depressant, will help people sleep. Since alcohol has been mostly eliminated from my social life, the insomnia has gotten worse. So the doctor gave me a prescription to help me sleep. But this particular prescription causes something akin to sleep-walking. For me, it is sleep dialing, which I suppose is not unlike drunk dialing. But I don't remember when I make calls. Nothing weird, or ugly or obnoxious, from what I can tell; rather making plans and not remembering them. Or calling the Good Nurse to ask him to bring me a cheeseburger, when he is 200 miles away. But I found a solution. I hide my phone in a shoe under the bed. Since I have done that, no more sleep-dialing. Others who take this medicine have reported sleep-driving or worse. Thankfully, that hasn't happened to me.

But for now, I will suffer this minor side-effect since I have found a solution to my particular issue. And if I should call you at some weird hour and ask you why in the world John McCain ever selected Sarah Palin as a running mate, you can just hang up on me. I won't remember it anyway.

Yeah, I'd Recruit Him

2009-07-28T07:26:00.011-04:00

To Win Games, UT Must First Win Recruiting Battles

In fact, he would be at the top of my recruiting list!

Professor Gates

2009-07-27T13:39:00.002-04:00

After all the hoopla over Professor Gates being arrested in Cambridge a few days back, I was reminded of a story that Ron White, a famous Texas comedian, has told.

Seems that Mr. White was stopped by the police on suspicion of drunk driving. He accused them of profiling. Turns out he was right: they were stopping everyone that night who was driving on the sidewalk.

Maybe it's the same with that cop up in Cambridge. Perhaps he had made up his mind to stop everyone who he believed was breaking into a house.

As for me, if I am breaking into my own house, I would be damn pleased for a peace officer to stop me and question me and ask me for my identification. Just as the other night, I attempted to use my ATM card and it wouldn't work. I called the bank, they asked me to verify a few things, and all was well. It seemed that I had a pattern the past few days that suggested possible fraud. Sure, it was an annoyance--but much LESS of an annoyance than finding out some thief absconded with the last few dollars I have to my name. Perspectives do change, folks. They surely do.

Visit From a Feathered Friend

2009-07-24T11:27:00.005-04:00

Who knew I would become such a fan of Gabby (short for Gabriel), who was rescued from some fate unknown to me and nursed back to the healthy owl he is today? And who knew an owl would have so much personality? Gabby is a ham and loves attention. Like me, he is nocturnal by nature yet still appears by day as required for work. For more on rescuing animals, visit the website of Red Creek Wildlife Center.

Day 8 Now Complete

2009-07-18T09:24:00.004-04:00

I have now finished over 1.5 weeks with my new employer. The Good Nurse did not believe that my office is bigger than the bedroom in East Harlem. It's not because I'm anything special. I suspect it's because the price of real estate in suburban PA is such that extra space is not anything special. As well, I found a neat book cover I thought that The Good Nurse would find especially funny, which is below. Here are some pics because I am too pooped to type much more.

The world as I see it from the desk where I sit.

The world as people see it who enter the office.

Among book publishers, it is common to sell licenses (call "rights") to publish books to publishers in other countries. I found this one on display in the office. Honest to goodness, I still have no earthly idea what appeal a book about the Amish in a town in Pennsylvania has to people in any Asian-language-speaking country. Yet, a publisher in Asia bought the rights and published the book! I don't know what language it is, but I thought The Good Nurse would find it entertaining.

Paying Income Taxes Once Again

2009-07-12T17:35:00.004-04:00

Last Wednesday, I began a new job. The headquarters for my new company is near Harrisburg, PA. So every Monday morning, I get up at 4am in order to hit the road by 5am to arrive at the office before 8am. As long as the weather is beautiful, it is a joyful drive that gives me time for reflection and observation and solitude that rejuvenates me. For now, I am renting a room just a couple of miles from the office. By Friday afternoon, I try to be out of the office by 4pm and head back to NYC. That seems to be a pretty good time to avoid the biggest traffic headaches and can put me in East Harlem by 7ish. My new employer is a privately-owned publishing company which publishes some wonderful books I am proud to sell. The scary part? My office at the company's headquarters is larger than my bedroom in NYC. Seriously. The company has a NYC-based editor with whom I spoke on Friday afternoon. We both laughed about that, and how the people in central PA can't comprehend the concept.

I don't expect to be multi-state-resident forever. But this company is one where the people are both nice and professional and highly-skilled. This is a tough situation, but these are tough times. The Good Nurse and I are willing to make this sacrifice for near-term. The next chore for me is to buy a vehicle. Something cheap and reliable. Just enough to make the 200-mile journey twice weekly. Of course, some weeks will find me home-based in NYC as I see my clients in this area and to travel to see clients across the USA. Because, let's face it, LGA and JFK have far better flight options than the Harrisburg, PA, airport.

If you ever find yourself in the greater-Harrisburg area, and want to buy me a meal, holla!

Reviews and Such

2009-07-03T13:01:00.004-04:00

Well, I promised a review of the new Sonic Drive In near Teterboro airport. Note that when the Good Nurse and I ate there, it was day 6 of operation. In spite of being open less than a week, it earned a grade of A-minus. Impressive! I had a bacon-cheeseburger, onion rings and sweet tea. The Good Nurse had chili-cheese tater tots, a hamburger and diet-Coke. It tasted as good as I remember having back in Scottsville, Kentucky, as a child. The only reason that they earned the "minus" in their grade was because the beef in my burger was only luke-warm. A hot burger is important! The Good Nurse allowed that his burger was hot and as delicious as he was expecting.

The good:
-sweet tea was perfect. Just like Mom's!
-chili-cheese tater tots are addictive and served perfectly.
-service was friendly and they even sent around a person to check on every car to make sure everything was good. He carried around a condiments tray, too! Very thoughtful.

I believe the luke-warm burger was due to the sheer volume they were hosting that day. It was truly a busy place. But we will be back. I had to address the hesitations of Marc and Jess, two of my favorite people and also Sonic veterans. You fellas should give this Sonic a shot! As promised, below are some pictures of the adventure.

Me. The afterglow.

The Good Nurse in eager anticipation.

I think I was the only anglo visitor on this day.

A business just before the Sonic entrance. A sign they have been busy!

Finally, two other quick reviews--or consider them warnings.

LAND OF THE LOST: without a doubt, the worst movie I can ever remember seeing. The acting wasn't bad. In fact, some of it was pretty damn good. But whatever committee wrote this film dropped the ball and never found it. It ruined the film. I will never get back that 97 minutes.

HAWTHORNE: again, I can't fault the acting, for the most part. But for a drama, this is about as believable as George W. Bush becoming a Rhodes Scholar. I speculate that Will Smith must have told TNT to give his wife (Jada Pinckett-Smith) a series or they could never show his movies again. How else would this waste of celluloid wind up on television? When I say that I couldn't fault the acting, for the most part, Pinckett-Smith is the weak link. She may not be a bad actor, but this is not the right vehicle for her. Believable? Imagine a nurse (even a head nurse) telling off the Chief of Surgery at a major hospital. Her job would last no longer than I expect this series to last.

I hate to end two with two reviews that are so very negative. So I will add a positive. "The Closer" is one of the finest series ever and I am delighted and excited to watch it every chance I get. You should watch it, too! The writing, the acting, the cinematography...THIS is what good television drama is all about.

Happy Independence Day!

Is She Really Going Out With Him?

2009-06-26T06:23:00.003-04:00

Guilty pleasures....I've had a few....but too few to mention. Oh, what the hell. I can mention a couple of guilty pleasures currently on my radar:

1. The new show on MTV called "Is She Really Going Out With Him?" If you are a reasonably mature adult, with even a hint of a sense of humor, you will chuckle a lot and laugh out loud more than a little. DVR it, tape it, or something. Just watch it.

2. Sonic of Hasbrouck Heights, New Jersey. The Crazy Asian and I have big plans for a trip there today for lunch. It has been open almost a week, so things should be in good shape for our visit. I am so excited that I woke up at 5am this morning and I can't get it out of my mind. Now my stomach is growling in anticipation and I keep drinking water in the useless attempt to quell my stomach's excitement. All that does is make me go pee every few minutes. (Also, according to the map, the new Sonic is near Teterboro Airport, so maybe we can see some famous people. Or at least their aircraft.)

Full review--maybe with pictures--is promised in the coming days. Stay tuned. And remember, at Sonic, they don't start cooking till they hear from you!

Riddle Me This

2009-06-16T22:42:00.002-04:00

Question: how many Puerto Ricans does it take to have a festival in Spanish Harlem?

Answer: All of them. Or so it seems.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Question: are you more likely to be on TV if you describe the tornado as "sounding like a train"?

Answer: Yes. Or so it seems.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

David Letterman for President!

2009-06-15T22:25:00.003-04:00

David Letterman said it more clearly, more maturely and more truthfully than I thought it even could be said: the joke he told about Palin's daughter was a bad joke in every way imaginable. It was not really funny, it was in bad taste, and it was "coarse."

Most importantly, Letterman issued an apology that was unqualified, straightforward and strikes me as sincere. He didn't try to cover his ass by using phrases such as, "if anyone was offended..." Nope, none of that obtuse language so common when people in the public light realize they screwed up. Aside from the joke itself, Letterman has shown maturity FAR BEYOND any of the other people who are using this episode to advance their own, barely-veiled motives of greater public awareness. In fact, to me, the MOST obscene component of this fiasco is how people, like that dumbass Sarah Palin, are crashing down on Letterman in order to raise their public images--and thus their likelihood of winning some election down the road. Or getting more ratings on their dinky little talkshows, like this guy. Or this New York Assemblyman. How in the hell did either of them get a horse in this race?

I wasn't feeling particularly defensive of Letterman when this all happened. But his willingness to stand up, make his sincere apology, and take his lumps make him a much more advanced and wiser and (dare I say it?) better person than dumbass Sarah Palin or a New York Assemblyman or a LA-talk show host heading into his 5th or 6th week on the air. (Yeah, I know Sarah Palin hunts with guns. So do I. I know she is from a rural area. So am I. She is stupid. Oh...and that's where the similarities end.)

Letterman has a history of being edgy. Bully for him. It has made him a well-regarded and well-paid entertainer. And he didn't say this during "Dora the Explorer." He said it on late-night TV for crying out loud! It is time for the crybabies and publicity seekers to grow up. And to take another piece of advice I delight in giving: don't go away mad; just go away!

Fallacies from GM and Chrysler

2009-06-09T00:01:00.004-04:00

I've given a great deal of thought to, and studied about, GM and Chrysler's plans to close big percentages of their dealerships. And I have concluded that they will be shooting themselves in the foots. Here are some conclusions and how I reached them.

1. They are lying to Congress and the bankruptcy court by saying that the dealerships they are choosing to close are being selected by pure economics. A spokesperson at Chrysler has already stepped in doo-doo by admitting that other factors come into play. A Chrysler dealership in Tennessee is being closed, in part, because of its failure to invest in some sort of architectural feature that Chrysler wanted it to buy.

2. Fewer dealerships means less competition between dealers of the same brands, which means higher prices, which means fewer sales. Ford is positioned perfectly to profit from this situation. If I go to Chevrolet of East Harlem, for example, and price a new Silverado pickup in fire engine red, when I really want midnight blue, I couldn't go to Chevrolet of West Harlem to find out if they had midnight blue. Or even to price a different truck in fire engine red. But while driving back home, I might pass a Ford dealership that has a truck in red, blue, green, black and white. That leads perfectly into point #3!

3. Fewer dealerships means fewer outlets to place inventory. I realize that Chrysler and GM are planning to emerge from bankruptcy "leaner and meaner," but there will be fewer parking spots to put the new vehicles on display for consumers to see. That means lower unit sales. If UAW was really paying attention, they would see that down the road this means more furloughs. (By the way, automakers are required by law to sell to all dealers at the same price. It's called "antitrust" laws. So a higher price at the dealer does NOT mean higher revenue for the automaker.)

4. The automakers don't own the dealerships. They don't own the inventory; they don't own the real estate; they don't own the toilet paper; they don't own the service departments and they don't own the replacement parts. There is minimal investment on the automakers' parts. It usually takes the form of glossy booklets promoting their vehicles.

5. Fewer dealerships means fewer authorized service centers. When word gets out that when you call for an appointment to get an oil change and the first available time is 60 or 90 days away, consumers will be miffed. Don't doubt for a second that word will get out. That will result in fewer sales.

6. The dealers who remain will be forced to pay higher prices for automaker services. Remember, the automakers don't own the dealers. That means that when a salesperson or maintenance worker goes for training at an automaker's facility, the dealer pays for it. And based solely on economies of scale, dealers will pay more, causing their fixed prices to rise, causing higher sales prices, resulting in fewer sales.

I'm not smart enough to figure out the *real* reason that the two automakers want to close so many dealerships. I'm sure there are "problem children," and they should deal with those children. But claiming economic reasons for displacing so many workers is laughable. Even beyond displacing the workers at the dealerships, it is also bad business for the automakers in the long run. If I did know the *real* reason, I might look at the facts differently. As it stands, if I were in the market to buy a new vehicle in the next several months, I guarantee it would not be GM or Chrysler. Not because I worry about the vehicle quality but rather because it is just too damn inconvenient.

All Ducked Up

2009-06-08T00:31:00.003-04:00

Spring of 1964, Scottsville, Kentucky, in the days following Easter....

I don't know how the tradition began of giving the gift of ducks at Easter. As far back as I can remember, and up until my brother and I were into our teens, baby ducks were an annual arrival at our house. I seem to remember that the parents bought them at Marsh's Variety Store on the public square. Seems like they may have also gotten them at the feed store. For the life of me, I can't figure out how this honors the resurrection of our Lord and Savior. But the tradition goes back even further than my youth.

During a recent conversation with my mother, I was reminded of the story of how a suitor of hers in high school attempted to woo her with the gift of a duck. It was her senior year at Allen County-Scottsville High School. Danny Oliver (whom I do not know) gave her a duck for Easter. As well, her best friend Sherry also received a duck (from a different suitor). Their lockers were adjacent in the school building--just outside of Noble Allen's classroom. This would become the ducks' temporary homes. (When I attended the same school building, that classroom had become Joe Cornwell's--who, incidentally, graduated with Momma in 1964, and was a history teacher when I was a student there some 20-odd years later.)

Again, in the category of "why in the world," both Momma and Sherry decided to raise their ducklets in their lockers, as I have already mentioned. Momma remembers it being about 6 weeks before the odor of the ducks' natural biological waste products got to the point that the school's administration ordered that the "ducks be gone." Momma is a little hazy about what happened to Sherry's duck, but Momma took hers home and turned it out at Great-grandma's barn where it immediately took up with a family of piglets. To this day, Momma remains adamant in her claim that her duck came to think it was a pig. It would go to slop with the pigs, it would sleep with the pigs, it would swim with the pigs--as she tells it, the duck would have been a pig if only it had been able to generate bacon.

She doesn't really remember what happened to the duck. Livestock had a way of "disappearing" in the charge of Great-grandma. And by this time, Momma had gone off to college in Bowling Green. It would have been very easy for Great-grandma to devise a "disappearing act" for the duck. (Peking Duck? Duck a l'orange? Foie gras?)

I mention that the suitor was Danny Oliver. That was germane because she chose that name for the duck as well. Never the overly-creative or artistic type, I suppose this seemed sufficient to her for naming the duck. And eventually, I remember that Marsh's Variety Store stopped selling ducks. I think it must have had something to do with the fact that the baby ducks were on display near the entrance of the store, right next to the lunch counter. That couldn't have made the health inspector too happy--but nobody ever caught "duck flu" in Scottsville.

A Couple of Observations This Week

2009-05-23T17:24:00.003-04:00

1. Dick Cheney: will you please just go away. When you were "in office," nobody could find you. Now that you are out of office, nobody can escape you. You did enough to screw up this country and trample on the constitution while lining the pockets of your fat-cat buddies. So, shut up already. (And, just because you are trying to pitch a book to publishers is no cause for you to defend your shameful positions as VP.)

2. Kris Allen earned the title of American Idol. He won was because of a broad appeal to the voters in these United States. Adam Lambert didn't lose because he might be a homosexual. He didn't lose for lack of talent. He didn't lose because Clay Aiken doesn't like his version of "Ring of Fire." He came in second. He would have be the American Idol if he had broader appeal. What he does is brilliant. It is simply not some people's cup of tea. No one should take anything away from the delightful singer who is Kris Allen simply because he is a less theatrical guy who also happens to be modest, low-key and a seemingly, genuinely nice guy. And all he wants from life now is just a little more chest hair, LOL.

What the Hell is "Twitter"?

2009-05-10T23:30:00.003-04:00

I know it's "all the go" with the cool kids these days, but I confess that I have never twittered or tweatered or tweaked or twitted or whatever the right word is. In fact, I am not sure I even know anyone personally who uses twitter. I know that famous people use it. Oprah, Ashton, Anderson and other famous people whose names I don't recognize. I call them famous because they must be if news outlets name them as popular twitterers. Right?

I belong to Facebook. For me, that just about pushes the limits I have for narcissism.
Posted at 2:30pm by Angus. "Picked my nose. Not a significant booger found."
Posted at 2:33pm by Clive. "Scratched my ass. Still itching, though."
Posted at 2:37pm by Simon. "I like bottled water. But tap water is okay."

Do people's Facebook friends really care about this kind of crap? Maybe so. Read on.

It seems that the more mundane the post, the more responsive are the readers, as displayed by their subsequent comments on a given post. I have decided that it is easier for someone to respond to a inconsequential post on Facebook because it requires less thought. Flippant responses are easy and quick. Thoughtful responses to thoughtful posts require time and genuine effort. It's much easier to respond to a post a silly as "Picked my nose. Not a significant booger found." Something as easy as "dig deeper" is par for the course.

As for me, I haven't thought of anything worth posting in weeks. So I haven't. I am not awed enough with myself to post something for the sole reason of not having posted for a long time. I have uploaded a few pictures; this has been by request of Facebook friends who I haven't seen in real life in ages. (Even though my vanity DOES allow me to disagree with my brother's ex-fiancee when she said I look like Burt Reynolds. Ouch!)

But this is not a complaint about Facebook--just an observation about how I enjoy laughing at the minutiae of many of my friends who are also members there. I actually love Facebook and I really love catching up with people I haven't seen in ages and sincerely miss.

Regardless, this little blog allows me to push my own personal narcissism and ego to their limits. And that satisfies me enough.

Tuesday is road trip time! The Good Nurse and I are leaving Tuesday at 7pm for Kentucky. The Good Nurse will be returning to NYC after visiting God's Country for a few days. I am going to stay on for at least a couple of weeks, maybe longer. There are many family responsibilities to which I will be able to attend. And this visit also coincides with the opening of frog-hunting season. How convenient. If you happen to be in the area, let me know. We can find you a tractor and you can help get up some hay. Or you can help feed some horses. Or just do some plowing. Whatever is your favorite!

Playing the Religion Card

2009-05-07T13:14:00.003-04:00

Point of clarification for those people moaning at our President, who actually did them a favor (whether intentionally or not) by illustrating what the Bible says about prayer, as the United States marks another National Day of Prayer.

Of course, prayers in public places are not sinful, as Jesus and the Apostles prayed in public gatherings. However, there is a prescribed way--and it is in private, as you can read (in various translations) by clicking on the link above.

Just as Paul taught that being single is better than being married, it is still not a sin to be married (at least not the first time).

I can't stop myself from getting discouraged and disgusted when alleged leaders of churches rip out the wonderful love and unspeakable joy of God's word in order to elevate themselves in the eyes of the public at large. I also refuse to stop myself from calling them out, from this moment forward.

Six Shot Shacklett

2009-05-03T16:06:00.003-04:00

A mild, soap suppository was commonly used as a laxative in the rural areas of the south, and recently enough so that I can remember it. I guess whoever might need relief of this sort could grab a knife, head to the sink, slice off a piece of Ivory and, well, do what you do with a suppository. I can't remember if I personally was ever treated with this regimen. Even if I had been, it would not have prepared me for the highly educated and well lubricated finger of a Flight Surgeon who gave me the second flight physical of my life, way back in 1990. (I'm using the term "Flight Surgeon" generically here; his true role was FAA Designated Medical Examiner. He actually was a retired Navy Flight Surgeon.)

Dr. Shacklett had a modest little office on Memorial Drive in Murfreesboro, TN, spitting distance from MTSU's campus. He was known as "Six Shot Shacklett" because if you showed up there with any signs of an infection, he ordered you back for repeated injections of antibiotics. Thankfully, I remember only once visiting him for an infection: strep throat my first semester in college. (And this protocol of antibiotic treatment has since been discredited.)

It was natural, since I was already a patient, that he would be my choice of physician for replacing my medical certificate that expired the last day of August in 1990. As well, he was affordable and convenient.

Because I was already a patient, I had no reservation when he told me to, "pull my pants down, get on the exam table on all fours, and stick my butt way up in the air." In my mind, I figured he was just checking for a hernia in a different fashion. My back door had always been "exit only" until that hot, August morning. I didn't see it coming; I didn't imagine it coming; I was shocked when it did: an unseen digit of my doctor's hand ramming into my rectum at what felt like Mach 3.

I felt so confused and scared and speechless that I could manage no more than a "yes, sir" or "no, sir," in response to the rest of his questions and instructions.

Subsequent, discreet inquiries to people wiser than I allowed me to conclude that the good doc was examining my prostate. Perhaps ahead of his time, but still NOT REQUIRED for a flight physical candidate of my age--too young to drink, even!--and certainly not required for my class of flight physical exam.

At the tender age of 19, I knew already what I might enjoy in the sack. In none of my fantasies about the opposite gender did any of my secret desires involve *surprise!* penetration by the finger of a doctor old enough to be my grandfather. Sure, my fantasies were about the love that "dare not speak its name," mostly involving the fellas on Fraternity Row and on the intramural teams where I played basketball and softball and football, but I was in denial and I was still (shamefully and in vain) engaged in too-frequent sexcapades with females. (Oddly enough, I imagined that my heterosexual sexcapades might impress some of those fellas inhabiting my imagination. In retrospect, I now realize how my behavior would certainly have discouraged any fella who might be where I was on my journey, and who might be a much-welcome confidant. Unintended consequences and all that...)

My first willing and knowing experience with a guy was not to come for a few more years. But this experience with the doctor went way beyond anything that "dare not speak its name." All the way into the category of "WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?"

April 3, 1974

2009-05-02T13:35:00.002-04:00

My very, very first conscious memory came on April 3, 1974. That was the day that the United States experienced its most deadly series of tornadoes in history. From Michigan to the Gulf Coast, from the Midwest to New York state, the number of tornadoes that touched down was immense: at least 148. Many lives were lost; there was much damage.

Based on my memories, imprinted when I was some 34 months old, my mother, my brother and I were at home. It must have been around 4pm or 5pm in the day. Otherwise, I suspect my mother would have been at work and my brother would have been at school. But we were at home.

Many safety rules came from that day. Before that day, there were many myths about what to do when faced by a tornado. Clearly, we were not of the enlightned group, but Providence intervened.

My mother had decided that we were not safe at our home. In retrospect, it was one of the safer places we could have been that day. While we had no basement, we were protected by features of nature that left us in a "holler" of sorts where we could find cover from the tornado, if not the rains and such that came with it. But we could not leave because my mother couldn't find the car keys. She kept looking and kept looking. By the time they turned up, the clouds of death had moved on. I remember watching with my brother an actual funnel cloud far in the distance of where we were. We didn't know it at the time, but we learned later that the funnel cloud had become a tornado not far away and had taken the life of a neighbor lady.

Driving through the countryside in the days that followed, people saw all kinds of debris strewn in trees and on top of cars and even lodged in structures. We truly were blessed by the amazing disappearance of the car keys. I remember that the car was a Chevy Vega stationwagon. Momma called her "Betsy."

Just telling you about my limited memory would do a great disservice. As well, I take this opportunity to correct some common beliefs and misconceptions. And just educate in general.

1. Don't worry about opening your windows. The reason this is done is to equalize the pressure between indoors and outdoors. Doesn't matter. If a tornado has enough of a pressure variance to cause your dwelling to explode from the change in pressure, the tornado will be powerful enough to destroy your dwelling regardless.

2. It's not a tornado until it contacts the earth's surface. Before that, it is just a funnel cloud.

3. People who report seeing flocks of birds flying into or out of the tornado are really seeing debris being sucked into and blown out of the funnel cloud.

4. If you are in a car, try to outrun the storm. If you can't outrun it, because of traffic or other challenges, get as far away from highways as you can. Try to get into a culvert or the lowest place you can find. A basement or cellar is best, but that might be difficult to find. Real cars become like matchbox toys in a major storm.

5. Statistically, the "trailer homes" that many call "tornado magnets" are those homes that are not anchored to earth. It requires more than removing the wheels and slapping on a mailbox to make a trailer home secure, regardless of weather phenomena. But this is still not the best place to be.

6. Stay away from windows and doors, if you are inside a structure.

7. The best place to survive a tornado is in a cellar or basement. Always has been, always will be. Just ask Dorothy and her little doggie.

8. If you survive a serious tornado, rule number one is never, NEVER, try to light a candle or turn on a light switch. NEVER. While tornadoes have struck every hour of the day, they still are most common during daylight hours. You can make it without artificial light.

9. Tornadoes have struck every month of the year. They can again.

10. If a funnel cloud looks like it is standing still, that is a reliable sign that it is coming toward you. Take cover. This is not a hard-and-fast rule, but statistically reliable.

While the nation's worst storm in history came in the month of April, many states experience the most killer storms in May. Since we are now in the month of May, just over 25 years past the anniversary of the worst storm in history, it is a good time to prepare yourself. Don't just take my word for it. Check the experts' websites. May you never suffer the horror of watching a tornado take a life.

Now Is The Time

2009-04-30T00:01:00.002-04:00

It's time for the US to create some sort of amnesty for undocumented residents. Since Bush, Cheney and their buddies ran this country into the ground, the undocumented residents are probably looking at their situations and deciding that home is looking a lot better. But now we need them more than ever. And when I mention how Bush, Cheney and their buddies ran this country into the ground, I mean things like the trillions of dollars wasted in Iraq, including the money paid to DICK Cheney's old company. I mean things like the shameful failure to stop the Taliban. I mean things like such lax controls on big business that Big Money was able to prey on unsuspecting borrowers using usurious tactics. I mean things like so many people now suffering because health care is so out of reach of so many US residents. I mean things like the "big three" automakers going broke IN SPITE OF protectionist laws supported and passed by Bush, Cheney and their buddies. Yes, they passed these laws even though "foreign" automakers have employed tens of thousands of workers within these 50 states for decades! Nissan, Toyota, Honda, Subaru and others. Fighting unfair fights and still kicking the asses of the "big three."

Now lest I be confused as a liberal-come-lately, let's also place some blame on the people who borrowed more than they can afford. And let's place some blame on UAW for holding the "big three" hostage by driving costs so high with their terrorist tactics against the "big three" in the past. I guess the final summary will show that there is plenty of blame to go around.

Yet, the thesis remains the same: let's offer some sort of amnesty for the law-abiding undocumented residents so that they may begin contributing what citizens are contributing already. Namely, much needed tax money to help clean up the tons of shit left behind by Bush, DICK Cheney, and their buddies. That's a good start.

Next, let's figure out a solution to this Swine Flu thing that, for some reason, seems to be disproportionately striking Mexicans and Catholics. Why is that? I can't figure out the Mexican angle, but as for the Catholics, to use some of their own logic, is this God trying to tell them something? After all, Catholic church hierarchy was quick to proclaim that God was trying to tell gays something by sending down AIDS....and was trying to tell the US something when he sent down Katrina....and so on. I think you get the idea.

The Buster Boys

2009-04-28T23:36:00.003-04:00

They lived way back behind us. There were at least half-a-dozen of them Buster Boys, even though they weren't all "Buster" by birth.

Twice a year, they got their hairs cut. Always a flat top.

Earlier this week, I got a flat top. Only because the Good Nurse suggested it. Before my flat top, I had a long, shaggy mop with a beard of many weeks. I had disregarded my hair status only because it didn't matter. Then my favorite Brazilian said, "somebody said that you have let yourself go, girl." That was true. I had.

So now I am looking like a clean-cut marine. And my mind goes back to the Buster Boys. I hope now that I pay better attention to my personal hygiene.

Church in the Olden Days

2009-04-28T14:51:00.002-04:00

Many, many years ago, long before I was born, my grandfather got in a tussle at the family church. You see, back in those days, some menfolk went to church, but didn't go inside the church. They only went so they could take the womenfolk. Some of the menfolk would find themselves outside the church, gambling and drinking and such. My grandfather was one of the ruffians.

My Aunt Mary, who was already over 60 years old when I was born, told me this story. During one church service, there in the back yard was my grandfather. Gambling and drinking and such. The preacher made up his mind that the menfolk out back were making too much noise, interfering with the service. He decided to call them down. They took the chastisement just fine. At first. After some more of the alcohol kicked in, they decided that they had been insulted. So they called the preacher out, along with some of the deacons, and decided they were going to "whup them." They succeeded. I suppose that church ended for that day, but Aunt Mary never filled me in from that point, and she is now long gone.

***

Some years later, it came time for the church to build a new building. They needed a new location. My grandfather donated the land and lots of labor to build the new church. This must mean he was back in the good graces, as it were. My only reason for sharing this story is so that I may document it and come back to read it when I want to travel down the roads of history.

As far as I know, my name is still on the rolls of that church. I haven't attended in many, many years. I do know that the outhouses (his and hers) were replaced by indoor facilities in the 1980s. Maybe one day I will again visit. But right now, I can't see a situation where I would.

Let's Protect the Sanctity of Marriage

2009-04-19T15:43:00.003-04:00

Since so many of the "do-gooders" are so keen to pick up a Bible for use as a weapon, let's show them its full use.

Legislators: it is time for a law to protect us from those who would try to steal such a divine institution such as marriage and destroy it by using it in a way the Bible clearly does not condone--nay, in a way that the Bible clearly prohibits! To wit:

In Paul's letters to the church at Corinth, he says that a man shall have no more than one living wife. Therefore, I demand laws be passed everywhere in this great country to prohibit marriage by anyone who has divorced his spouse--as long as that spouse remains alive. We can't be picking and choosing which parts of the Bible we want to obey, right? That's what the religious wrong keeps telling us. So we can't just overlook THIS part. Right? Isn't that what we have been hearing?

Oh, but wait...so MANY of the people of the religious wrong ALREADY have multiple living spouses that this would be an unfair hardship, you say. Hmm. But what about the sanctity of marriage? Do we just forget our teachings?

Gee. I'm not so sure how this should play out. But before I sit down and let earthly people pepper this nation with confusion (which is authored by Satan) about whom I may or may not marry, my voice will loudly call out those who attempt to judge me while their own house is not in order.

A final thought: since some same-gender marriages have been nullified, as I understand it, that gives us open season to nullify all opposite-gender marriages that don't follow all of the requirements of the Bible to be valid. Right?

Yeah, all of this sounds really silly. I know. Don't they know?

Double Standard?

2009-04-13T11:22:00.002-04:00

Last night I fell asleep watching "truTV." The stories were forgettable, but something else really put a bug in my crawl.

It seems that truTV provides subtitles for people in the Southern United States, who speak their English clearly as can be. But when it goes to island residents in places like the Bahamas or Jamaica or other little, bitty places off the coast of Florida, there are no subtitles. And I can't understand a damn word they say. If I hadn't been on the cusp of sleep, I would have backed up the show on DVR, turned on the closed captioning and figured out what the hell they were trying to say.

Alas, all I know is that somebody was murdered on a golf course down there. truTV: why captions for people in Alabama, but not in foreign countries? Hmm?

Wisdom of Mommy

2009-03-31T14:18:00.002-04:00

Momma is headed to Maui on April 12th. I am working on getting her and her best friend, Zelda, upgraded on the Atlanta-Honolulu leg using points and miles and stuff. Our conversation this morning:

Mommy: I believe I might could get some sleep up there in them big seats.
Me: Yeah, they also have better food and hot hand-towels and other ways to spoil you.
Mommy: Really? What else do they have?
Me: Free drinks in First Class...
Mommy: I don't think I've ever had a drink on a airplane except for when I brought my own little bottles!

Look out Maui, here they come!

And, as an added bonus, Wisdom from a Filipina, but *not* the Good Nurse:

I love you more than my luggages!

Finally, Wisdom from yours truly:

When living in Spanish Harlem, it is *not* acceptable to refer to your neighbors as "all y'all Mexicans." In fact, Mexicans represent a small percentage of the population in Spanish Harlem. Just so you know.

Elizabethtown

2009-03-31T01:46:00.002-04:00

On a recent, rainy day, I took the opportunity to watch "Elizabethtown," a film ostensibly set in the town of the same name in Kentucky. Even though there were some errors of fact in the film (there is no 747 passenger service into the Louisville airport), it captured some typical Kentucky personalities really well!

It made me a little bit homesick.

A highlight of the film was the appearance of Paula Deen. Before the film, I didn't know that she was even in the cast. But she truly captured the essence of a Kentucky household matriarch.

The main character stayed in a Louisville hotel. It took me back to the high school years when there were conventions and such that almost always took place in the Galt House hotel in downtown Louisville. Beta Club was one of my favorites. Traveling on a big, yellow bus from Scottsville to Elizabethtown was some 14o miles but took at least 3-4 hours. Maybe this was before the speed limit went to 65 on I-65...

Yeah, I have always been a little sentimental. As the years pass, I seem to be getting more nostalgic and sentimental. Maybe it has something to do with advancing age; or the mental processing of the loss of all my grandparents; or maybe I have always been overly sensitive but managed to keep it better hidden. As I reflect, I seem to recall a conscious effort to suppress my feelings going back many years. The walls I had built were of the highest-quality construction. But recently I have worked to open up to loved ones--to tear down such strong walls. It has been a growing and learning experience for me, and rarely pleasant. Frequently, my metaphorical hand has been slapped. Logically, it seems that I should probably reinforce those walls rather than take them apart, to avoid the unpleasantness. But this is not an issue of what is logical.

It has been said that if we want to know what we dislike most about ourselves, look at the traits we find most annoying in others. Suppose the converse is also true. In that case, the things I like most about myself are compassion, kindness, humor, and intelligence. I like to think those qualities were developed in a small, Kentucky town. I know I learned them from people I love and I am thankful for loved ones today who reinforce those traits--even in a big place like New York City! But I still get a little homesick from time to time.

Go This Way!

2009-03-22T14:43:00.002-04:00

I don't know that I have made a commercial endorsement before--maybe I have, and just can't remember--but I want to make one now: QuickRX Pharmacy. (I would provide a hyperlink, but I can't find one. And as a disclosure, they may only be in Upper, Upper East Side of Manhattan.)

Recently, I have been counting my pennies. I haven't been out of my neighborhood in over a week--saving that darned subway charge. And the only money I have spent was treating myself to a McDonald's breakfast, for $3.25, yesterday. (When I get to be an old man, people will probably call me stingy because I lived through the big "fiasco" of aught-8 and aught-9.) But I digress...

After filling prescriptions at other ubiquitous pharmacy chains in NYC over the past 7 years, I happened across this tiny pharmacy at the 116th/Lexington Avenue 6-train stop in East Harlem. Prescriptions are their primary business--not hair gel or beer or greeting cards, like other places. And they have the most friendly people I have yet to encounter in NYC retail. I'm always greeted by name when I go in there. They always deliver when promised. And they always welcome me.

Most importantly, though, to me, in these economic times, is the fact that their retail prices are roughly half the prices of the largest national chain and the largest regional chain in NYC. Furthermore, their prices are less than what I found at online pharmacies!!!

Odds are my specific two prescriptions will not match yours. But if you are near a QuickRX pharmacy, it is important to your wallet to try them out. And if you are under a plan that pays 100% of your medicines, like a Crazy Asian I know, then it is important to try them out for their genuine kindness, and appreciation that you chose to take your business to them. (They even once let me take home a prescription free with my promise to return another day because their credit card machine was malfunctioning.)

That's all I have to say about that.

Always Remembered. Always

2009-03-12T03:50:00.003-04:00

Forgetting your birthday was the biggest sin in the Gospel According to Sean.
I still remember.
Do the angels in Heaven also consider a Yankee's cap to be "black tie"?
:-)
Happy Birthday!

(SPC on left, Ben in the middle, me on the right. Masquerade Ball 2000, Indianapolis, IN)

Riland

2009-02-28T16:12:00.002-05:00

Riland is an abbreviation of Riker's Island. Like Manhattan, Riker's is an island unto itself. Except there are no tourist attractions. My first visit to Riker's was earlier this week. Now I can add it to the other islands I have visited: Manhattan, Staten, St. John's, St. Bart's, St. Martin's, Island Home, Oahu, Hawaii, Amager, and others I just can't think of right now.

After working closely with another friend to secure the release of a third friend, I got the paperwork from the bail bondsman around 4pm. I then rushed home, jumped into the car, and headed to East Elmhurst, Queens. I parked in the designated parking area, which is about 2 miles from the "control center" of Riker's. One must catch a city bus from that point to enter the inner sanctum. It was during a visiting time, where friends and families may visit their loved ones who are incarcerated. The first bus was so crowded that I couldn't enter. Thankfully, the next bus was only a couple of minutes away. It was a chilly night.

Since I was there to retrieve someone, I asked a Corrections Officer where I should go. He told me to get in the line for visitors. Visitors are allowed no "contraband." This includes cell phones, tobacco of any kind, any medications, cameras, pagers, and various other things. They offer lockers at an investment of 50 cents, 25 of those cents are refunded when you return to retrieve your prohibited belongings. I tried many times to find lockers to store my cell phone. Those that were vacant were broken. That was probably the biggest frustration. After getting in line for the metal detector and personal-belongings-x-ray, I realized that I had forgotten to store a pack of cigarettes. I didn't want to lose my place in line. So I threw away a pack of cigarettes and a prohibited lighter in order to gain entrance. After waiting a couple of hours, I found out that I should go to another building. So I retrieved my belongings and headed to the correct building. Again, the same rules about contraband. So I had to re-store my belongings at the lockers, back at the first building.

After getting registered and getting a pass, I hopped on a shuttle bus to take me to a third building. Turns out that the embossing on the release slip from court was not sufficiently visible to the Corrections Officers. No joy on the release. I had to return it to the bail bondsman who would take it back to court. This added another couple of days to the project.

Friday, February 27th, I once again made the trek to Riland--so named, I understand, by those who are frequent visitors, on both sides of the bars. It was not a designated visiting time. So things moved much faster. Plus, I remembered to leave all prohibited items in the car. Both trips were an eye-opening experience. At dusk, Riland is a beautiful place where low-slung buildings do not obscure so much of the sky. Aside from the razor wire surrounding fences in every direction, it could easily be mistaken for a holiday destination if one stretches the imagination a bit.

It really is an island unto itself. With different buildings and different streets and stop signs and buildings with different functions--administration, operations, transportation, etc. All the trimmings of government operations.

On my first visit, my belief in treating others how you would like to be treated was reinforced as a golden rule. You do get more flies with honey. When I responded to questions from Corrections Officers, it was with "yes, sir" or "no, sir." Or "yes, ma'am" or "no ma'am." Also, "please" and "thank you" go such a long way. I took my cue from the frustration shown by those people who made slow traction with responses of "hell naw" and other statements laced with profanity and degradation.

I was told that my Friday night transaction would be 1-3 hours. I was told to wait in a different building and was called back in 27 minutes. The desk clerk handling the transaction was so kind to me and so professional. "Reap what you sow" came to mind...

Francis Buono is not a name I recognize. But the bridge from the parking lot to the physical island is named in his honor. (Is "honor" the right word?)

***

Normal traffic rules seem suspended on Riland. The shuttle drivers never stop for stop signs. Speed limits are ignored. Some Corrections Officers are the model of professionalism but many wear their authority like a weapon, knowing that the people there, whether visiting or behind the bars, have no recourse for their decisions or actions.

As for the operations, it is a return to the 1950's. "Archaic" best describes procedures. The mayor's name adorns the main building in giant letters. If my name were attached to the place, I would look at tackling some obvious inefficiencies. I concede that I am not an expert in corrections. But some things are no-brainers. There should be a computer connection between the courts and Riland that keeps an inmate's status up-t0-date. There should be a central area for retrieving inmates who are being discharged. This would reduce the need for so many shuttle buses hauling civilians to different buildings. But, alas, I am sure this would reduce the number of employees, and I am equally sure that the union representing the Corrections Officers would oppose such modernization.

On a surprising note, I relate this story: I had lost my driver's license somewhere between buildings on my first visit. On my second visit, I asked if it was turned in. The Corrections Officer said that, indeed, it had been found and turned in. This struck me as such a good turn in a place where so many people are assumed to have made only bad turns in their lives. I hope that sometime, somehow, some way, Corrections Officers will realize that not everyone visiting chooses a negative path. And compassion (as much as possible) with many inmates, in my humble opinion, will prove helpful to those who are receptive to genuine rehabilitation. Remember: Corrections is not a profit center, it is a cost center. And the easiest way to avoid paying these high costs (paid both by inmates and taxpayers) is by reducing the activities that lead people to be there in the first place. Even if the union representing Corrections Officers never loses a member, wouldn't it be a great day if they had no work to do?

Finally, a "shout-out" to the Corrections Officer working the visitor-screening at the main building. He was calm, confident, helpful, and compassionate. He had service stripes on his uniform indicating he had been with the department many years. Lest I get him in trouble with his colleagues for making them look bad by comparison, I won't describe him any further. But I do hope that he realizes that his work really does make a difference. And if you ever must visit Riker's Island, take a book or a big magazine...iPods are also prohibited.

My Old Kentucky Home

2009-02-23T04:46:00.001-05:00

The sun shines bright in My Old Kentucky home,
'Tis summer, and people are gay;
The corn-top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom
While the birds make music all the day.

The young folks roll on the little cabin floor
All merry, all happy and bright;
By 'n' by hard times comes a knocking at the door
Then My Old Kentucky Home, good night!

Weep no more my lady
Oh! weep no more today!
We will sing one song
For My Old Kentucky Home
For My Old Kentucky Home, far away.

Why Did I Do That?

2009-02-08T03:08:00.002-05:00

I was at an event tonight. About 3/4 the way through the event, I went to buy a pack of cigarettes--even though I know not to smoke and even though cigarettes are expensive.

In fact, for a pack of Marlboros, the price was $9.95. I handed the clerk a ten-dollar bill. I got back a ten-dollar bill and a nickle. I didn't think about it at the time. But when I got back to the apartment where the event was happening, I realized the error. When I told the host what had happened, he asked me if I felt guilty and if I intended to correct the error.

Immediately, I said, "in this economy, I am going to hold on to every nickle and I am sorry for the deli's mistake, but I'm keeping this $10."

As the event came to a close, I kept thinking about how the clerk at that deli would be confused, chastised and otherwise hurt when it came time to settle things up at the end of his shift.

I went back. I explained, as best I could, what happened, and gave the ten-dollar bill back to him. He thanked me profusely and looked at me strangely.

But now my conscience is clear and my family in Kentucky would be thankful that I was "raised right." I don't claim to be a saint--I am a LONG way from it--but even if I can do a little thing right, then there is hope for me yet. :-)

Summer of 1987

2009-01-22T14:26:00.001-05:00

Only during one period in my life have I ever been the recipient of fan mail. I had almost forgotten about my summer job of ’87 until recently when family members were going through the worldly belongings of a departed relative. Tucked in the back of a bureau were forgotten boxes of letters from admirers of my performance as a rock-and-roll disc jockey during the time between my junior and senior year of high school. (At some point, I had given this stuff to my granny for safekeeping.) In Hopkinsville, KY, I was the voice of the night (to borrow from “Phantom of the Opera”) from May until August at Z100, the Midsouth’s “Hot FM.” Being a regional celebrity had its advantages. Free movie tickets, not getting carded at area bars, discounted or free food, and, yes, fan mail. As my mother read back to me some of the letters, I was shocked at what young ladies of the time would confess on pen and paper. These young ladies may have seen me at various events, but it was not likely. In radio, daytime appearance duties often fell to the person who worked evenings. In the summer of 1987, that was me. Young ladies who wrote to me should have been at the mall or the lake or something. Perhaps that is my naiveté or just pure sexism rearing its untamed head.

I never responded to the letters. As a 16-year-old, I was still getting to know myself. And as each day passed, I realized what a stranger I was to me. I still am in many ways.

This recent tiptoe through the tulips of history brought two old buddies to mind. I can’t even remember their names, but I remember hanging out with them nearly every night that summer. I suspect they might have been homosexuals. We never discussed chicks or breasts or any such things that should be on the minds of virile, young high school boys. Our connection was that we all worked a summer job that ended at midnight for each of us. We all knew how to get our hands on beer and we all knew fun places to watch nature as we pondered the meaning of life. I miss those simple times and I miss those fellas. Maybe I can find a note somewhere in the boxes that has their names on it so I can track them down.

Finally, a piece of excitement that I almost hesitate to consider is in the rediscovered boxes: audiotapes from my days as a radio personality. It is not uncommon for people on the radio to record themselves for the purpose of self-critiquing and self-improvement. For some reason, I kept a few of those tapes. The challenge is now to find a reel-to-reel audio player.

And for what it’s worth, half a block from the studios of Z100 is a little burger joint called Ferrell’s. It ain’t healthy, but damn it’s good. It is the only place I have ever been where they actually deep fry the hamburger meat. At 12:10am, after a few hours of entertaining rock-and-roll fans from Ft. Campbell and its surrounding towns, a Ferrell’s cheeseburger (or three) truly hits the spot.

Yeah, but can you do it INVERTED?

2009-01-13T13:26:00.002-05:00

A big news item I have been trying to follow the last couple of days has been the disappearance of an Indiana man who seems to have jumped out of his super-fine airplane (Piper Malibu) and perhaps faked his death....but now seems still alive.

Among the links you can find are a video on youtube that shows this guy flying underneath a bridge in the Bahamas. No easy feat, I assure you.

But he's no LTC Dewey Patton (USAF, Ret.), who was an instructor at Middle Tennessee State University while I was a student there.

Colonel Patton told us that when he was in flight training, they would take a Boeing Stearman and fly it under a bridge. INVERTED. The particularly skillful pilot candidates would bounce the tires off the underside of a bridge.

When pilots get to telling stories, put your boots on and get comfortable, because the BS gets deep and the stories get long! But this Hoosier whippersnapper is no Dewey Patton.

Day 7 In Kentucky

2008-12-26T16:06:00.002-05:00

Hard to believe that I've already spent 7 days in God's Country. Only 4 more days to go. Then it's back to the land of grocery stores that don't sell loaf bread and horns that don't stop honking. Before I forget, thank you for the prayers on behalf of nephew Jack. When they cut him open to excise the cystic mass that was in his neck, its size had shrunk from the last doctor visit. It looks like everything will be just fine. And with some very visible stitches, he has become quite popular with the girls in his age group (about 9). I guess the young ladies are impressed with the ruggedness that comes with stitches and scars and things.

Speaking of honking horns, until Wednesday (two days ago), I hadn't heard a single, solitary horn blow since arriving in the beautiful south. Then on Wednesday, my mother and I were pulling into a liquor store parking lot to buy a last-minute Christmas gift. The lady in the car in front of me was blocking the entrance for no particular reason that I could determine. Suddenly I hear a horn blow. A strong, dual-tone horn that meant business. You could tell that this horn had hair on its chest and ice-water in its veins. The lady looked around, over her left shoulder, with a look of fear that one might see on the face of a novice rollerblader in Central Park headed into the horse-carriage area by mistake. Then I looked down for a second and realized that it was my hand on the horn button of my mother's gasoline-efficient SUV. Egads! My New York driving had invaded Bowling Green, KY!

In retrospect I realize that, likely, the lady was not afraid of the horn per se, but rather she was afraid that she had been spotted by someone who knew her and knew that she was most certainly not the type of lady to be seen patronizing a liquor store. I make this conclusion presuming that she is a Baptist. That's a reasonable conclusion based on population demographics. And, you see, Baptists don't drink alcohol.

That is, Baptists don't drink alcohol...in front of other Baptists.

Crime Wave Hits My Holiday Destination

2008-12-12T23:35:00.002-05:00

I plan to leave on Friday, December 19, for a good, long visit to my hometown of Scottsville, Kentucky.

Now I read this.

So naturally I'm more than a little concerned that I might be walking into a wave of crime. And since these chickens were stolen in Kentucky, how will that affect the supply chain of KFC?

On a serious note, upon my arrival, I will go directly from the Nashville Airport to the hospital in Bowling Green where precious, little nephew Jack is having a minor surgery to remove a cystic mass of some sort from somewhere near his lymph nodes. For those of you who believe in the power of prayer, please remember this little fella.

Work has been so damn stressful over the past few weeks that I have barely had time to post my nuggets of wisdom on which I know so many of you (well, both of you) rely to make sure your life is one of complete and total fulfillment. In fact, just after 11pm tonight, I wrote my last work email of the evening. I tell you that to make sure you know that while I am in Kentucky, I expect to have more leisurely days. That means I may have the opportunity to share more nuggets of wisdom with you! (Especially now that Momma has moved from dial-up to broadband. Whoo hoo!)

Which Shall It Be?

2008-12-10T21:41:00.002-05:00

Where I come from, God's Country, good manners are important. It's another way to know if someone was "raised right." Part of a proper upbringing is knowing the appropriate salutation in a given situation.

So let me give you a situation: male/female marriage.

The appropriate greeting to the groom is "congratulations."

The appropriate greeting to the bridge is "best wishes."

So here's another situation: same-gender marriage.

If it is two guys, do they both get the "congratulations" greeting? If it is two girls, do they both get the "best wishes"? If not, what metric should one employ to determine how the correct greetings are given to the betrothed?

This doesn't seem too serious a concern right now. But through the diligent and unending work of so many, this will be a concern we must be ready to address at the drop of a hat, or at least before people start jumping brooms! And this is one conundrum that gives me butterflies of excitement when I think about resolving it. And being a part of that resolution. Hooray for equality! The train might be traveling slowly, but "I thought it could...I thought it could..."

(If for some reason I am never blessed with marriage to another human being, my second choice is to marry a metaphor.)

North Carolina, ahem, Eye Candy

2008-11-19T09:58:00.003-05:00

Last night found me in front of the TV watching North Carolina give a sound beating to Kentucky on the basketball floor. It was gutwrenching! The only consolation was a bit of eye candy on the Tarheel Team. I suppose that one can tolerate a thrashing if one can look at this...

But all that being said, I still wish Kentucky would have won. Hmph.

What a Way to Start the Day!

2008-11-18T12:50:00.003-05:00

This was among the emails waiting on me this morning:

***
Hey michael,

I just wanted to write to you and tell you how impressed we all were with your performance on sunday. I know that it's tough to play a whole game, like we all did, and I was really impressed with how well you stuck it out. We needed you there and you definitely stepped it up.

See you Friday,

Jeremy
***

I am still in pain--PAIN I say--from Sunday's game. Because only 5 players could make it to this past Sunday's basketball game, all of us there had to play the entire game. I am not accustomed to playing an entire game. But with encouragement like Jeremy shared in an email, the sore muscles are worth it! I have already said in this forum that this season's team is my favorite among all seasons I have played in this league. And this email shows that, collectively, they are more than just a pretty face! ;-)

Autumn in Central Park

2008-11-11T10:20:00.002-05:00

The quality is the best that I could get from a Blackberry camera. The changing of the leaves has arrived in Central Park, and this image is from the lunchroom on the 21st floor of the building where I work. Fall brings memories of football and basketball and bonfires and raking leaves and cold school buses and warm sweaters and hot apple cider and church revivals...

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

2008-10-29T13:29:00.002-04:00

There is a distinctive odor when people burn coal to warm their homes. That very specific odor came back into my mind this morning as I made the chilly trek to catch the subway. Intellectually, I know that this sweet yet pungent scent is the release of sulphur fumes as the coal burns. But when I reflected on it this morning, my only considerations were of the emotional sort.

While growing up, I couldn’t see my nearest neighbor—we were separated by distance and hillsides and trees and pastures. Yet none of these obstacles was a match for the smoke that wafted from Old Lady Conner’s house over to where I lived. To me, winter officially arrived when Old Lady Conner first fired up her coal stove in the back parlor of her modest yet intriguing house. That arrival nearly always coincided with the “fall back” change of the clocks in October (although it happens in November this year).

Her house was built before indoor plumbing. Originally, there were four, square rooms that made up the house. There was an attic, but it was just for storage. Before I was born, a kitchen was added to the back of the house, running the full width. It had a sink that pulled water from a well that never ran dry. Her water tasted of sulphur, too, and I wonder now if that was caused by some sort of seepage from her stock of coal that was poured on the ground by a dump truck. That pile of coal was just outside her back door. That made it easier to fetch a bucket when it was time to stoke the fire.

In later years, Old Lady Conner added a bathroom in the house. I seem to remember that her family encouraged her to do this as they didn’t want her to try to navigate her way to the outhouse when the weather was bad. Or when snow and ice covered the ground.

Even though church was only a short walk from home, we always drove because we went to pick up Old Lady Conner. And always, she would invite us to join her for Sunday dinner after church let out. In my earliest memories, we would sometimes accept. But then once, my mother saw bugs in Old Lady Conner’s flour and that ended our meals with her. That didn’t stop her from cooking a Sunday dinner every week though, “just in case” somebody came to visit. A fine, old Southern Tradition.

The last person I ever knew to be “laid out” at home after dying was Old Lady Conner’s mother. She must have been well over 100 years old when she died, because Old Lady Conner herself was in her 80s. Ms. Ora’s casket was placed in the front parlor and people came to call and pay respects just as if it were a funeral home. Naturally, no one came empty handed. There were casseroles and hams and green beans and cornbread. All of it brought by others. My mother had a plate that day, I remember.

***

They say that our olfactory sense is the one that is best able to conjure up memories. I don’t have any reason to believe otherwise. I’m just thankful there is some trigger that can take us back to another place and another time.

Yes, It's All About Kentucky

2008-10-27T14:10:00.003-04:00

I am Kentucky born and bred, and so are the ancestors of these guys.

You just can't escape us! And come January, 2009, a Kentucky descendant will be living on Pennsylvania Avenue. The one in Washington, DC, not the one in Indianapolis, IN.

...both members of the FFA...

2008-10-22T08:39:00.002-04:00

The title of this post is part of a line from a song by the Dixie Chicks called "Goodbye Earl." The FFA (Future Farmers of America) is front and center here in Indianapolis this week, where I am working. And if the newscasters are correct, these young agricultural aficionados are going to be in town for the next several days. Some 50,000+ of them. They are here for the largest convention that happens in the entire state of Indiana. Only the Indianapolis 500 draws a bigger turnout. (By the way, Obama will be here tomorrow as well.)

I thought it a bit odd when a group of high-school-age-looking people boarded my flight from La Guardia yesterday morning. One of them was wearing an FFA jacket. The rest looked like regular, metropolitan students. Could they, possibly, be "Future Farmers" if they live in Manhattan? Why not?

The other side of the coin, as it were, is there are no hotel rooms to be had tonight in Indianapolis. I found one last night--a Clarion Inn and Suites--that was tolerable but not up to my low standards. The first time I ever heard of a Clarion, I stayed in one. I don't know where I will be bunking tonight, so today I have the chore of finding a place to hang my hat. I recall many years ago a trip to West Lafayette, IN, where I stayed in a Family Inns of America. It was even farther down the ladder of standards than Clarion. At Family Inns, they gave you the remote control when you checked in. Clarion is more trusting than that.

Regardless, only two more nights of Indianapolis and then I can return to the calm of East Harlem. Ahhhhh...

JFK-YYZ-JFK-East Harlem

2008-10-18T19:50:00.002-04:00

Work took me to Toronto this week. While there, the meetings went wonderfully. Everything before and after was quite a challenge.

First, on Thursday morning, as I was preparing to head to JFK to catch the flight, I realized my passport was at the office. So with no time to spare, I made a quick trip to the office, grabbed my passport and then flagged a taxi. No cash in my pocket--and a cab with a broken credit card machine, as well as a driver who asked if I, "knew how to get to JFK." I hadn't really thought about how to get to JFK from Hell's Kitchen, so I was at a loss. I suggested the Midtown Tunnel and then the Van Wyck. It worked. Small blessing. On the subsequent flight, I was seated between rows of screaming babies.

During immigration/customs clearance in Toronto, I was taken aside for some rather personal questions, including whether I had ever had any problems with immigration and whether I had a criminal record. I confessed honestly that my criminal past consisted of nothing more than a few moving violations. By the way, what difference does it make to immigration if I am coming to visit for business or pleasure? And what difference does it make what my job is? I really don't think that's any of their business. But, hey, it's their country. If I go there, I must follow their rules. Coming back, though, is a different story. I expect US Border agents to be a little less inquisitive.

I didn't take an overcoat. It was plenty warm in NYC when I left home. I checked the temperature. Toronto isn't that far so I figured I would be fine. But, as evening temperatures approached the freezing point (0 degrees by their figures), I realized that any sightseeing or socializing must occur within the confines of Sheraton Centre. After exhausting all that the hotel had to offer, I escaped back to the confines of room 275 and sated my sweet tooth with overpriced dessert options from the room service menu.

Finally, this morning, I decided to get to the airport early enough to catch the 6:10am flight back to JFK (which meant waking up at 3am). Aside from the requisite screaming babies, it was a peaceful enough flight. Annoying at both Toronto's airport and JFK is the necessity to ride shuttle buses to the regional aircraft that Delta uses at both locations.

In an effort to save time, I decided I would take the AirTrain from JFK, connect with the E train, and take that to Manhattan, transfer to the 6 train and make my way home to East Harlem. Alas, the E train was not working at Jamaica Station. So the kind folks of MTA shuttled all the people to Kew Gardens on busses to catch the E train. The net result is that accounting for time in Toronto to clear border control, clear security and actually fly to NYC (about an hour of flight time), it took longer to get from JFK to East Harlem. Isn't it ironic?

By the time I got to Lexington Avenue, the frustration had passed and I had begun to chuckle about the misadventures.

Perhaps on a flight in the near future I will be recompensed by sitting next to some nice eye candy. That can really improve the worst of flying experiences. And God in Heaven above knows that it hasn't happened to me in AGES!

Meanwhile, in the State of Tennessee

2008-10-14T15:26:00.002-04:00

McCain and Palin will be there every. Single. Day. After this...

Makes me proud to be a Kentuckian by birth!

An Example of "It Was Bound to Happen"

2008-10-10T15:04:00.002-04:00

Just a matter of who would be first...

Laugh While You Can

2008-10-09T21:05:00.002-04:00

I'm a hillbilly. I am a member of the last group of people you can make fun of. Yes, I grew up in Kentucky as as part of a dirt-poor family that worked the fields. And you can make fun of me. Odds are, however, that I can't say anything "stereotypical" about you. Let me explain...

We can't make fun of these people:

-Blacks
-Asians
-Jews
-Yankees
-Hispanics/Latinos

I have loved ones--loved ones--in each group. They can tell redneck jokes until they are blue in the face. But I can't poke fun at them. (Actually, my loved ones would laugh with me--but I'm talking about the greater world.)

This is only an observation after a business trip to Atlanta. I heard many hurtful things about me and my heritage coming from people who live "up here" and should know better. It truly hit home when I was asked to "translate" what a waiter said at a restaurant. Why do I feel guilty for others, when I was the denigrated party?

Isn't it Ironical?

2008-09-29T16:19:00.002-04:00

There's this dumbass who wants to make English the official language of the local government in Metro Nashville/Davidson County. Not only that, but the law he supports would forbid any government business to occur in any language other than English. Here's the irony: Tennessee's public institutions of higher learning require a "foreign language credit" in order for the school to accept a student. That means that, if this law passed, as is, graduates of public schools in Nashville/Davidson County would not be eligible to attend college in their own state.

Yeah, mierda de toro.

Update: Here's a clue...

2008-09-21T18:24:00.004-04:00

This just in: from the Nashville Tennessean, a columnist opines about Alamo's history. Turns out my memory was not so bad after all! (I think I want that hair-do that Tony has in the picture just to the right of the column!)

If someone starts a church and names it after himself, I am persuaded to believe that the theology is not foremost on the founder's mind. I am convinced that what is foremost on the founder's mind is self-promotion. (Look closely at the picture in the article.)

And while I see no reference to it in any easily-accessed articles, here is a bit of history on Tony Alamo from my own memory: he was basically "run out" of Nashville, TN, many years ago. If I remember correctly, there were financial questions about his operation. You see, at the time, he was also known for designing clothes for country music stars (think lots of rhinestones!). I seem to recall that finances between his "church" and his "clothing business" got intermingled and lots disappeared or somesuch.

Final thought...I have been handed tracts from the Tony Alamo church here in East Harlem as recently as July. Who woulda thunk it?

Billy Hinton

2008-09-16T09:14:00.004-04:00

Jake and Jack lost a grandfather over the weekend. This weekend also was Jake's birthday, which means that he will connect the two events for the rest of his life.

Billy Hinton was one of the finest men I have ever known. He grew up just across the "holler" from where my brother and I grew up. My brother truly married a hometown girl. And he got wonderful in-laws in the deal.

Like me, Jake has a way of either hiding his emotions or holding them in. He is doing that now with the most significant loss he has known in his short 12 years. Knowing he is hurting is heartbreaking for me.

When I hurt, or get hurt, I am pretty good at shaking it off. When someone I love is hurting or get hurts, I can't stand it. My prayer is that Jake finds peace in the knowledge that Grandpa is in a better place.

Hari Putar--NAKED!

2008-09-15T09:27:00.002-04:00

The Good Nurse dragged me to a Broadway show on Friday night. Thankfully it was not a musical, because I don't have enough Valium so survive that.

Anyway, the show was (and still is) "Equus." Written in 1973, it is the story of a young man who has all sorts of unusual relationships with horses. I don't mean in a physical sense, but rather an emotional sense.

Aside from the knowledge that Daniel Radcliffe, star of the Harry Potter movies, would appear without clothes, I knew very little about this show. Let me say now that the enjoyment of the writing exceeded the ability of the performers and I was pleased and delighted with such a wonderful work.

I suspect the main draw for this play will be a naked Harry Potter. I also suspect that after watching the show, many will continue to discuss the psychological quirks that the writer so skillfully captured more than they discuss the novelty of a teen star in the buff. Because it is a dark psychological thriller that lingers in the mind. Oh, and we can't forget the comedic lines the author included at just the right places.

The Good Nurse would consider me remiss if I did not include this tidbit: Radcliffe's endowment is average, but he has low hangers.

Plotting an Evil Plan

2008-09-10T09:52:00.004-04:00

It seems that every time I speak with my mother these days (about twice a week), she tries to sell me on McCain. She can't and won't support Obama. Not since she received a whippin' as a child for wearing a pro-Kennedy button home from school is she able to vote for a Democrat.

So she is trying to persuade me to vote for the old fart from Arizona who doesn't even know how to use a computer. We have reached an impasse where we both agree that McCain will carry Kentucky and Obama will carry New York. Between us, we can't change that.

But...the evil plan I have hatched. I called some buddies: Gardner, Pork Chop and Truck Driver Dan. I have asked them all to do one little errand for me before Election Day: find an Obama '08 sign and plant it in her yard. If everything goes according to plan, each will arrive at different times and plant their respective signs. In the end, we will all have a big laugh. I have let my brother in on the scheme, so she doesn't call the law and accuse someone of vandalism.

Stay tuned for updates as they occur.

In a related note, Happy Birthday to Nephew #2, who turned 8 yesterday! My, the years are passing...

Tennis, Anyone?

2008-09-05T13:01:00.004-04:00

So many things I can think of saying about this photo. But I will behave and just say, "awww...what a cute photo!"

Size is Relative

2008-09-02T12:17:00.003-04:00

"...by order of the mayor of New York, everyone is a little Caribbean-American today."

--Mayor Michael Bloomberg, September 1, 2008, at the West Indian American Day Parade.

I don't think his order "worked." I was out and about yesterday, and everyone looked the same size as usual.

Going, going, GONE!

2008-08-04T19:28:00.002-04:00

For the first time in my adult working life, I am not in the book business. From modest beginnings as a part-time salesperson for the world's largest book wholesaler, I followed jobs that eventually led me to New York City. I made mistakes along the way. But I don't regret the steps I took because they led me to where I am today.

Now I am 6 working days into a different career path. Because my new job has pages and pages of documents I signed regarding confidentiality and because it also is closely tied to governmental regulatory agencies, I am reluctant to divulge details in this forum. But, I am delighted with the new situation.

My biggest disappointment with my history in the book business is my exposure to so many people whose egos outweighed their abilities. (That's part of the reason bookstores are now so full of shit and it takes a strong effort to find a good read.) I pointedly make exceptions for the wonderful bosses and mentors throughout my book business tenure. All but a couple of my past supervisors genuinely cared about themselves, others and the how they conducted business. The very few who didn't care have already suffered from their selfish ways. I never wish misfortune on anyone and I hope that some day, in some way, they learn to care. For the record, here are a few of the best leaders I have ever met: Carol M., Lisa R., John B., Roger R., Doug M. and Lynn B. Now, I confess that sometimes their personalities pissed me off, but I commend them because they REALLY cared about success and excellence and wanted to share both attributes.

Now that I am in a new industry full of opportunities and new challenges and great people, I can excitedly say that I am "just as happy as a puppy with two peters." The new job requires extensive travel, at least in the beginning. But then, who doesn't need a break from the city from time to time?

My enjoyment of books has not eroded one iota. Only now I must be more diligent in selecting what I want to read, because bookstores are a buffet...full of stuff acquired and edited by tasteless sons of bitches. (Footnote: the new Patricia Cornwell paperback is actually a re-issue of an old book, that wasn't really good itself. I "accidentally" left it on an airplane last week.)

Rest In Peace

2008-07-22T15:25:00.002-04:00

The most golden of the Golden Girls is gone.

We will miss you, Sophia! Sigh.

Am I the Dense One?

2008-07-17T13:08:00.003-04:00

In yesterday's New York Daily News, an article discussed Project Runway and interviewed Christian Siriano, last season's winner. In something that I found particularly odd, the writer noted that Siriano had a signature catchphrase: fierce.

Then the writer parenthetically tells us that it rhymes with "pierce."

Is this a widely held secret? Do readers of the New York Daily News commonly have difficulty with diphthongs? Or do people so rarely use the word "fierce" that they don't know how to say it? Finally, if someone is going to continue into the third paragraph of this article, he is likely a fan of the show already and will be aware of the correct pronunciation of "fierce."

Of course, I suspect that "fierce" is more rarely used than "pierce." After all, pierce can be something you do to a body part. Or it can be an old car or a former President. You can also "pierce" the sky, etc...

Maybe there is an inside joke. I have casually watched the show, but some tall, blond, German woman keeps annoying the crap out of me. And that is fierce, but in a bad way.

Do Not Touch The Trim

2008-07-13T17:33:00.002-04:00

I returned from Kentucky this past week, already missing God's country when the wheels of the jet touched down at JFK (the airport, not the fried chicken store in Brooklyn).

Much to my delight, I discovered several episodes of "Squidbillies" saved on the DVR. Until a couple of months ago, I never even knew the existence of this program. It is a cartoon that plays late nights on The Cartoon Network. It is an adult cartoon. And when I say adult, I don't mean naughty, I mean for grown-ups. And since I go to bed early when I am in Kentucky, I didn't get to see any episodes while I was there.

In general, I don't enjoy cartoons very much. The Good Nurse, on the other hand, is a cartoon junkie. Just when I thought we had found some common entertainment ground, he confided that he is not a fan of "Squidbillies."

But many of us are! So if you happen to be up late at night and want to see how hill-folk live in the Appalachian foothills, give it a gander! Or record it and watch it later. But remember, it is a cartoon and not to be confused with real life. Mostly.

You Just Lost Me, Senator McCain

2008-07-10T11:43:00.002-04:00

He really did seem like a better Republican that George W. Bush. But with this announcement from last week, McCain has lost all my confidence and even my vote. Since I live in New York, my vote would be washed away many times over, regardless, if I pulled the McCain lever. However, surrounding himself with the minions of Bush and Cheney is shooting himself in the foot.

What the hell are you thinking, Senator? I just returned from "flyover country," the mainstay of your electoral potential. People there still appreciate George W. Bush, but consider Cheney to be one step removed from the Antichrist. And you're hiring Cheney people? A Karl Rove protege?

Get your head out of your ass. If this is truly your judgment in action, then you deserve to lose. At least Obama resigned from his church after his pastor said stupid things. Conversely, you embrace that which disgusts your now-lost core supporters.

Waiting for the Phone Call

2008-07-08T01:28:00.002-04:00

It's after midnight here in Scottsville, KY. I can't seem to get to sleep. It's not because of any worries I have for me, but rather the nephews--Jake and Jack.

You see, Jake's best buddy, his Grandaddy, is on death watch at the hospital in Bowling Green. Doctors told the family today that it is just a matter of hours. Since my brother is working, his wife might get the final call at any moment to go be with her father to say a last goodbye. When that call comes, I have the heartbreaking task of going to get the nephews to bring them back to Momma's house.

Jake and Jack were here with Momma and me today at Momma's house when the call came in that Mr. Hinton had taken a turn for the worse. As soon as Jake heard the news, the color drained from his face and the beginnings of tears welled up in his precious eyes.

No finer man has this county produced, I am sure, than Mr. Hinton. As well, he is one of the most handsome men anywhere. And since Jake was born, Mr. Hinton has been the kind of grandfather that I wish all children had the opportunity to have. From fishing to hunting to farming to talking about the weather and just being a gentleman, Mr. Hinton imparted love and devotion and class to Jake. Because of his grandaddy, I believe Jake has developed maturity and compassion and personality far stronger than his age would betray.

Seeing a boy cry from minor injuries, either physical or emotional, never really shakes me up. I think we all agree that those kinds of injuries are fleeting. But knowing that Jake will very soon face a loss, the likes of which he has ever known, is tugging at my heart already. As I mentioned earlier, he is losing a best friend--and a wonderful grandfather, all at once.

I will soon lay my head back on the pillow and pray for peaceful slumber. My prayers will also include Jake and Jack, as well as all their cousins and my sister-in-law and Mrs. Hinton. Times like these must come to pass. But the pain will last much longer than a skinned knee or a lost ballgame. Sometimes pain like this never goes away. But I will be there for the nephews, to help them remember all the good things that Mr. Hinton brought to their life and how a part of him will live on in them forever.

You Can't Swing a Dead Cat...

2008-07-06T14:21:00.003-04:00

...but I can.

Or, at least that was my first chore upon arriving in Kentucky on July 4th. It seems that somehow, a stray cat had curled up and died under the deck that leads from Momma's back door to her cement pond. Momma had alerted me a couple days prior that "something stinks" outside. Only through the eagle eyes of Nephew Jack did she come to learn that the cat was not her cat, Scarlet, but rather a mean, old, ugly gray cat. (Not that gray hair is automatically associated with mean, old and ugly.) Scarlet had been MIA for at least as long as the smell of death permeated air around the house. Momma had feared that Scarlet was the victim. Now she has concluded that Scarlet just couldn't handle the odor, either. So, I retrieved the cat by crawling under the deck. With Gardner's help, we found it a new, final resting place.

The trip to Kentucky was planned at the last minute, on Thursday night, right before a Friday morning departure. With storms in the forecast in the northeast, it just seemed logical to go South for the holiday weekend. So I did. I will return to the Big Apple on Wednesday. In the meantime, I will make the most of being in God's Country.

Completely unrelated, here is a photo of me from my senior year in high school (almost 20 years ago!!!). It was some event happening in auto shop. I don't remember that day, but it looks like I was in charge of serving the beans. With that tie, it must have been a very fun time! So, I'm guessing: barbecue!

I'm Going Crazy Out of Too Much Happiness

2008-07-02T21:56:00.003-04:00

The title of this post is a line from a song in a Filipino movie that is playing on TV right now, as the Good Nurse and I are watching a film from his native land. Or at least that's the translation that I just saw on the subtitles.

I often complain (read: bitch & moan) about watching TV with the Good Nurse because he talks to the TV. Yes, talks to the TV. But since this film started playing, he has barely uttered a word. Naturally, I had to ask him about it. Mostly because I wanted to know if he spoke Tagalog when talking to a Filipino movie. Since he is not talking to the TV at all, I may never know.

However, my interest in his movie-watching habits has just been overtaken by my interest in the star of the film we are watching. Back to the sofa for me. I'm sure you understand...

Damn You, "Nashville Star"

2008-06-26T14:47:00.001-04:00

I seriously doubt that anyone here in New York City who happens to read this blog is a big fan of Nashville Star. Those loyal readers south of the Mason-Dixon line (yes, both of you), might have caught an episode or at least heard about it. Please allow me this opportunity to give you a bit of history. The show began two or three seasons ago on cable. It was a Country Music version of "American Idol." There was great talent, great performances. The winners have had success in their careers after the show. I suspect that its popularity on cable inspired NBC to pick it up for the full network treatment. The result is a show that leaves true fans of Country Music sitting in their trucks and crying in their beers.

Two weeks ago, probably half the songs were Motown or pop. I like both these styles, but this is "NASHVILLE" Star, dammit. Not Detroit Star or LA Star.

This week, the theme was "Pop Goes Country," where the artists were forced to take a pop song and give it a country sound. Such as "PYT" by Michael Jackson. Scratching your head, aren't you?

There are many other things that piss me off about this show, but I am now getting red-faced and angry. I don't want to talk about it anymore. Hmph.

So, damn you "Nashville Star" and damn you NBC. You have taken a great show that offered an alternative to the 50 dance contest shows and other such flotsam and turned it into the laughingstock of television. Remember the old adage: if you try to please everyone, you please no one.

Relationship Tool--Free, Here, Now!

2008-06-18T15:18:00.002-04:00

Need some peace and quiet around the house? Here is a secret tip. Shhhh! Don't tell anyone...

1. Pick a minor spat with your other half.

2. Apologize, accept blame.

3. Encourage your other half to give you "the silent treatment" as penance.

(works REALLY well when attempting to assemble "furnitures" or decipher "paperworks" with Filipinos)

Tee hee. Actually, that doesn't really work. But it is fun. And, yes, chuckles were shared all around after the bicycle rack was safely assembled and installed using instructions that were obviously written by a 2nd grader. Or a less-than-infinite number of monkeys typing randomly.

Answered Prayers

2008-06-10T18:09:00.003-04:00

Way back in May, 1989, I had a gorgeous date to my high school's senior prom. Not only was Holly my date, she was also a bestest friend. Even though there was no blood relation, I considered her family my own.

Today, June 10, 2008, Holly emerged from what has to be the scariest, most intimidating and daunting experience I could possibly imagine. She survived brain surgery.

She and her family can better tell the fears, the hopes, the dreams, the excitement and the elation that has accompanied the entire process.

I would not impose on my own behalf, but for Holly's encouragement, I humbly ask that you visit her blog site and leave a comment. I know that she, and her family, will be comforted by positive words that you can share. Even though you don't know Holly personally, I can tell you that the influence she has had on many lives, mine included, is one that makes this world a better place.

I love you, Holly. And I am happy that your recovery is coming along so well!

ps: one of the questions the neuro-staff regularly asks is "who is the President?" Poor Holly...being forced to remember *that* every hour!!!

Just so we are clear...

2008-06-01T20:36:00.002-04:00

Former White House spokesman Scott McClellan did not betray George W. Bush. Instead, it is the world that was betrayed by the Bush administration, including LIARS Karl Rove, Dick Cheney and "Scooter" Libby. I am not convinced that President George W. Bush is a bad guy. I am convinced that he is surrounded by self-absorbed, narcissistic, greedy, selfish thieves.

I will write no more lest emotion overtake intellect.

Handsome, Intelligent, Funny, Good-looking...and straight. Hmph.

2008-05-29T09:22:00.003-04:00

Here is a picture of Dr. Howard. The last time I went frog-gigging with him, he was in grade school. Wouldn't you agree that he has grown up just delightfully?

I am "out" among my friends back home, even the country boys like Dr. Howard. His greeting to me on Saturday included this line:

"Hey, Vernon, I met someone in grad school that makes you look like John Wayne."

After some pondering, I figured out that he was complimenting me on my masculinity or commenting on the femininity of a gay, male classmate. I got a chuckle out of it. I have come to the conclusion that I enjoy some good-natured teasing from my friends. I know there is no malice with their comments on homosexuality that are designed for nothing more than to pick on me. In the country, people wouldn't pick on you if they didn't like you. It makes me proud as a peacock that these same fellas are now embracing of people, regardless of sexual orientation. Sexuality is not something that causes them great constertation--or any consternation for that matter. I hope I had something to do with that. I sure worked at it.

But even the straight boys can't help it if they are gorgeous. So, I eagerly share this photo of Dr. Howard. *sigh*

Pickin' up frog-frogs, puttin' 'em a basket...

2008-05-27T22:48:00.002-04:00

Three different crews set out simultaneously on Saturday night to gig frogs. When they met up later, the total number of frogs captured approached 80. *That* is successful, especially for this time of year. Turns out that through some exceptions in the Kentucky Revised Statutes, I didn't need a fishing license after all. Saaaa-weeet!

I have taken even more photos subsequent to the frog gigging trip. Since I know you are on the edge of your chair waiting to see them, you will be happy to know that I am returning to New York tomorrow (Wednesday) and I will have them ready to share with you by the weekend. Especially the latest photo of Dr. Howard. The last time he was on a frog-hunting expedition with me, he was a mere child. Now he is a strapping young man of 25 who just completed a doctorate in pharmacology. Or something. He cleans up mighty well. And he tells a funny story. I will share that with you when his picture goes up.

And finally, not realizing that I live in New York...only realizing that I am an uncle who shows up from time to time, Nephew Jack yesterday was shocked to learn that I am a damn yankee. His question: you mean you came all the way from New York to see us here in the USA?

Horsin' Around

2008-05-23T21:36:00.003-04:00

Whew. Day three of this visit to Kentucky is coming to an end, and it's only 8:30pm here! I woke up around 5am this morning to head over to Pork Chop's house. He was putting a new roof on his house and he had hired some Mennonites for labor. Those boys sure work hard! We left there later on in the morning and had breakfast at Martha Jo's (a restaurant, not somebody's house). While we were at his house, I complained to his wife, a dentist, that I had a toothache. She told me to come by her office and I did...she took a tooth grinder of some sort and put it to my #30 tooth. It did the trick because my toothache seems to be gone. And she didn't charge me a dime! Thanks, Paige!

Pork Chop picked me up this evening around 5pm. He was going to Warren County to pick up a mare that he had taken to a stud farm. I went to help him round up his mare. I guess we will know in a month or two if there was a "love connection." Seems Pork Chop is jumping into the thoroughbred racehorse business. I took lots of pictures of some amazing and beautiful horses. Heck, some of the colts I saw could be in the big race next year. We will see.

Tomorrow promises to be a big day. My brother and his family are coming over to Momma's for an afternoon cookout. After that, I am meeting up with the gang about 7pm to get organized for a Saturday night frog gigging trip. That means I have to get a fishing license at some point tomorrow. Getting back to my roots is has reawakened an energy in me that has been too long dormant. I can't wait to show you pictures when I get back to East Harlem. Right now, I need to go clean my shoes. When you run with the horses...

Scottsville, KY: Today's Highlight

2008-05-22T19:34:00.002-04:00

Day 2 at home in Scottsville, Kentucky. I would not normally take time to write a post, but a late afternoon shower has left me with a tiny bit of cabin fever. While my mother's house is not in range of cable TV service, she does have hi-speed internets through the telephone line. What a country! I have been wearing out the camera, but you won't see pictures until I am back in NYC. You see, my mother doesn't have a cable of any sort for transfering pictures to the computer. With gasoline at $3.85 per gallon, it's not worth driving all the way to Bowling Green to get a cable.

Today's highlight came earlier this afternoon when I went to pick up my nephews from school. The "primary" school, where Jack attends, and the "intermediate" school that Jake attends are all on the same campus as the middle school and high school. When I was in school, they were known as the elementary school and were in one building. Ahhh...the charms of small town life. All schools are next to each other.

Anyway, I picked up the fellas and we began driving back to their "granna's" house. Jack was very excited to tell me that he was going to a "Chinese" dairy farm on a field trip tomorrow. I didn't even know we had one of these in Allen County! My curiosity was aroused enough to tell the Good Nurse about this turn of events. Jake later figured out that Jack was confused, and his field trip tomorrow is for "Chaney's" dairy farm. That makes lots more sense. The Good Nurse agreed, saying that he couldn't imagine why a Chinaman (his word) would have a dairy farm, since most Chinese are lactose intolerant.

:-o

Memorial Day/Independence Day

2008-05-20T14:47:00.004-04:00

I often find myself attaching sentimental value to specific dates in my past. Even when those dates are not that significant. Memorial Day Weekend, 1995, is an exception, in that it is very significant. That is the weekend that my mother left the home she shared with my father. When I got the message, I was sitting on the back terrace at the apartment of my friends Keg and Sparky. Hacksaw was also there. My roommate Smitty came to their apartment and told me that I should go back to our apartment and listen to the answering machine. I asked why. He told me that my mother left a message saying that she had left my father and that I wouldn’t be able to reach her for a few days. She promised to call as soon as she was able.

The person I knew as my father is guilty of rape, physical abuse and emotional abuse. And that pattern continues with his new wife and new step-children, at least according to the police reports I have read in the hometown newspaper. A normal person would be full of hate for him, I suppose. But perhaps of what I saw and what I experienced, I became a more compassionate person. At least I tell myself that. My constitution is one where sometimes I have allowed people to mistreat me. I am also more forgiving than the average person, I believe. I have tried to hold a grudge before, and I simply cannot maintain it. I don’t dislike this about me. I embrace it.

* * *

I was due to be in Kentucky last weekend. Because of having the worst stomach bug I can ever remember experiencing, I postponed (and extended) my visit. So, from Wednesday, May 21st until Wednesday, May 28, I will be home to visit with my family. It will be the first time I have been physically at home since before 1995. Emotionally, it’s going to be a difficult weekend. I will keep reminding my mother, and myself, how better off we are with this person no longer in our lives. I don’t wish him ill. Quite the contrary: I wish he would find help for the demons that bind him. Those who remain a part of his life, including my brother and his children, and his current wife, deserve better. I don’t even know his current wife, but nothing she could possibly have done warrants the kind of punishment that my mother’s ex-husband is superbly qualified to dispense. Of course, neither did my mother, my brother or me.

Old Country Came to Town

2008-05-10T17:44:00.004-04:00

On Thursday, I had the opportunity to play host to a couple of visitors from my hometown. I picked them up at the airport and dropped them at Yankee Stadium for an afternoon game. Then, I met them in East Midtown for an early supper and some site-seeing following that. My visitors are a father/son duo. The dad was the ag teacher (and FFA Sponsor) at my high school, and his son is a former schoolmate of mine who is one year younger than I. A good time was had by all.

Their visit inspired me to get an airplane ticket and go home to Kentucky this weekend because my mother was planning a big cook-out for Saturday afternoon. Alas, when I got my email with the flight itinerary on Thursday afternoon, I had plugged in the wrong weekend. I am actually going to miss the big cook-out because I didn't make it this weekend. I'm going next weekend. Silly me!

The silver lining, however, will be my chance to travel through Nashville, TN's, delightful airport. I say delightful because they recently installed an outpost of Tootsie's Orchid Lounge. In spite of the fact that the name conjures up images of a Thai whorehouse, it actually is a famous institution in Nashville: a honky-tonk. When the Grand Ole Opry began in downtown Nashville, Tootsie's back door aligned perfectly with the stage door of the Opry. Thus, country music stars who drank would often sneak out of one spot and sneak into the other. These days, Tootsie's is famous for just being famous. Up-and-coming singers and songwriters grace the "stage" which is actually no bigger than many bathroom stalls. (I have played on that stage!)

The last time I traveled through Nashville, just over a month ago, I planted myself on a stool at Tootsie's in the Nashville airport and enjoyed the music of a couple of fellas paying their dues. I can't remember really what they sang. But one fella was well worth looking at! (I took a few pictures of him, but they didn't turn out good enough to post--especially after my red-eye reduction effort was a disaster.)

And, the picture at the top actually is a photo of a photo, of Tootsie, the name behind the institution.

Way Back When...15 Years Ago!

2008-03-29T01:43:00.005-04:00

I recently returned from a family visit to Kentucky. My mother commented on the lack of "display" quality photos she had of me to hang on her walls. My vanity and narcissism reared their gorgeous heads and began planning a resolution to this issue. As part of the process, I came across this old photo:

Oh, for the days of hair in the pre-gray era! While I realize that this not the "suitable for framing" sort of photo my mother wants, I will relish the vigor, even if only psychological vigor, that this image of my youth inspires in me. (Picture from around 1993; age around 22.)

Happy Birthday to You Up There

2008-03-13T08:30:00.002-04:00

SPC, you touched so many lives and people continue to remember you fondly and miss you. I am one of them. Happy Birthday! With Love, Michael.

It's Only March? or It's Already March?

2008-03-09T10:08:00.003-04:00

Already, this year seems to be moving so quickly that I feel like I'm riding a horse whose reins just won't slow it down.

The Good Nurse and I have moved to a new apartment. Finally.

My hometown was declared a disaster area earlier this year from tornados that left 4 people dead. Even FEMA is on the scene with their asbestos-laden trailers. Then yesterday, they were expecting 6 inches of snow. So far, my hometown way down in the South has had more snow than New York City, way up here in the yankee-land!

I have bought my airplane ticket to go home for Easter. I can't remember the last time I have been in Kentucky for this most sacred of Christian days. I am thankful. I have told my mother that I will go to sunrise service with her on Easter morning.

Basketball season has begun again. So far, my team is 1 and 1. And we will continue to improve because we have amazing cohesion. It is my favorite team yet since I have been playing with this league.

For one night, Saturday, March 8, I became a bartender. I have a new respect for those who are behind bars many days of the week. (When I say "behind bars," I mean people who are bartenders, not people who are in jail.)

To help me try (again) to quit smoking, I have reduced my own drinking to as close to teetotaling as I have been since my teen years. I have cheated on the drinking and that led to smoking. The good news is that as long as I don't drink, I don't feel tempted to smoke. Hmmm. Food for thought.

I am working on myself in other ways. I need to be a better communicator. This is a good opportunity for me to recommend The Four Agreements. It's a fantastic read. One of the "agreements" is to "speak impeccably." Say what you mean and mean what you say. For too long, I have tried too hard to be diplomatic when talking to others when they really needed to hear the cold hard facts. I have also been guilty of using vague expressions in a passive-aggressive manner. The people to whom I speak deserve better. If I am going to invest time in someone, shouldn't I invest the best I can offer? Otherwise, I shouldn't invest the time at all.

Sometimes I withdraw from people or situations when things are out of my comfort level. I owe myself better treatment than that because only when I am uncomfortable can I figure out how to find comfort.

I have found myself ruminating on some days about the fact that I have let myself drift away from some of my best friends here in New York. And it is my fault. Then I think about the new friends I make in new places, like basketball. I am grateful for them, but nothing--nothing--can, should or will replace the friendships that I entered with the full expectation that they would last forever. I have some rebuilding to do. If I get the opportunity. I think the first thing I will say as I start this journey, is "I am glad you are my friend and I love you." And I will continue to say it (and show it) as days and weeks and months and years pass. I am also going to expect my friends to be just as good to me. To do otherwise would be setting myself up for failure. So you people who have been close to me, and you know who you are, get ready to answer to me! And make me answer to you! (It's a small number of people--but it has high value.)

Religion is a taboo topic among so many people, especially here in New York City where I suspect 99% of the world's religions are represented. However, my religion, hillbilly Baptist, teaches me to repent of my sins. That means confess them and turn away from them. I am doing my best. And my belief in my Savior is stronger than it has ever been.

So much has happened already this year. This post seems so self-absorbed. But maybe I need some of that. Maybe I need to worry about myself more and make sure I am treating me as good as possible. That will make me love myself more, which will help my loved ones to love me more, which will make me a better loved one to them. Is that how it is supposed to work?

Faith, Hope and Love. And the greatest is Love.

You're Too Late

2008-01-28T15:04:00.000-05:00

If you have been procrastinating about seeing the "Kink" exhibit at the Sex Museum in New York City, too bad.

Yes, the exhibit must have ended over the weekend. All of the signs promoting various forms of "kink" are gone from the windows of the Sex Museum.

I'm able to share this with you as I work (almost) directly across the street from the museum. I wonder what the next topic will be...

Long Live The King

2008-01-07T14:24:00.000-05:00

Born January 8, 1935, this week marks the 72nd anniversary of the birth of Elvis Presley. Happy Birthday, EP!

Book Review

2007-12-13T14:35:00.001-05:00

When The Stars Come Out by Famous Author Rob Byrnes
(Kensington Publishing, $15.00)

We all know the old saying about how you can't judge a book by its cover. That adage applies perfectly to the latest title by Famous Author Rob Byrnes. (Disclosure: I have known this author for years and flatter myself to call him a friend.) I still am confused by the cover of this book and how the cartoonish figures have anything remotely to do with the book. If you find yourself hesitant to buy this book because of the cover, get over it because you will be rewarded with a wonderful novel that is even better than the blurbs on the back of the book claim.

The judges of the Lambda Literary Award got it right with this book. It won the prize during its hardcover version and it is well-deserved. Rob Byrnes' nicotine-stained fingers show us once again their skill in tapping out a yarn on his computer's keyboard. He avoids falling into a formulaic routine, and that results in a refreshing story.

In a nutshell, When The Stars Come Out is the tale of a once-grand actor who is persuaded to come out of the closet by an idealistic writer whose career is stumbling. A theme of love, both old and new, along with rich character development make this book a joy to read. As well, I was able to learn a new word: senescence.

One odd thing about the book is that "moisturizing" is mentioned at least three times in the story and once in the author blurb on the inside back cover. I don't know why that stuck out to me, but it did remind me to moisturize this morning before coming to work.

There are some creative literary features employed in the book that make it fresh. So, in spite of the cover that is juvenile, unrelated to the book, and simply confusing, I recommend this book without reservation and encourage you to read it at your first opportunity. When you do, you will get a well-developed story, characters that will elicit all known emotions from your psyche, make you laugh, make you cry, and make you want to read the earlier works of this author.

Another fine job, Mr. Byrnes.

Aspirations

2007-12-05T08:49:00.000-05:00

Elizabeth Hardwick, a fine Kentucky native.

Seymour Mann

2007-10-18T09:12:00.000-04:00

I hope it's not a joke. I hope it's something as simple as some crossed wires, literally, with Verizon. But I learned yesterday that when I don't use "line 1" to dial from my office phone, caller ID on the other end says, "Seymour Mann."

I learned this when I called headquarters yesterday. Usually, whoever answers on at head office will respond with something like, "hey, wassup..." because I am the only employee in the New York City office. Yesterday, I got a very formal answer on the phone. I responded, "hey, this is Michael. Is everything okay?" Then I learned the reason for the formality. Caller ID didn't report me as calling from my office.

"Are you at work?" my colleague asked.
"Yes."
"At the office?"
"Yes."
"Our office?"
"Yes."
"That's weird. Caller ID says 'Seymour Mann.'"

At first I thought it was a joke. I have since made a couple more calls to people who I know have caller ID. They confirm the story. When I call from a line other than "line 1," your phone will tell you that "Seymour Mann" is calling.

The consolation is that I like the sound of it. It's almost risque, eh?

Note to Self

2007-10-11T11:15:00.000-04:00

And to others attempting to navigate outer boroughs:

QUEENS PLAZA

and

QUEENSBORO PLAZA

are two very different places and not that close together. Yes, I learned this the hard way last night. While sober!

Oh, and apparently there are two different "7" trains, each of which runs its own path on its own whims, making whatever stops it feels like making.

As we used to say about curvy roads in Kentucky, whoever designed the modern subway system in Queens must have been on either his first assignment or his last assignment.

Okay, I'm finished whining now. At least for now.

Oh, the Irony of it All

2007-10-04T14:39:00.000-04:00

Re: Fred Thompson's run for the White House

Well, actually this post is more about Lorrie Morgan than Fred Thompson. The connection is that they once dated. First, some background information.

Lorrie Morgan is the daughter of the late George Morgan, a Grand Ole Opry star. She married Keith Whitley, a genuine country music master from Kentucky. (He wrote the song, "When You Say Nothing At All"). They divorced after a short marriage and he was so distraught that he drank himself to death. Literally. He died of acute alcohol poisoning. Ironic that his life and death would make a perfect country song. Actually, it did make a perfect country song. Vince Gill wrote and recorded "Go Rest High on That Mountain" as a tribute to Keith Whitley.

I don't know if it was before or after this marriage that Lorrie dated a fraternity brother of my college roommate. She broke his heart, too. He was well on his way to recovering from the heartbreak when he happened to see a Lorrie Morgan video on CMT. In the video, she was wearing a sweatshirt that this heartbroken fella had given her. In that one instant, his heart was broken all over again.

Again, I am unsure of the exact timeline, but after Lorrie's divorce from Keith, she dated Fred Thompson for a little while. I'm not even sure if he was a Senator at this time, but I think so.

And now, the irony: Lorrie had a number one song with "I'm Looking for Something in Red." Could she have been foreshadowing, that long ago, that Fred Thompson, a genuine red-stater, would be running for President? Does this mean she will vote for him?

Monday Evening Thoughts

2007-10-01T17:18:00.000-04:00

I was walking through the subway station this morning. I noticed a sign on a door that said, "Refuse Room." I walked up to it and yelled, "NO!"

Yesterday I went to the airport to buy a round-trip airplane ticket. The agent asked where I wanted to go. I said, "right back here!"

Last week I went to visit a new doctor. I asked the receptionist how much he charges. She said that it is $150 for the first visit, and $100 for every visit thereafter. When I saw the doctor, I said, "here I am again!"

There Goes Next Year's Vacation Plan

2007-09-26T10:52:00.000-04:00

The Iranian "leader" who spoke at Columbia University (and I apologize to REAL universities for using that term in referring to Columbia) wildly claimed that Iran has no homosexuals. I read elsewhere that homosexuality is punishable by death in Iran.

All this after I had already began planning a beach vacation on the shores of the Caspian Sea. Now I have to find a place that has a more open, peaceful and welcoming society and leadership. Perhaps Venezuela or Cuba.

*sigh*

"Don't tase me, bro."

2007-09-19T12:42:00.000-04:00

Translation: don't tease me, bro.

Remember. He was in the south. That's how we talk down there.