As most of you know, Mel and I made a road trip Saturday. Against my better judgement, I let my son talk me into driving into Houston to spend the day with him and his fiancé.

Now don't get me wrong, I love my son and I think Sally is the best thing to have ever happened to the boy but they wanted ME to drive to HOUSTON!

I hate big cities; the traffic, the noise, the weird people pushing and shoving, it all just sucks bog water to me. Keep in mind, please that Houston is the fourth largest city in the United States...proof positive that morons breed more freely than intellegent people.

Well like I said, he talked me into it. Actually his big selling point was telling me that the Museum of Natural Science had two great exhibits that had just opened. "Body Worlds" which is a really neat exhibit dealing with the human body and it uses REAL BODIES of people who have donated their body to science. The bodies have been treated with a type of plastic persertive and they show all the different organs and bones, muscles and tendons, blood vessels and artiers...it was really something to see.

The other exhibit was "The Treasures of Ur". Ur was an acient city-state in what is now Iraq. They had everything from pots to royal jewelery belonging to the king and all of the stuff was over 5000 years old. I can not describe the feeling of looking at a delicate gold necklace with fine etching along it's length and know that this was made by a craftsman dead over 2500 years before the birth of Christ.

Anyway...this was Pat's big selling point, that and the fact that Sally works at the Museum and could get us into both exhibits FREE...my favorite word.

So, as much as I hate the big city....away we went, Saturday morning on our trek.

Now those of you with long memories might recall that Mel and I had made this same trip about six or seven months ago and we had a bit of dificulty reaching our destination....MEL GOT LOST!

Well actually I guess it was my fault. I had told her we didn't need no stinking map, I use to go there all the time and I knew right were it was. The problem with this was the fact that, until our first trip together, it had been over thirty years since I had gone to the museum.

On the first trip I knew I was in trouble when we got to where our exit should have been and I discover some idiot had built a professional baseball park there! WHAT THE HELL WERE THEY THINKING?

Well we finally made it after a few "detours". So, this time I had to redeem myself. Of course Mel, with that other trip fresh in her mind, got on MapQuest the night before and printed out a detailed map on how to get there.

Well off we went and everything was going swimmingly. We made it into the city and were cruising along looking for the exit the MAP said we should take. Suddenly I saw something that looked vaguely familiar!

Actually what I saw was this little blue sign that said "Zoo" with a bear pictured on it. I screamed: "FORGET THE MAP, TURN HERE!"

I startled Mel so badly she didn't think, she just turned into the freeway exit. When she realized what she had done she started threatening me: "You better not get us lost again!"

I assured her I had my bearings and off we went...me searching the sides of the streets for more "Zoo" signs. Note here...the Zoo is right next to the Museum.

AND WE MADE IT! I was redeemed! I had led us straight to the museum...by aiming for the Zoo....NOTHING TO IT!

Of course Mel was muttering something about "A blind hog finding an acorn" but I chose to ignore that as just being the result of sour grapes that we didn't need her stinking map after all!

So we had a wonderful time at the Museum and it was not until our ill-fated decision to walk over to the zoo that the fun really began....but this has gone on too long now so I will have to tell you that one tomorrow.

God I love to leave em hanging!


Off Subjet: ONLY THREE MORE DAYS UNTIL THE BLOGVILLE WEEKLY NEWS COMES OUT WITH CCstring AS THE GUEST EDITOR!!!!

I just had to do that....LOL!
 

Well I took the weekend off from blogging and the known world did not end in a ball of flame....go figure.

I needed the break and I really did enjoy the time Mel and I had together in our trek to the wicked city. I will have to blog on the subject soon because, as you can imagine...there is a story to tell!

Today, however I would rather take the opportunity to say a big ole WELCOME BACK to our little buddy, CCstring .

Let's all give CC a round of applause and a big slap on the back....WE ARE SO GLAD YOU ARE BACK LITTLE BUDDY!

I am sure that all of you, his legion of fans, were suitablly compassionate for the busy and hard week CC had...oh the horror of it all! I know I was to the point of tears reading his tale of overwork and full house of sick women. I can't believe how well our little buddy bears up under his load.

Now, I thought long and hard about how we could do something nice for CC and I think I have come up with just the thing.

I NOW WANT TO TAKE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO ANNOUNCE THAT NEXT WEEK'S GUEST EDITOR OF THE BLOGVILLE WEEKLY NEWS WILL BE NONE OTHER THAN CCstring !!

How about that? I know all of you are now going to waiting on pins and needles to see what CC is going to come up with in the way of an editorial. This just might be the most widely read issue of the Newsletter to date.

What do you think? Do you guys want to see CC as the next Guest Editor? Let me hear what you think!
 

This Week's edition of The Blogville Weekly News is now ready for your reading enjoyment. This week's guest editor is ♥ just jess ♥ and she did a wonderful job with her article. Please check it out and let Jessie know how much you enjoyed it. "Invalid Entry" 

I will be out of sight all day tomorrow. Mel and I are headed to the big city. We are taking a trip to Houston in order to visit with my son, Patrick and his girl friend, Sally and we are meeting them at the Museum of Natural Science. Later we plan on walking over to the Houston Zoo.

Well, that's about it for me today. Enjoy the Newsletter and I hope you all have a great weekend.
 

Guilt is a powerful tool when used by a woman and women are masters of the art as we all know.

This morning was a prime example of guilt used as a tool to accomplish a goal. The goal: get ME out of the house to walk the damn dog.

I know, a little background is called for here. You see, this is my day to go in late, I don't have to be at work until 2:30 in the afternoon. Now my habit for this day is to sleep in until about eight o'clock then rise, shower, have coffee and sit and read blogs. This is my quiet time; I marshal all my strength for the coming workday....I reserve my enegry, as it were.

So here I sat, minding my own business and reading blogs when the dark clouds began to gather about me....

Mel came and sat next to me, followed by Molly, holding her ball in her mouth. They just sat there and stared at me. Of course I did what any sane man would do...I tried to ignore them; my eyes glued to the computer screen.

"Ahhhhhhh..." Mel let out this ill-concealed, very audible sigh.

This was quickly followed by Molly emiting the very same sigh and dropping her ball in the process.

The pressure was too much. I felt two pairs of eyes boring into me relentlessly and I crumbled.

I stopped reading and turned to Mel. "WHAT?" I asked hopelessly; I knew what she wanted already.

"Oh honey," she said this accompanied by another, smaller, sigh. "I have to finish the laundry and do my treadmill this morning and I don't think I will have time to give Molly her walk."

There it was....the guilt-missile, hurled by an expert marksman and headed straight for my heart; I didn't stand a chance. Like a good wing-man in an air battle, Molly followed up this salvo by putting one paw on my leg and giving me a soulfull stare that made her look as if she were about to burst out in tears any moment.

Well I did try to mount some simblance of a defense; I grumbled and moaned about trying to rest before work...

This was met by silence...then more sighs...and the stares.

I folded like a cheap tent in a high wind.

I grabbed my shoes and shoved them on my feet, constantly griping the entire time (I don't go down easy)and threw on my shirt.

After I was suitably dressed for the torture I look up and there stands Molly with her leash in her mouth and I could swear, a smirk on her dang doggy face.

So off we go, at least ONE of us totally happy. We cover about a half mile total, which is about five times the distance I would run if chased by a man with a gun! The whole time I am kept busy throwing the ball so that Molly can chase it down like a dememted ball-sheriff, capture it and bring it back for me to repeat the whole silly process.

Twice I threw the ball into the traffic of the nearby road. Both times Molly just stared up at me as if to say: "You really didn't think that was going to work did you?"

She would wait quietly while I risked life and limb to retrieve the ball myself.

Finally it was over and I stumbled back into the santuary of my blessedly air-conditioned home.

Of course Mel met us at the door wearing a suitablely conserned and grateful look on her face which masked her natural gloating for another plan that worked.

"Hon," she said sweetly. " You really need to rest before you go to work, I hate to see you so tired...you worry me."

I WORRY HER????

God forbide that I should drop dead before she has had a chance to expend the remainder of her guilt ammo on my pointy little head!

So, here I sit...trying to marshal enough strength to strike fingers to keys and write this while Mel is sitting and watching TV with Molly laying, happily spent, at her mistress's feet.

THUS IS MY LIFE! LOL LOL!
 

Okay, ALL MEN ARE DOGS! Let's get that out of the way right off the get-go shall we. I understand this judgement of my gender and I really can not mount a strong defense of us.

What, you may ask, has brought about this startling admission on my part? Well that's easy-the weather.

You see the last two days here in my part of texas the temperture has hovered around the eighty-degree mark and summer (forget spring, we don't have it)has made its entry upon the stage.

Now what this means for me in particular is that we are now entering the halicon days of all door greeters of the male persuasion. Yes, summer in Texas, even the weak beginnings, bring out the exibitionist in most women here. These are the days of halter-tops and shear short-shorts, of mini-skirts and tee-shirts with plunging necklines.

In direct correlation with this changing of the seasons and the beginnings of a veritable parade of womanly flesh, I become one of the most popular guys in my store with the rest of the males employed there.

It's funny but true. In the winter I could stand there at that dang door and die of malnutrition before one of the guys from another department would bother to come up there and check on me to see if I needed a coffee break or a lunch. I could run out of carts...and have...only to have the cart boys hide out on the lot to keep from bringing me more.

Then Summer comes......

Today it seemed like everytime I turned around there was a guy from another department standing there demanding that I go for a break and let HIM cover for me. To a man they all cited their great consern for my health and the dire results if I don't rest and inbibe in a bit of coffee.

To a man they all left crestfallen and dejected as I spurned all offers for relief. "I don't want to put you through the horrible experience of having to do this dirty job," I told each of them.

So I stood there at my post, like the valiant retail soldier that I am and I subjected myself to those terrible 20 and 30 something sweet things that came prancing in the door in those really trashy, revealing outfits, with their gravity-defying bustlines bouncing pertly before them....I tell you its a dirty job, but someone has to do it!

Oh and I have to tell you...this job has its hazzards, its not all fun and games. For example: If one of those cute little ladies walks in and continues on by my position then there is no problem but if, God Forbide, they happen to stop and ask me a question or if they have returns that need marking then I am in mortal danger. After all, how long can a guy keep his gut sucked in and his shoulders squared? After a minute or two of holding my breath in this manner I run the very real danger of EXPLODING! Then "Housekeeping has to be called and the mess cleaned up while the other guys fight over who gets to take my place!

Note to self: I really must check with our store security about their defective cameras and monitors they have at the front door. I mean, I know you look heavier on TV than you are in real life, but our defective monitors make me look at least thirty years older than I KNOW I MUST BE!

Well there you have it...I have survived the beginnings of the summer rush. Well I survived so far, my next big danger is when Mel comes home and reads this.....

I have to stop writing now because I need to make a survey of the house and hide all the blunt instruments and edged weapons...hopefully I will still be around to do a blog TOMORROW.

Note to Mel: Sweetie, I hope you have enjoyed this example of my fiction writing skills...make that fantasy writiing....(pssst...is she buying this?)
 

Isn't it funny how different types of entries to a blog can bring on different kinds of responses and a vastly different number of them.

I have discovered, over almost a year of blogging that when I write about past memories I will always get a lot of reaction to begin with but after a few such entries the readership and the comments tend to drop off to some degree.

What does that tell me? Well, for one I think it points up the fact that my childhood wasn't that interesting. So, I tend to break up those types of entries with a few different subjects. It is no surprise to me that some folks like TeflonMike can write all his entries about his fasinating childhood and he manages to keep his readers not only entertained but coming back for more. I think that shows you what a strong writer he is and how he does this type of entry better than anyone else. I look for his stories every day after work as I am sure many of you do.

Now one of the subjects I write about, to give you a break from my boring life story, is about food. It really blows me away the way the subject of food brings out interest in so many other bloggers. Granted, food or the love of food is the one thing we all have in common. Some of the responses I got from bloggers on my last food entry really made my mouth water! No matter where we are from, we all have favorite meals and when we describe them to others it never fails to get the tastebuds overheated.

Then there is the subject of Current Events. I sometimes try to approach this subject with humor but if I do a serious one it is usually in the form of a rant and I really do try to stay away from those.

There is one subject which I have always been unable to write and that is the Personal History subject that usually deals with a particularily painful chapter in the writer's history. So far, I have just lacked the courage it takes to write about this stuff. We have quite a few who have done so successfully and what they wrote was powerful and thought provoking. Maybe one day I will do one like that....maybe for the 500th entry, then I can run and hide when it's done.

If you look over there to the left of this page you will see close to 25 names of bloggers whom I read regularily...there should be some more names there but I find I am out of room to enter favorites. The thing is, if you go to that list and click on any of those names you will be rewarded by getting to read blogs that, on any given day, are much better than the one you are reading right this moment.

So, no matter what the subject, there are writers here on WDC who do it extremely well.....so what are you waiting for? Go read those guys and find out how it really should be done, that's what I am going to do.
 

My grandfather was born in 1876, his name was Sep Yuree McClain. He was the youngest of six children, all boys. He grew up in an age we today have only read about in books. His temperament and personality was forged by the times in which he lived.

Grandpa McClain saddled his horse on or about 1896 and rode from Trinity County, Texas to Polk County; a trip of about fifty miles. It is said, in family lore, that all six brothers left about the same time, due to health reasons....a blood feud with another, very powerful family at the time. He was followed, sometime later by his young wife who drove a wagon with all their worldly possesions in the back and their baby daughter riding up on the plank seat next to her.

Grandpa eeked out a meager living deep in the East Texas woods, farming, working for a logging company and following the cotton crop as a migrant picker during the season. Their house was a converted boxcar with no amenities other than a roof to keep out the rain.

By 1900 Grandpa's family had grown to three children, one of who was my Uncle Earl whom I will write about later. It was then that grandpa's wife, Ida took sick and died. Grandpa was left to care for three young children and try to scratch out a living for the whole bunch of them.

He did not hesitate- he saddled his horse and rode back to Trinity county to the home of his father-in-law, Ben Moore who lived in a great looping bend of the Neches River called "Cracker's Bend". What had he ridden all that way alone for? He had gone back to fetch his dead wife's younger sister, Mary.

He talked old man Moore into letting him marry Mary and she agreed. With his new wife riding behind him, Grandpa left Trinity County once again within the week.

Sep Yuree and Mary remained married the rest of their lives, though the term "happily married" could not really be applied mainly because I don't think grandpa ever knew what "happy" was supposed to ential. He and his second wife, my grandmother, had four children, the youngest being my father.

Now I have told you all this history in order that you might understand the kind of grandfather I grew up knowing. He was a dour, strict even to the point of being mean, sad excuse for a man. His life had been shaped by a different century, a time when men still wore guns, rode horses and whose value system was based on ideals that had, for the most part, died with their century.

Thankfully I never got to know him very well, he died when I was about eleven years old; he was close to ninety years old. The strongest personal memory I have of him is of him sitting in a chair in our living room on one of his rare visits to our home. He had this big walking stick hand carved out of oak and anytime my older brother or me would have the misfortune to come within reach of him he would swing at us with his cane.

Grandpa was a firm believer that children should rarely be seen and NEVER heard. I don't mind telling you that he scared the hell out of us kids. Around my father and uncles, grandpa's word was law and he ruled his space like a petty tyrant, it was the young wives who were left to step in and put him in his place when he got onto any of us kids...mom was great at that.

My sweet little mom was small and quite spoken but I can still remember her jerking grandpa's walking stick away from him and threatening to beat him to death with it if he ever hit one of us again.....funny, that was the only time I ever saw my grandpa smile. It was also his last visit to our home. He left, telling my dad: "You got a damn good wife there, son, just keep her the hell away from me."

Grandpa died shortly after my eleventh birthday and at his funeral I got another shock. This was the one and only time I ever saw any of his brothers, my Great Uncles. There were three of them left alive; all very old but unbent with age. All three were over 6'3" tall with full heads of snow white hair. Their faces were hard and stern, much like my grandpa's had been. There was an air of danger about them and their eyes were piercing, like the eyes of hawks on the hunt.

They stood always together, talked little, mainly to my dad and his brothers and sisters. I remember running up to my father's side as he stood talking quietly to the brothers. They scared me and I didn't want my dad talking to them. One of the men reached out and placed one great big hand on my head as I stood there next to dad and that hand felt like a giant rock with no sense of softness in it. He ruffled my hair and smiled at me. He smiled fleetingly then turned back to continue talking to my dad.

They left shortly after the funeral and I never saw them again though I did make it my task to learn all I could about these strange men and my grandpa. Over the years I soaked up all the stories my dad and uncles were willing to share with me and some of the stories were truely amazing.

Ever since TeflonMike has begun sharing stories of his past these men have come back to my memory and I have been considering sharing some of the tales I learned with the rest of you. This is the first and hopefully I will be able to write some more about them as time goes on.

Thanks Mike for bringing them back from the mists of my childhood for me. Like them or not, these rough, hard men are partly responsible for me being who I am today. Their legend and their lives shaped me even beyond the grave. They were my past, the tap-root of my family.


 

Ya know I have to stop reading TeflonMike 's blog before I do my own blog entry. His wonderful stories always get me to thinking about my own ancient history. For you youngsters out there "ancient history" means a mythical time (much like Camalot) when there were no Cell phones, DVDs, VCR's, computers or internet. There was no Fast Food or frozen dinners or microwave ovens.

I think the thing I miss most nowadays is Country Cooking. Turnip greens, black-eyed peas, okra, onions all fresh from the garden, cooked up and served with REAL, no mix, from scratch CORNBREAD! The smell of a meal like this would waft through the house and just set our mouths to watering. There is nothing quite like a fresh vegetable supper like that, especially after a hard day of work.

As for meat dishes, well they were almost always of the wild game varity. Coon, possum and rabbit were mom's favorite engrident in her stews...she learned this from my aunt Clara who could make a stew out of about anything that lived in the forest.

Roasts, when we had them were usually from a deer. Squirrel went real well with dumplings and quail and dove were fried whole.

Every morning mom's feet would hit the floor well before anyone else in the house. She would be up and cooking by 4 a.m. and by five or so, when the rest of us came in the dining room she was filling the table with scrambled eggs, from our own chickens, pan sausage from our own hogs or from vinison if we had not rendered a hog yet, flap-jacks topped with fresh churned butter and ribbon-cane syrup.

AND A BIG PLATTER OF HOMEMADE BISCUITS! After that big breakfast we would scatter to the outdoors to do our chores and then usually head to the woods to hunt or fish, if it was the weekend...during the week in the winter us boys would have to go to school. Where ever we were off to, you can be assured that we would take one or two of those biscuits, slather a big slab of butter on it and then slap a sausage patty in the middle....that would be our lunch.

You can't buy a meal like that anymore. Especially the biscuits....today we are cursed with "WOP" biscuits. Mel had no idea what I was talking about the first time I called her biscuits wop biscuits. I bet Mike knows what I'm talking about.....

The name "Wop" biscuits comes from the sound heard in most households today when the women try to make what passes for biscuits in this enlightened time. The sound results from the tube of instant biscuits being struck against the counter to pop them open...WOP, WOP, WOP...heard all around the neighborhood every morning!

These ain't real biscuits! They come out about the size of a silver dollar (remember those?) and about a quarter inch thick. A REAL biscuit is about the size of a man's fist; light, flaky and hot! A good sized iron skellet would hold about twelve but a grown man could rarely finish more than two or three.

You always judged how well a biscuit was made by a "sop test". That intailed pouring a big dollop of thick ribbon-cane syrup into your plate and see if you could swipe your biscuit through it without the biscuit breaking up....I DARE YA TO TRY THAT WITH A DANG WOP BISCUIT!

Sadly, today we are civilized. We cook quick, we cook simple, we "nuke" it with the microwave or we pop open a can. We thaw it out and warm it all within minutes....then we rush out the door and look forward to MacDonald's or Windy's for lunch....followed by pepto-bismol and rolaids for dessert.

Sometimes progress isn't a good thing....at least it tastes that way.
 

It is too early to be siting at the computer. I should still be in bed and as a matter of fact that is where I am headed too when I finish this entry.

Now as those of you who read my last entry know, my dear, sweet wife took off from work Thursday and Friday from work just to spend some "quality" time with me as I end my vacation. Well today is the last day of vacation and tomorrow I go back to work... THANK GOD!

Some of you might have read her "response" to my last entry. She wrote about this stuff in her blog yesterday... "Invalid Entry"  In her blog: "Invalid Item" .

Just to sit the record straight here...THE WOMAN LIES!

I did notice that she mentioned beating me about the head and shoulders in a public restaurant...WELL THAT HAPPENED!

Now you tell me....WAS IT MY FAULT? I mean, I was minding my own business-was being nice and taking my dear wife out to eat and stuff. We walked into our favorite restaurant and were lead back to a table by the hostess. As we neared the table I just HAPPENED to notice, two tables to our left, two very nice looking Asian ladies sitting and having dinner.

I mean my eyes just glanced that way all on their own...I gave it no thought whatsoever. Well the hostess seats us and Mel, who is holding the local paper, begins to roll up part of it and then with this evil grin on her face, she reaches over and bops me on the head with it!

"OUCH!"

I look at her, stunned and she looks back at me and starts to grin....then I laugh..then she starts laughing and bops me again when I start to look over her left shoulder at that other table. Then we both start laughing so hard we have tears running down our faces...I mean we couldn't stop.

The folks at the table behind ours started to give us some nervous looks like they weren't sure if the crazy couple was about to kill each other or not....that made it worse...we collapsed in fresh gales of laughter.

You see, Mel just knows me all too well...If there is a pretty girl close by I am going to look...I can't help myself. It doesn't mean a thing other than I enjoy looking at beautiful women...Mel knows this. She also knows that I have a weakness for Asian women with that long black hair...it just comes from a misspent youth. Knowing all this, Mel KNOWS how I will react and she never misses a chance to harass me about it.

This is what made it so funny...well it was funny to us anyway-the rest of the customers might have thought we were crazy but then, who cares, we were having fun.

You see, this is who we are...we laugh, we play with each other...we have fun. We use to have to pull the car over on the side of the road and stop because we had gotten into tickle wars while traveling down a busy highway.

Neither of us can understand married couples who go through life like polite strangers. We both believe that your spouse should also be your best buddy and if you can't play with your best buddy well hell, you might as well be a damn grownup...and neither one of us wants to actually GROW UP!

So, tomorrow I will go back to work and use that time to heal my bruises. That way I will be ready for my next vacation, when we plan on making a trip to New York for her son's wedding.....I DON'T THINK EITHER ONE OF US WILL SURVIVE THAT ONE! But, damn, its gonna be fun!
 

This week's issue of The Blogville Weekly News is now ready for your reading enjoyment. PlannerDan is the Guest Editor this week and he did a wonderful job with his article so you all need to go check out his work.

"Invalid Entry" 
 

What are the odds of getting away with murder? No, this is a serious question so give it some thought.

I guess some background information is in order here.

You see I have been on vacation for the past week and it has been wonderful to be away from the hustle and bustle of retail hell. The problem is that for 95% of that week the weather has sucked bog water. It has been cold or raining or both. Because of this I have pretty much been housebound. Now that's not so bad really because I have managed to write a new short story, "Invalid Item"  and I had plenty of time to do all the edits necessary to make it readable...so that's a good thing.

Unfortunately, about Tuesday night, I let my 45 cal. mouth overload my .22 cal. brain and I made a really dumb statement to my dear wife, Mel.

We were laying in bed, she had come home from work about 10pm that night and we had not seen each other all day so we retired early and were watching tv and talking when I said:

"You know honey, it really is the pits being home alone all day without you here. It is really boring."

Yeah, I know, I can hear all you guys groaning and saying: "What the hell was he thinking?" but it was too late-the words were out there, hanging in front of her eyes and just begging for action. She took action.

She went to work and informed her boss that she would be taking Thursday and Friday off to be with her loving husband for the last of his vacation!

So yesterday it began....she took it as her sacred duty to see that my last days of vacation was "interesting".

And she has succeeded...beyond her wildest dreams.

As a result, yesterday, instead of relaxing in my recliner listening to my Celtic music, I was tromping along the lakeshore at the state park taking pictures of Molly running around scaring birds and squirrels!

Mel was excitedly pointing out the birds and snakes to me and I was mumbling under my breath: "Yeah, and me without my gun!"

See, Mel has this little quirk...when she gets bored she starts picking on me. I can be sitting here at the computer, minding my own business and I will suddenly feel the hair on the back of my neck rise-I turn and find her sitting behind me staring...

"Whatcha doing?" she asks.

"Uh....reading." I reply.

"Whatcha reading?" she asks

"A blog," I tell her.

"Well go back to the start and let me read it too."

GAWD!

I then get up and turn the computer over to her so she can read....big mistake...

See she has this rule: If you are on the computer you can't have the tv remote..unless you are HER...she gets both.

So then I find myself without the computer and forced to watch The Home Improvement Channel. It is litterally like watching paint dry.

The last straw came last night. I had given her the computer and I had managed to STEAL THE REMOTE so I was settled in to watch two of my favorite shows at the same time (guys can do that). I was clicking back and forth between Dancing with the Stars and the Olympic Figure Skating.

Well she decided that she didn't want to try to read on the computer and try to watch two different shows...she loves skating but she hates Dancing with the Stars. So she made a few remarks about horny old guys who only watch Dancing for the skimpy outfits worn by those girls.....WELL DUH!

She then stomped off into the bedroom to watch Skating on that tv. Before she left she stopped in front of me, blocking the screen and told me SHE would dance for me if I just liked dancing....I growled at her and she scampered off to the bedroom.

Peace and quiet for about ten minutes....then I hear from the bedroom: "Not only will I dance for you, but I will wear one of those skimpy outfits!"

"Uh?" I muttered. Then a few minutes later she came bouncing out of the bed room wearing nothing but this shear little bed spread depicting prancing horses and she had it positioned so that very little was left to the imagination!

Well unfortunately I am an avid photographer and I just happed to have my digital camera sitting on the desk next to me. I did what any seasoned wildlife photographer would do, it was instinct.....I GRABBED THE CAMERA AND STARTED SNAPPING AWAY!

Well she screamed and began to try and cover heretofore uncovered parts of her body as she ran back into the bedroom and slammed the door.

I collapsed onto the floor in a fit of laughter as she yelled threats at me from behind the closed door.

"IF THOSE PICTURES EVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY YOU WILL HAVE TO GO TO THE ER TO HAVE THAT CAMERA SURGICALLY REMOVED!" She yelled through the door.

Gawd....this will go on until Sunday when I return to work.

Thus the question at the beginning of this blog....I have a gut feeling that one of us will need an answer to it very soon.

 

From time to time, here in my blog, I will delve into the nasty, slimy, world of politics and offer my own humble opinions upon subjects on the State, National and International scene.

That's all they are-my opinions.

I have also stated, many times, that I am not a member of any political party, I am a true independent, though my personal philosophy does tend to run more to the conservetive side than anything else. So be warned.

The biggest thing on my mind today is the latest news about Bush turning over control of our ports to a foreign company-a company owned by ARABS!

Okay, granted, I don't know the whole story. He failed to brief me before he made this particualar move. Therefore I am forced to react in just my ignorant, country-boy fashion by saying: "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?"

In a day and age when 90% of the Islamic world wants nothing more than to see the downfall of America our president hands over control to our seaports to a company owned by Arabs....That is just STUPID.

Has the adminstration forgotten 9/11? Did it slip their mind that we have troops fighting and dying in Iraq?

I have always stood loyalily behind my president but even though I am loyal that does not mean I follow blindly. When I think the president makes a dumb move, I don't mind telling him so. This was just stupid and wrong.

Why has it been deemed that American ports can't be run by AMERICANS? Am I wrong in believing that Americans should control their own ports?

My other peeve, this morning has to do, once more with the fall out from hurricane Katrina.

It has always amazed me that anytime some ignorant, redneck, cracker makes a public statement that is blantily racist we hear about it over and over in the press. Newspapers and TV news cries out in outrage for weeks and even months against the person who makes such a statement. I understand that there should be outrage and the person making such a statement should be punished and even vilifyed...

So flash back about three weeks ago. The Mayor of New Orleans, in a speech, stated that when that city was rebuilt it should be made a "chocolate city".

That rates right up there with the very worse racist statement I have ever heard from any white offical in any city or state or the nation.

So what happened? For about three days we heard TV talking heads, Senators, Congressmen and civil rights leaders bemoaning the Mayor's "lack of judgement".

THAT WAS IT.

After that the whole thing was swept under the rug. I have heard nothing else about it. What does this mean? Does it mean that when Blacks say things like that is is only a "lack of Judgement" but when a white man says it then it is RACIST?

Is that what we have come to in our politically correct world?

My friends, if it walks like a duck and it quacks like a duck, odds are its a damn duck....no matter what color feathers it happens to be sporting.
 

Yeah, yeah, I know, I have already done a blog today. So what am I doing in here again bugging you people? Don't worry, this has nothing to do with me so realax.

I just wanted to remind everyone that Friday is the deadline to get your questions in for Mark, Nada's friend who has so graciously agreed to do an interview for B.A.N.G. .

As all of you know who read Nada's blog, Mark is a man who has done what most of us can only dream of doing: He has made money and garnered some fame from his writing skills...we all want to do that when we grow up, right.

He was a writer on the Bob Newheart Show and wrote many of the episodes himself. He also wrote episodes of "Diagnosis Murder", the Dick Van Dyke show. Nada has a link to his other writing credits, maybe she will post it again as I couldn't find it for some reason, in her past blogs.

The thing is, this man could answer a lot of questions about the writing industry in Hollywood and maybe that would help someone in here step up to that next level of writing.

So, please, think of a question you would like him to answer and send it in to Nada . If you don't have a question about writing for TV then maybe you have a question about some of the really interesting people the man has written for in the past. Whatever you have....send the question to Nada. She has given us a rare opportunity to talk to someone who is a successful writer, let's not squander the chance.
 

Yesterday was definately a roller-coaster ride for me here in WDC. I started off as usual yesterday: writing my blog, answering blogs, reading emails as they came in and checking stats....same ole same ole.

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks: INSPIRATION!

Now those of you who enjoy inflicting pain upon yourselves and read my blog regularily, know that I have been suffering for months with a huge writer's block. I have been unable to put five words together to make even a simblance of a sentance much less write a complete short story. The lone exception to this malady is my blog....that I seem to be able to accomplish with little or no effort...go figure!

Well yesterday INSPIRATION fell upon me and covered me up and it felt soooo damn good! I rushed over and turned off the TV then I put my two favorite CDs in the player: Celtic Woman and The Best of Andrew Lloyd Webber. I turned the volume down low and sat down at the computer and began to WRITE.

An hour later I had a BRAND NEW SHORT STORY in my port! One hour and 1300 words....I managed to do it and keep the idea flowing the whole way, I was really stoked.

Now I have a bad habit and I have always done it this way. I write a story and put it directly into my port with no editing. I figure I can edit after I get some reviews telling me all the mistakes I need to correct...I figure this way I won't miss any.

I did the same with this story. Then I went over and put it on the Plug Page and the Request Review Page and waited.....from both those pages I got a total of 15 views and only TWO reviews. Only ONE of those reviews were serious and helpful, the other one the guy simply wrote: GREAT STORY. KEEP WRITING. and gave me a 3.5...to which I answered him: THANK YOU. KEEP READING. If people aren't really going to review why do they bother?

On the other hand I emailed a few of my friends here on the blog page and asked them to please give me a serious review and BAM, justlike that I got reviews from every one of them. Each review was serious and very, very helpful. Yesterday I finished the edits suggested by Nada and today I will finish the edits suggested by Sarah and PlannerDan .

After reading all their suggestions and then rereading my story I discovered something though.....this story really did stink in its original form. If my block did break, it damn sure left me rusty with my storytelling.

Yes, after I do all the edits suggested, the story will be a really nice piece but I did a really terrible job on it to begin with. Maybe that block isn't really ready to be broken, maybe I was just forcing the issue, I haven't figured that out yet.

Another thing that struck me is that putting a story on the Plug Page and Reviewing Page is pretty useless now. I got more interest and help by just emailing folks personally.

So, I went from high to low yesterday and today I am riding somewhere in the middle. What use to be so easy for me, now seems to be a real labor....Hopefully I will get better at it. After all, being a writer is how I define myself...it would help if I could actually write!
 

Yesterday I read, with some interest, Sarah 's blog entry in which she left a link to something called: The Death clock.

You fill out your birthday, weight, smoker/non-smoker, personallity type and it tell you what month, day, and year you will die...wouldn't it be great if that was all there was to it.

My personal deathday is Thursday, April 14, 2016 ! That would make me 67 years old. Now this is interesting because in my reply to Forever's blog I stated that the men in my family rarely made it over the age of 65. Was this positive reinforcement of my own belifs in my mortality?

Well, being the curious type I went back to the test and altered a few of the answers to see what I would come up with.

Now part of the thing was figuring up your BMI or Body Mass Index. To do this you enter your height and weight and it gives you the correct BMI number...mine was 30.
Body type:Obese

I had to laugh at that. You see I weigh 230 lbs and am 6'1" tall. Now at one time, about six years ago, I got down in weight to 185 and I looked like a suvivor of a German Death Camp! Skin and bones with my clothes hanging on me like someone had dressed a skeleton.

So, when I went back and altered the info in the test I refigured my weight at 160lbs and that changed my BMI to 21.

Body type: DESIRABLE? LOL!

I also changed the "smoker" to "Non-smoker".

I hit enter again and my new death date was January 10, 2022......a net gain of SIX YEARS!

I sat and thought about this for a bit....pondering the message that the test was sending me.

It told me that even though I was "obese" and a rabid smoker I was still probably going to live two years longer than I had ever planned on living. On the other hand, if I were to spend torturous months starving my body, exercising, denying myself of anything that remotely seemed like pleasure, if I went through the hell of giving up smoking and suffer withdrawal symptoms more closely assocated with crack addicts....after all of this....I could LIVE SIX MORE YEARS!

I thought about this seriously...for about ten seconds...then I said: WHY? What in the hell could I accomplish in those extra six years that I could not accomplish in all those interviening years?

No.

When my eight or ten years are up I will step gladly off this stage and make room for another actor. I will have said all I wanted to say and done what I could do and I will look forward with some glee to a whole new adventure.

What could be better than, at your appointed time, waving farewell to friends and setting off into the unknown with a smile on your face and the prospects of something new just around the corner.

So...thanks but you can keep your extra 6 years, I would be quite satisfied with 65 or 68....not bad considering I never should have seen 20.

 

It doesn't matter how long I am here on WDC I am still caught by surprise sometimes and am left scratching my head in confusion. I want to talk about two such incendents today and you can give me your feed back.

First is the act of rating snapshots. Now I'm not talking about photographs taken and presented as art, no I am talking about simple snapshots. The only reason most of us put photos in our port is because they have to be in the port before we can use them in our blog entries.

Now I don't know about you but to me, having simple snapshots "graded" or "rated" is just plain silly to me.

This happened to me this morning. I opened up "Summary Stats" and found that someone had gone in and rated almost every photo I had in my port. Now this person didn't give me any bad ratings...all 4's or 4.5's... but I just had to wonder: WHY? Why bother to do this?

I do realize that the number of ratings and reviews given by members are kept up with and there is a list of those who have given the most ratings and the most reviews....could this be the reason?

Maybe in an effort to pad their numbers, someone came in to the port and just rated photos but never looked at anything with writing....that seems a bit lazy to me. They didn't have to read anything to give it a rating, all they had to do was open the pic and click on the rating button. Lazy.

Okay, the above example caused me to sigh and scratch my head in wonder but this next example caused me to just downright laugh out loud!

I talked to CC last night before I went to bed (sure way to have nightmares) and I was kidding him a bit, as I am wont to do from time to time. I asked him what was up with his rating on his blog....seems he had been knocked down to where me and Dan are...rated at 4.5 overall. Me and Dan have kidded him that with all his suck-up talent all he gets is a 5 on the thing.

Well CC told me that not long ago he had recieved two reviews and ratings from a couple of newbie members and one gave him a 2 and the other gave him a 1.5!!!

Then both these folks went on to give him hints on how to correct his GRAMMER and SPELLING!!! One even told him to edit for content to make his blog easier to FOLLOW!!!

I was laughing so hard I fell from my chair onto the floor. I had tears running down my cheeks and Mel came running in demanding what the heck were we up to now. I couldn't answer her so I just handed her the phone and CC explained it to her....she then joined me on the floor LAUGHING HER BUTT OFF.

Can you imagine ANYONE trying to help CC with his grammer? Hell if CC wrote in a serious manner none of us would recognize him! THIS IS WHO CC IS. THIS IS WHAT HE DOES AND DOES QUITE WELL I MIGHT ADD.

As funny as this is, it also points up a danger to reviewing. If these two newbies had bothered to read more than one entry from CC they would (hopefully) see what he is doing and the genius in what he does.

To me, blogs are different than writing short stories or novels or even poetry....with blogs we are talking more than writing. Even those of us who try to write entries like newspaper or magazine colums try to write in a very informal manner...sometimes new members aren't aware of the difference. Sometimes members, especially new members need to read a bit more in-depth before giving a bad review.

As funny as this was, it could have been devastating to someone who was not as self assured as CC. He was laughing about it as much as we were. He could have totally withdrew from blogging as a result of two very bad reviews or he could have changed the way he blogs and that would have been just as bad.

So there you have it...two prime examples of weird stuff that happens here....what do you guys think? Let me hear from you.
 

This is the 324th entry in my blog. I noticed this when I first opened the blog up today and I was struck by the fact that my journey which began March 31, 2005 is nearing its end. We are allowed 500 entries in this format and then it is done.

What a strange yet satisfying journey it has been. I think the best part of doing this blog is the friends I have made along the way. How wonderful it would be if we could have the same opportunity to get to know the people who buy our books when we manage to become published. This is the magic of a site like WDC...we get to KNOW and experience the lives of our readers. In some respects that is even better than mainstream publication.

So, anyway, here I sit wondering what the next 176 entries will be about. Where will I go and what will I talk about?

What have I accomplished in almost a year of blogging?

Well first and foremost I have made friends through the blog, that is the most important thing of all. To date I have almost twelve thousand views and a #4 ranking in the list of most read but that is not as important as having been afforded the opportunity to share a part of me, some of which I have never shared with anyone before.

Writing this blog has taught me how to be open and honest when sharing my feelings through writing. It has taught me how to open up something of myself and I think it does that for all of us who blog and makes us better writers in our other genres we chose to write.

I always tell people that I approach writing a blog entry the same way I would approach writing a daily personal interest column in a newspaper. I try to write things that people would enjoy reading in their local newspaper, over their morning coffee.

By the same token that is what I look for when I read blogs. All of you out there who I read daily (even if I don't respond daily)have blogs I would eagerily search out in my newspaper to read while I enjoyed my morning coffee...you would all make me buy the paper each day.

So, where am I going for these next 176 entries? I have no idea but I do know that the ride will be exciting and it will be one which I will remember for the rest of my life.

Thank you.....all who read here, Now buckle up cause the ride aint done yet.
 

Well I think I have bored you enough with the Tales of Tuchek so this will be a wrap-up of the story, so to speak.

Tony and I parted company after we completed our training. He went directly to Nam while I made a stop at another training school.

As a result, he was in the bush about three months before I got there and was assigned to another division. I will not go into the sorid details of my tour in-country, suffice it to say I was busy in the extreme.

We did finally meet up, Tuchek and I, about six months into my tour. I was sitting in a bar in Siagon when in walks Tuchek as big as life. He spotted me as soon as he walked in the door and he stopped dead in his track.

"YO TEX, HOW THEY HANGING BUD?" He yelled at the top of his voice.

I didn't even have to look up to know who had just yelled....I was overjoyed. He was alive and kicking and that was reason enough to party.

So he and I spent the rest of that night drinking copious amounts of whisky and getting to know a couple of local barmaids and.....talking.

It was apparent to me that Tony had changed drastically. He was much quieter now and that fun-loving spirit that had been his trademark seemed to have gone away. There was a hardness to him now, a dangerous edge that made people wary to approach him.

The funny thing is, while we talked, he said much the same about me. Maybe it was just the process of childhood being burned away...maybe it was the same for everyone. Whatever the reason, we both noticed a difference in each other and our reunion was a bit stiffled and strained at first.

We did manage though to have a good time and as the sun rose we bid each other farewell with promises to try to get together again, God willing and Victor Charlie not withstanding.

We never did.

I did my tour and went home and started to rebuild my life just like every other person who made it out alive.

Fast Forward to 1971......I was living in Houston and working for a large department store as an asst. Manager. As with many vets of that time I was dealing with a lot of personal issues but was coping as best I could.

I remember it like it was yesterday. It was noon on a Saturday in July and I was standing near the front door talking to one of my workers when I happened to look up and there, walking through the front door, was TONY TUCHEK!

I damn near fell over in a faint when I saw him. He had not changed much..a bit thinner, his face showing a few more hard lines, but his eyes were marked the most. They were the eyes of a hunting hawk....hard, even a bit cold and giving the impression that they saw everything around him at once.

He smiled when he saw me but it was not one of surprise. As I found out later he had purposefully hunted me down....he wanted to talk.

So I told the Manager I would be taking a long lunch and with Tony in tow, I left the store and headed to a small cafe a block from work.

We ate lunch and drank a few beers, all the time making small talk and catching up on each other's life.

After lunch was finished Tony got down to what had brought him to Texas to look for me. He had a business propistion for me. He talked excitedily about his up coming trip to England. It seems he had decided to sign up with a group of Mercenaires headed somewhere in Africa to help with one of the many ongoing bush wars over there. Someone by the dubious name of Mad Mike Hoare was recruiting an army and was promising more money for a year of service than most of us could attain in three years working regular jobs.

I listened quietly to Tony's enthusiastic sales pitch with a sinking heart.....he wanted to go back into the same shit storm we had lived through once before?

Finally I interrupted his description of what our jobs would consist of and I told him:

"Tony...I can't do this. I'm sorry bud, but that part of my life is over..never again, my friend."

He stopped and stared at me for a moment in silence then he told me.

"I guess that is the difference between me and you. You never liked what you had to do over there and God help me, I grew to love it. I dreaded coming home. In a way this is my chance to "go home" to something I am more familiar with."

"I can't believe, after all our adventures, you are gonna sit this one out," he finished, sadly.

"You can tell me all about it when you come home Tony," I told him with a smile.

He looked at me for a moment with this really solemn look on his face then, suddenly he flashed me that big ole "Tuchek" grin.

"Hell yeah," he exclaimed. "I'll even bring you some souveniers."

We left the cafe shortly afterwards and we parted company in the parking lot with a handshake and a brief hug....me heading back to work and my world, Tony headed to the airport to catch another flight out of town and toward yet another adventure. Before he left, Tony gave me the phone number of his parents..."Just in case," he whispered...then he was gone.

Three months later I read in the newspaper of a group of mercenaries who had been caught in some god-forsaken African country by government forces and excuted.

That night, after work, I called the number Tony had given me......they told me their son had indeed been amoung those captured and killed.

I spoke for a few more moments with a grieving father then I hung up the phone and for the first time in years....I cried. I cried for my lost friend, for that infectious smile and loud laugh and that soaring spirit that had endured so much only to be snuffed out in the end by the cruelest mistress of all: War.

I use to lay awake at night and wonder why I had refused this last adventure with my friend. I thought, somhow I had let him down by not sharing the end with him. Finally, though I came to realize that my life which I had rebuilt and my family was where my loyality lay and finally, I had made at least one right decision.

But, from time to time, I do miss Tony Tuchek and his smile.
 

Off Subject: The latest issue of The Blogville Weekly News is now ready for your reading enjoyment. This week's issue will be a special treat because I talked Sarah into writing the main article for it. "Invalid Entry" 
Please give it a read then be sure and tell Forever how much you enjoyed her article.
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Tuchek and I sailed through our corpsman school with more or less no incendents...well almost no incendents. There was that whole Tijuana thing...

Toward the end of the school, if grades were good enough, some of us could get a weekend liberty. That was our downfall; letting us off base was NOT the greatest idea the military ever came up with.

Tony had been on his best behaviour in school and he and I were up near the top of our class so, of course, we got liberty fairly easily. Personally I would have been just as happy to spend mine exploring the cultural sites in downtown San Diego: the library, the museums....that stuff but nooooooo, Tony would have none of it. His idea of a really BIG weekend was to drag me down south to the city of Tijuana, Mexico!

That little voice in the back of my brain was screaming a warning: DO NOT GO! But of course I rarely listened to the voice back then. So off we went, me and Tuchek, dressed in our best civvies, to catch a bus to the border, destination: PARTYVILLE!!

I have to admit, it was fun....at first. The lights, the happy people, the BOOZE. It seemed to me as if every other building housed a bar and the two of us made up our minds to visit each and every one of them. I have to say, we had one helluva night...maybe too good.

Two in the morning found me and Tony making our way, somewhat unsteadily, down the sidewalk towards what must have been our fifth or sixth bar. We made for quite a group, each of us with a cute little senorita on either arm....we ALMOST made it to the safty of another bar when it happened.....TUCHEK HAD TO PEE!

I mean he had to go in the worse way. AND WE WERE ON A SIDEWALK THAT WAS STILL CROWDED!

"Hold it Tony." I told him. He didn't listen, as usual.

Instead, he disengaged himself from the two lovelies walking beside him and started to stagger toward the wall of a small shop.

"GO TO THE ALLY" I yelled at him.

He merely waved a hand behind him as he staggered on toward the shop. Then he did it...right there on the sidewalk in downtown Tijuana....he relieved himself.

Unfortuantely it was about fifteen feet from where a cop stood. All hell broke loose.

In the resultant melee the cop and two of his cop friends who ran to his aid were mildly bruised...Me and Tuchek were unconsensious when they heaved us into a cell in the Tijuana jail!

So there I sit...in a stinking jail cell in a foregin country....WITH TUCHEK! I was sitting there rubbing the brand new bumps on my head and Tony was laughing his ass off.

"Oh man," he said happily. "Did you see how well that cop bounced when you hit him?"

"I didn't mean to hurt him," I told Tony. "I merely was trying to stop him from playing a jazz number on your thick skull with his nightstick".

"Well you done good partner" Tony replied.

Well as some of you might know, back then getting into a Tijuana jail cell was a lot easier than getting out of one.

It finally took a phone call from a very angry Marine major who threatened the chief of police with a full company of Marines coming down there to "liberate" us before we found ourselves on the north side of the border with threats of bodily harm if we ever returned to Mexico.

Once again I found myself before a commander who was very angry....another letter in the file...and Tuchek was busy regaling all our friends with the story of his exciting liberty south of the border.
 

I have Tuchek to thank for my tour with the Marines...the TURKEY!

You see, at the end of boot camp all the recruits are herded into this building, one company at a time and they set us down at these long tables. There are forms in front of each of us and the required pencles and we are told to fill out the forms listing our desired school to attend after graduation...it is called the "Wish List".

Well, there we sat, Tuchek once again at my side and we started filling out our wish list. We both were doing fine, getting all our perferred schools down on paper and then it happened.....

We had six choices to be listed in the order of preferance. I had done the first five with no trouble, as had Tony but when we got to number six we were both stumped.

We could not come up with a sixth school to write down. It was then, in that fatefull moment, that Tuchek leaned over and whispered to me:

"Yo, Tex, What is your sixth school?"

"I don't have a clue," I whispered back and then I made the big mistake and continued, "You have any ideas?"

Tony stared at the paper for a bit then leaned back to me and said. "Well hell, what about Corpsman?"

"What the heck is that?" I asked innocently.

"Oh that's the medic thing," he said knowingly. "You know, the guy who gives the shots and hands out the pills."

I figured...what the hell, it was our sixth choice afterall it wasn't like we were really going to have to do it. So why not?

I wrote my sixth choice as did Tony.

We were immedately sent to school to be medics! We forgot to factor in the fact that we were at war and the Navy was losing medics at an alarming rate. We also made the mistake of believing the Navy actually CARED what choice we made and when.

I remember the first day we reported to the school. We were standing in front of our new barracks with our duffle bags sitting in front of us. I turned to Tuchek and spoke that famous line from all the Laural and Hardy movies..."ANOTHER FINE MESS YOU'VE GOTTEN ME INTO!"