MAY GOD BLESS THIS AIRLINE CAPTAIN:
He writes: My lead flight attendant came to me and said, "We have an H.R. on this flight." (H.R. stands for human remains.) "Are they military?" I asked.
'Yes', she said.
'Is there an escort?' I asked.
'Yes, I already assigned him a seat'.
'Would you please tell him to come to the flight deck. You can board him early," I said..
A short while later, a young army sergeant entered the flight deck. He was the image of the perfectly dressed soldier. He introduced himself and I asked him about his soldier. The escorts of these fallen soldiers talk about them as if they are still alive and still with us.
'My soldier is on his way back to Virginia ,' he said. He proceeded to answer my questions, but offered no words.
I asked him if there was anything I could do for him and he said no. I told him that he had the toughest job in the military and that I appreciated the work that he does for the families of our fallen soldiers. The first officer and I got up out of our seats to shake his hand. He left the flight deck to find his seat.
We completed our preflight checks, pushed back and performed an uneventful departure. About 30 minutes into our flight I received a call from the lead flight attendant in the cabin. 'I just found out the family of the soldier we are carrying, is on board', she said. She then proceeded to tell me that the father, mother, wife and 2-year old daughter were escorting their son, husband, and father home. The family was upset because they were unable to see the container that the soldier was in before we left. We were on our way to a major hub at which the family was going to wait four hours for the connecting flight home to Virginia .
The father of the soldier told the flight attendant that knowing his son was below him in the cargo compartment and being unable to see him was too much for him and the family to bear. He had asked the flight attendant if there was anything that could be done to allow them to see him upon our arrival. The family wanted to be outside by the cargo door to watch the soldier being taken off the airplane.. I could hear the desperation in the flight attendants voice when she asked me if there was anything I could do.. 'I'm on it', I said. I told her that I would get back to her.
Airborne communication with my company normally occurs in the form of e-mail like messages. I decided to bypass this system and contact my flight dispatcher directly on a secondary radio. There is a radio operator in the operations control center who connects you to the telephone of the dispatcher. I was in direct contact with the dispatcher.. I explained the situation I had on board with the family and what it was the family wanted. He said he understood and that he would get back to me.
Two hours went by and I had not heard from the dispatcher. We were going to get busy soon and I needed to know what to tell the family. I sent a text message asking for an update. I saved the return message from the dispatcher and the following is the text:
'Captain, sorry it has taken so long to get back to you. There is policy on this now and I had to check on a few things. Upon your arrival a dedicated escort team will meet the aircraft. The team will escort the family to the ramp and plane side. A van will be used to load the remains with a secondary van for the family. The family will be taken to their departure area and escorted into the terminal where the remains can be seen on the ramp. It is a private area for the family only. When the connecting aircraft arrives, the family will be escorted onto the ramp and plane side to watch the remains being loaded for the final leg home. Captain, most of us here in flight control are veterans. Please pass our condolences on to the family. Thanks.'
I sent a message back telling flight control thanks for a good job. I printed out the message and gave it to the lead flight attendant to pass on to the father. The lead flight attendant was very thankful and told me, 'You have no idea how much this will mean to them.'
Things started getting busy for the descent, approach and landing. After landing, we cleared the runway and taxied to the ramp area. The ramp is huge with 15 gates on either side of the alleyway. It is always a busy area with aircraft maneuvering every which way to enter and exit. When we entered the ramp and checked in with the ramp controller, we were told that all traffic was being held for us.
'There is a team in place to meet the aircraft', we were told. It looked like it was all coming together, then I realized that once we turned the seat belt sign off, everyone would stand up at once and delay the family from getting off the airplane. As we approached our gate, I asked the copilot to tell the ramp controller we were going to stop short of the gate to make an announcement to the passengers. He did that and the ramp controller said, 'Take your time.'
I stopped the aircraft and set the parking brake. I pushed the public address button and said, 'Ladies and gentleman, this is your Captain speaking I have stopped short of our gate to make a special announcement. We have a passenger on board who deserves our honor and respect. His Name is Private XXXXXX, a soldier who recently lost his life. Private XXXXXX is under your feet in the cargo hold. Escorting him today is Army Sergeant XXXXXXX. Also, on board are his father, mother, wife, and daughter. Your entire flight crew is asking for all passengers to remain in their seats to allow the family to exit the aircraft first. Thank you.'
We continued the turn to the gate, came to a stop and started our shutdown procedures. A couple of minutes later I opened the cockpit door. I found the two forward flight attendants crying, something you just do not see. I was told that after we came to a stop, every passenger on the aircraft stayed in their seats, waiting for the family to exit the aircraft.
When the family got up and gathered their things, a passenger slowly started to clap his hands. Moments later more passengers joined in and soon the entire aircraft was clapping. Words of 'God Bless You', I'm sorry, thank you, be proud, and other kind words were uttered to the family as they made their way down the aisle and out of the airplane. They were escorted down to the ramp to finally be with their loved one.
Many of the passengers disembarking thanked me for the announcement I had made. They were just words, I told them, I could say them over and over again, but nothing I say will bring back that brave soldier.
I respectfully ask that all of you reflect on this event and the sacrifices that millions of our men and women have made to ensure our freedom and safety in these United States of AMERICA .
May 29, 2010
A bit of this and that
Whoo Hoo long weekend. I knocked off an hour or so early yesterday. I need a vacation, even if it is only one day. We are off this afternoon to some friends to soak in their pool. I intend to smoke a stogie or two with my buddy and drink a couple of beers. It is supposed to be sunny and in the mid-80s, a perfect day.
I have mixed emotions about celebrating the weekend. Certainly Monday should be spent reflecting on the sacrifices made by the men and women who gave their lives for our freedoms. As one pundit put it, Memorial day should be America's Holy day. I agree. The somber sight of the local courthouse lawn lined with white crosses representing the lives of County residents who paid the ultimate price in battle stirs sadness and pride. I find it beyond pitiful that the President of the United States, the Commander in Chief, finds it more important to go to a rock concert than to honor the fallen at Arlington. That criticism is not political. Liberals and conservatives have died for their country. It is incumbent upon the President to understand that sacrifice.
I usually sleep in an old pair of cotton gym shorts. I like to put on clothing when I go to get the paper. I hang yesterday's T-shirt and pants/shorts on my dresser. This morning I was stepping into my shorts when I saw something from the corner of my eye. It was a large spider hanging from the ceiling. We have cathedral ceilings in the bedroom so this guy had dropped from about 12 or 14 feet! I ran to get a Kleenex to smash him. When I came back he was no where to be found! No web, no spider on the floor. No spider on the ceiling. No spider in my shirt. No spider in my hair. He was just gone. I hate spiders almost as much as snakes.
It is a great day so far. I noticed birds have shit all over my car this morning. I guess I will be washing vehicles in a bit.
I hope you have a great Saturday.
One more thing -- if you are still giving money to PBS, you are a moron of the highest order. See this.
I have mixed emotions about celebrating the weekend. Certainly Monday should be spent reflecting on the sacrifices made by the men and women who gave their lives for our freedoms. As one pundit put it, Memorial day should be America's Holy day. I agree. The somber sight of the local courthouse lawn lined with white crosses representing the lives of County residents who paid the ultimate price in battle stirs sadness and pride. I find it beyond pitiful that the President of the United States, the Commander in Chief, finds it more important to go to a rock concert than to honor the fallen at Arlington. That criticism is not political. Liberals and conservatives have died for their country. It is incumbent upon the President to understand that sacrifice.
I usually sleep in an old pair of cotton gym shorts. I like to put on clothing when I go to get the paper. I hang yesterday's T-shirt and pants/shorts on my dresser. This morning I was stepping into my shorts when I saw something from the corner of my eye. It was a large spider hanging from the ceiling. We have cathedral ceilings in the bedroom so this guy had dropped from about 12 or 14 feet! I ran to get a Kleenex to smash him. When I came back he was no where to be found! No web, no spider on the floor. No spider on the ceiling. No spider in my shirt. No spider in my hair. He was just gone. I hate spiders almost as much as snakes.
It is a great day so far. I noticed birds have shit all over my car this morning. I guess I will be washing vehicles in a bit.
I hope you have a great Saturday.
One more thing -- if you are still giving money to PBS, you are a moron of the highest order. See this.
May 28, 2010
Friday Covers
Lennon and McCartney get the all of the publicity, but for my money this is one of the greatest songs ever written. No covers today, just some different versions. I could listen to this song over and over.
I especially like the following version, recorded as a demo and before Clapton added the solos. I think it is haunting:
A quick thought
Since The Obama promised to lower the oceans, why doesn't he just concentrate that awesome power and focus it right above the BP oil spill? He could lower the sea level so that workers could just reach down and "plug the damn hole".
See, I have answers.
See, I have answers.
Today's Ear Worm
Not all ear worms are good.
Get out, get out, you evil fucking song. Leave me alone.
I hate you, Brandy. You have been in my head for two long days.
Please, please just stop.
May 27, 2010
Pop Tarts and the Nanny State
A watchdog group is pissed at the Kellogg's Company. They are mad because Pop Tarts claims on the front of the box to contain real fruit. It is not that Pop Tarts don't contain real fruit -- they do. It is that the popinjays at the CARU insist Pop Tarts do not have enough real fruit to warrant the claim on the box. CARU also has an issue with the giant strawberries on the Strawberry Pop Tart box. I think it is there because they are fucking Strawberry Pop Tarts -- it allows morons to know they are buying Pop Tarts with Strawberry filling. Not even the most ignorant mouth breathing Obama voter could believe Strawberry Pop Tarts are made with giant mutant strawberries. The image of the Pop tart itself is not to scale either.
If CARU is really concerned about truth in advertising why doesn't the food at Denny's look like the picture on the damn menu? Why are the fries never hot at McDonald's? Why don't the chicks (or men) look like their pictures on Internet dating sites? Why doesn't that spray-on hair restorer look like hair instead of spray paint? Now there are some things to "watchdog".
Have these nitwits ever eaten a Pop Tart? After one bite every four year old can tell they have just enough fruit to allow you to swallow the dried out flour pastry. Jeebus, go after them for claiming to be a tart -- it would make more sense.
CARU claims it tries to protect children from false advertising. Sorry, I am certain children are aware that My Little Pony does not shit rainbows and that toy airplanes will not fly themselves.
Look, kids are not dumb. Only an asshole rotten parent would sue a toy company thinking a toy plane could really fly. It is parents looking for a quick buck or the attention they did not get when they went on Jerry Springer that sue over that kind of bullshit. You know, the typical of swindler that "slips" at the grocery store and sues.
When I was a kid I knew G.I. Joe did not come with that lush jungle and running river seen in the advertisement. I had to play with him in my bedroom or on the grass out back. When your sister got the Barbie Beach House there was no ocean or sand for her to pose and frolic around in.
I knew the only way you play with your Matchbox cars and Hot Wheels was to stage that big pileup on I-80 by smashing the toy cars with a hammer, soaking them in lighter fluid and setting the whole shebang on fire. In other words, using your imagination. Not that I would ever actually ruin my toys like that...
We did not need some nosy nellie watchdogs to tell us what was what. Our parents told us when something was a scam. If we ignored them and wasted our money, well, we learned a lesson. Caveat Empter. Mom would tell us that new cereal based on a movie would taste like cardboard. We insisted. We had to eat that whole shitty box of crumpled and crushed drywall and a lesson was learned.
Kids do not expect to see fruit oozing from a Pop Tart. The nanny state will soon dictate that all packaging consist of a white box with mere descriptions. Instead of Pop Tart we will see Pastry-like snack. Suitable for breakfast on the go, afternoon after school snacks and to relieve post medical marijuana munchies. Maybe it will just be a basic list of nutrients and a Material Safety Data Sheet for every item you purchase. Beer will just be a Fermented Hop and Barley drink, followed by a two page list of the inherit dangers of the product. Food will start to look like the side of a drug package.
The real issue -- I suspect these guys want to ban Pop Tarts. If interfering assholes like this get their way we will eat only bland tofu and dirt burgers. For excitement we might get a carrot stick --but only if grown from an organic garden.
If CARU is really concerned about truth in advertising why doesn't the food at Denny's look like the picture on the damn menu? Why are the fries never hot at McDonald's? Why don't the chicks (or men) look like their pictures on Internet dating sites? Why doesn't that spray-on hair restorer look like hair instead of spray paint? Now there are some things to "watchdog".
Have these nitwits ever eaten a Pop Tart? After one bite every four year old can tell they have just enough fruit to allow you to swallow the dried out flour pastry. Jeebus, go after them for claiming to be a tart -- it would make more sense.
CARU claims it tries to protect children from false advertising. Sorry, I am certain children are aware that My Little Pony does not shit rainbows and that toy airplanes will not fly themselves.
Look, kids are not dumb. Only an asshole rotten parent would sue a toy company thinking a toy plane could really fly. It is parents looking for a quick buck or the attention they did not get when they went on Jerry Springer that sue over that kind of bullshit. You know, the typical of swindler that "slips" at the grocery store and sues.
When I was a kid I knew G.I. Joe did not come with that lush jungle and running river seen in the advertisement. I had to play with him in my bedroom or on the grass out back. When your sister got the Barbie Beach House there was no ocean or sand for her to pose and frolic around in.
I knew the only way you play with your Matchbox cars and Hot Wheels was to stage that big pileup on I-80 by smashing the toy cars with a hammer, soaking them in lighter fluid and setting the whole shebang on fire. In other words, using your imagination. Not that I would ever actually ruin my toys like that...
We did not need some nosy nellie watchdogs to tell us what was what. Our parents told us when something was a scam. If we ignored them and wasted our money, well, we learned a lesson. Caveat Empter. Mom would tell us that new cereal based on a movie would taste like cardboard. We insisted. We had to eat that whole shitty box of crumpled and crushed drywall and a lesson was learned.
Kids do not expect to see fruit oozing from a Pop Tart. The nanny state will soon dictate that all packaging consist of a white box with mere descriptions. Instead of Pop Tart we will see Pastry-like snack. Suitable for breakfast on the go, afternoon after school snacks and to relieve post medical marijuana munchies. Maybe it will just be a basic list of nutrients and a Material Safety Data Sheet for every item you purchase. Beer will just be a Fermented Hop and Barley drink, followed by a two page list of the inherit dangers of the product. Food will start to look like the side of a drug package.
The real issue -- I suspect these guys want to ban Pop Tarts. If interfering assholes like this get their way we will eat only bland tofu and dirt burgers. For excitement we might get a carrot stick --but only if grown from an organic garden.
May 26, 2010
'Splain it to me please, Lucy
President Obama firmly believes Government is the answer to the issues that plague our country. Government intervention is warranted in Wall Street, the Health Insurance industry, Big Banks, General Motors, Chrysler, the amount of salt you eat, the settings on your thermostat, the size of the car you drive, eliminating secret ballots in Union elections, how you heat your house, the coal industry, what nutrition information needs to be printed on restaurant menus, who will get what health care treatment, and even if Israel should build apartments.
Somehow, an massive oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico is not a concern of the Government?
They are willing to give me unwanted advise and regulations about my salt intake, but helping contain the BP oil spill is not in the Government purview? What will it take to designate the coastlines of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and Florida as "too big to fail?"
Somehow, an massive oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico is not a concern of the Government?
They are willing to give me unwanted advise and regulations about my salt intake, but helping contain the BP oil spill is not in the Government purview? What will it take to designate the coastlines of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and Florida as "too big to fail?"
Call Ripley, Stat
Believe it or not, I really can't think of a thing to share with you today.
I could talk about the great warm weather. I could complain about my various aches and pains.
I have some other stuff going on, but you would not care about that either.
What's that you ask? Oh, a ham sandwich, Fritos and a Big Red.
Just added. Screw you Jesse James. So your childhood sucked. Quit making excuses for your bad behavior. be a man. own up that you are a serial cheater. You threw away one of the hottest women on earth for a tattooed slut. YOU did it, not your abusive Dad. I am so sick of people blaming others for their own behavior.*
*Disclosure: I was not abused as a child. In fact I had a great childhood.
May 25, 2010
Cruisin' the strip, thirty years later.
Last night around 10:00 PM, the wife remembered she had to take a sack lunch today for a field trip. Since I am a great guy I said I would go to the store to get some bread and ham to make her a sandwich. It was a gorgeous night. I rolled down the windows and enjoyed the warm breeze. The night reminded me of the mid-summer evenings cruising the strip; windows down and rock and roll on the radio. Instead of the now-defunct WNAP, this night I was tuned to satellite radio. The tunes have not changed:
The wife accuses me of listening to "oldies". I bristle when she says that. I would never tell her, but I guess she might be right. If someone was listening to 1950's music in the 1970s I would have considered the tunes to be definitely "oldies". What if the radio was tuned to Big Band tunes from the 1930s or 1940s? Older than dirt, I would say. Yet the music I love dates from 40 to fifty years ago.
Holy shit I feel old now.
Here,a two-for-Tuesday, is the only other song by REO that is worth listening to:
The wife accuses me of listening to "oldies". I bristle when she says that. I would never tell her, but I guess she might be right. If someone was listening to 1950's music in the 1970s I would have considered the tunes to be definitely "oldies". What if the radio was tuned to Big Band tunes from the 1930s or 1940s? Older than dirt, I would say. Yet the music I love dates from 40 to fifty years ago.
Holy shit I feel old now.
Here,a two-for-Tuesday, is the only other song by REO that is worth listening to:
May 24, 2010
I guess Dave took his ball and went home.
That is OK, it was flat anyway.
Plus, to be honest, no one likes playing with that big cry baby.
Plus, to be honest, no one likes playing with that big cry baby.
May 23, 2010
Saturday's Adventures
I woke early yesterday. There is nothing unusual in that. I guess it is a function of getting old.
My wife's sister and neices held a wedding shower for my daughter yesterday up in Purdueville. The wife had not seen her family since Christmas, so she stayed late and came home long after I went to bed Saturday night around midnight.
So how did I fill my day? I trimmed all of the bushes and cleaned up the mess. I weeded some more on the huge flower beds out front. The previous owners planted lots of perennials, and there is always something in bloom. They also planted serveral kinds of pernicious groundcover and ivy. Add that I do not know what is flowers and what is ground cover and what is weeds, the large bed in front lookslike a jungle. I want to just spray the whole mess with Roundup and be done with it. If I knew how to do it without killing the multitudes of lillies, flags, daisies, tulips, irises, and other flowers, I would do it.
The side yard was still too wet from this week's rains to mow. there is a low spot There that does not drain well. The boy and I will mow today.
After the yard work I smoked a terrific Rocky Patel decade cigar. It was a fine smoke. I highly recommend it.
I watched and napped through a DVR recording of The Natural. I watched a great Cubs game. During the late innings I baked some chocolate chip cookies.
I watched a little Elvis in Clambake and then went to bed, a tired old man.
I spent the day doing a little work and a lot of screwing off. Par for the course for me.
My wife's sister and neices held a wedding shower for my daughter yesterday up in Purdueville. The wife had not seen her family since Christmas, so she stayed late and came home long after I went to bed Saturday night around midnight.
So how did I fill my day? I trimmed all of the bushes and cleaned up the mess. I weeded some more on the huge flower beds out front. The previous owners planted lots of perennials, and there is always something in bloom. They also planted serveral kinds of pernicious groundcover and ivy. Add that I do not know what is flowers and what is ground cover and what is weeds, the large bed in front lookslike a jungle. I want to just spray the whole mess with Roundup and be done with it. If I knew how to do it without killing the multitudes of lillies, flags, daisies, tulips, irises, and other flowers, I would do it.
The side yard was still too wet from this week's rains to mow. there is a low spot There that does not drain well. The boy and I will mow today.
After the yard work I smoked a terrific Rocky Patel decade cigar. It was a fine smoke. I highly recommend it.
I watched and napped through a DVR recording of The Natural. I watched a great Cubs game. During the late innings I baked some chocolate chip cookies.
I watched a little Elvis in Clambake and then went to bed, a tired old man.
I spent the day doing a little work and a lot of screwing off. Par for the course for me.
May 21, 2010
Damn, That Dave is sure smart
That comment is about you. You = fat. Therefore in this instance, fat = stupid. Because you're stupid.
And to be CLEARER: The victory for thinking people is a reference to the fact that you, and only you, in this example, are a non-thinker. And therefore if you had to eat healthy food, it would make your non-thinking mind hurt.
Wow, that comment is the most illogical, mind numbing prose I have ever had the displeasure to read. It ranks right up there with some of the most intellectually vapid written works ever put forth. That is no little feat since I have read the works of Karl Marx, The Unibomber's Manifesto, and the back of a Raisin Brand box.
Seriously, can anyone follow what the hell this moron is trying to say?
Hey Dave -- maybe Josh can help you write something that actually makes sense.
This is what passes for clear thinking by those on the left
I hope you have to have a heart bypass one day. And let me be clear: not because I want your life to be in danger, but because I want you to have to eat healthy food for the rest of your life. Every time you ate spinach (or whatever food you think is yucky) would be a victory for all thinking people worldwide.
--Dave from Some Country for Old Men (Yellow Bellied Cowards is the link on the sidebar)in a comment to the post below.
This comment is proof positive why I and others do not want the liberals to dictate our healthcare.
More importantly, I guess I am ignorant. How can eating more spinach be a victory for thinking people? Do only smart people eat veggies? Is he trying to say only dumb people eat meat? Will a by-pass make me a liberal? Will it make me smarter? Is eating Cheetos and Dairy Queen a victory for non-thinking people? Can only skinny people be smart?
If there is a study that proves a relationship between intellect and weight, I would sure like to see it. Could it just be that Little Davey is just a narrow-minded bigot that hates anyone different than him? Does he unfairly stereotype those he does not even know? My goodness, you mean Dave judges people by the way they look? Say it ain't so,
Can anyone at all follow the twisted logic of his statement?
Why do I feel like Daveyboy typed that comment, stuck out his tongue, and said "Take that mean old Hoosierboy"? I feel like I am back on the playground at Samuel P. Kyger Elementary. Shit, I bet he even believes his Dad can beat up mine.
Edit. Dave thinks I took his comment out of context. Here the paragraphs before and after. You be the judge:
The great thing about being you is that, being ignorant, you don't have any idea you're ignorant. That's part of the definition of ignorance.
I'd pity you but you're so dumb you don't even know you need pity. So I'll just pity your wife who must, once a day, roll her eyes and think, "My God, I can't believe I have sex with this disgusting piece of human filth. He's such a fuck-up. And I've wasted my life."
And I pity your kids who have to grow up with a father who doubtless wears sandals and socks.
You're such a waste of everything. Oxygen. Food. Bandwidth.
You are the epitome of a worthless human being. And you seem to enjoy being ignorant. You're the luckiest motherfucker on the planet that you're an American and not, say, from a third world country with no democracy. Because even the useless here get a voice. Long live the USA!
I hope you have to have a heart bypass one day. And let me be clear: not because I want your life to be in danger, but because I want you to have to eat healthy food for the rest of your life. Every time you ate spinach (or whatever food you think is yucky) would be a victory for all thinking people worldwide.
Oh, and you're a cunt.
Dear Chris Mathews
I saw you on Leno last night.
Mathews, you stupid cunt. Dick Cheney left the employment of Haliburton 10 years ago. He is in no way responsible for the leak in the BP oil well. You have become so infected with BDS that reality is no longer in your realm of existence. I am surprised you also don't blame Fox News. Just ask any liberal, Fox News is the source of all evil in the world.
A decade ago I worked for a different company. Am I responsible for what they do today in the marketplace? Good gravy, you are a moron.
And Chrisy baby, I know the Republicans don't give that same man-crush tingle up your leg as The Obama. Your description of some as 'charismatic, but inexperienced' may be accurate, but they all have more experience than your crush. How does that make the Republicans in trouble?
Why would anyone listen to your lunatic rantings? Oh wait, based on your ratings, they don't.
Mathews, you stupid cunt. Dick Cheney left the employment of Haliburton 10 years ago. He is in no way responsible for the leak in the BP oil well. You have become so infected with BDS that reality is no longer in your realm of existence. I am surprised you also don't blame Fox News. Just ask any liberal, Fox News is the source of all evil in the world.
A decade ago I worked for a different company. Am I responsible for what they do today in the marketplace? Good gravy, you are a moron.
And Chrisy baby, I know the Republicans don't give that same man-crush tingle up your leg as The Obama. Your description of some as 'charismatic, but inexperienced' may be accurate, but they all have more experience than your crush. How does that make the Republicans in trouble?
Why would anyone listen to your lunatic rantings? Oh wait, based on your ratings, they don't.
Friday Covers
It is spring, and nothing says spring like some Green Onions:
The Harry James band version. Those cats could swing.
Lightnin' Hopkins on a slide acoustic version
Booker T and the MGs -- Steve Cropper and Duck Dunn rock it out. Booker T was the backing band at Stax Records. You can hear them behind Sam and Dave among others.
One of the greatest songs ever. If it is not on your MP3 Player, I don't know what to say to you.
The Harry James band version. Those cats could swing.
Lightnin' Hopkins on a slide acoustic version
Booker T and the MGs -- Steve Cropper and Duck Dunn rock it out. Booker T was the backing band at Stax Records. You can hear them behind Sam and Dave among others.
One of the greatest songs ever. If it is not on your MP3 Player, I don't know what to say to you.
May 20, 2010
Things I do not know
I'm back from my short trip to the west coast. It was not a successful trip, I am afraid. That is the way life and business works sometimes.
The trip home was mostly uneventful. The three hours I spent in the middle seat sucked as much as I thought they would. I am beat and tried still this morning.
It is supposed to rain again today and tomorrow. What was supposed to be a very warm and nice weekend is fading by the hour. Yesterday, Saturday was forecasted at sunny and temps in the upper 80s. Now we are seeing forecasts of rain in the morning and a high of 80. That is better than the 50s, but I am ready for a weekend without rain. The wife will be gone Saturday for a wedding shower for my daughter.
The wife said she bought me a TV dinner to have for lunch this week. I cannot find it. I wonder if the boy ate it? I bet long-time readers can guess what kind it was.
I see my daily hits are down about 20%. Is that a by product of my lack of posting, a boycott of my place for the racist posts of last week, a function of the season, or another factor?
Since those of you who are no longer stopping by will not be checking in to tell me why you are not visiting, I guess we will never know.
Urgent edit -- 1;20 pm: I found it. The wife put it in the garage freezer. I know you will all rest easy now. The boy did not eat my lunch after all. Sorry Jake.
The trip home was mostly uneventful. The three hours I spent in the middle seat sucked as much as I thought they would. I am beat and tried still this morning.
It is supposed to rain again today and tomorrow. What was supposed to be a very warm and nice weekend is fading by the hour. Yesterday, Saturday was forecasted at sunny and temps in the upper 80s. Now we are seeing forecasts of rain in the morning and a high of 80. That is better than the 50s, but I am ready for a weekend without rain. The wife will be gone Saturday for a wedding shower for my daughter.
The wife said she bought me a TV dinner to have for lunch this week. I cannot find it. I wonder if the boy ate it? I bet long-time readers can guess what kind it was.
I see my daily hits are down about 20%. Is that a by product of my lack of posting, a boycott of my place for the racist posts of last week, a function of the season, or another factor?
Since those of you who are no longer stopping by will not be checking in to tell me why you are not visiting, I guess we will never know.
Urgent edit -- 1;20 pm: I found it. The wife put it in the garage freezer. I know you will all rest easy now. The boy did not eat my lunch after all. Sorry Jake.
Dear Senator Specter
Hahahahahahhahaa take that you traitorous piece of shit. When you sell out your values you are hated by every one. How does it feel to be fucked like a $25 whore? The Obama promised you support if you would come over to the dark side. You sold out the country on the Stimulus Bill that did not stimulate, and on Obamacare. Thanks to your vote we are screwed for generations to come.
What did you get for selling out? The same result if you were still a Republican. Hell, if you had stayed a Repub, and stood up against Obamacare, you might have been able to keep your job. Now you are in the same situation, only what tiny bit of reputation you had is gone. I spit at you, you piece of filth.
Hey, how did that massive Obama support work out for you Senator? They bought your vote for a basket of empty promises. The Democrats gave it to you good, and did not even give you the courtesy of a reach around.
Good riddance.
What did you get for selling out? The same result if you were still a Republican. Hell, if you had stayed a Repub, and stood up against Obamacare, you might have been able to keep your job. Now you are in the same situation, only what tiny bit of reputation you had is gone. I spit at you, you piece of filth.
Hey, how did that massive Obama support work out for you Senator? They bought your vote for a basket of empty promises. The Democrats gave it to you good, and did not even give you the courtesy of a reach around.
Good riddance.
May 18, 2010
For the record
I, unlike Eric Holder, Janet Napolitano, and others in the Administration, have read the Arizona Immigration law. I refrain from going on TV to condemn the law. They do not have similar restraint. Again, they admit they have not even read the law.
I have never claimed to serve in Vietnam. I did not serve in Vietnam.
I have never had an affair with a staff member, intern, or employee. I do not even have sex with my wife.
I have never claimed to serve in Vietnam. I did not serve in Vietnam.
I have never had an affair with a staff member, intern, or employee. I do not even have sex with my wife.
Decisions
Mount St. Helens blew her top 30 years ago today.
I may drive up there this afternoon in celebration this afternoon after my appointments.
Or not.
I may drive up there this afternoon in celebration this afternoon after my appointments.
Or not.
May 17, 2010
Reporting in
Hey Blog Friends sorry no post for this morning. It was a hi-ho kind of day -- you know, off to work I go. I boarded a plan very early this morning to fly to my most favorite spot on Earth to visit, namely Portland, OR. I know some of you will not believe the greatest spot to visit is not Texas. I am sorry to disappoint you. I have been to most of the United States, Canada, Mexico, Germany, Austria, Holland, Great Britain, Italy and France, and I would rather come to Portland than any of those destinations.
The planes were crowded full both ways. The asshole next to me on the way to Minneapolis felt the need to impress us with how much work he had to do. He poked his damn elbow into my side the whole way as he tried to type on the tiny keyboard of his miniature laptop. On the long flight to Portland the lady in the middle seat dropped subtle hints about how bad her back was and that she needed to get up frequently. Blah blah I quit listening at that point. I have one of those damn middle seats on the way home Wednesday.
It is party cloudy and warm, but the sky is too overcast to see Mt. Hood or Mt. St Helens. I did drive up into the Columbia River Gorge this afternoon. I can only offer a prayer of thanks to the Almighty for letting me see such beauity. Google some pictures of the Gorge if you do not believe me. Here is one looking upstream itook with my phone.
I went to the rental slot to grab my car. I guess the people at Hertz felt bad giving me a minivan last week. They gifted me a bright red Mustang with 4700 miles on it. That car is fun to drive. I learned to drive on a 1964 Mustang. This one has more comfort and far more power. There is an actual picture of the car taken at Crown Pont above the Columbia River.
I have to take a quick power nap so I can get ready for the free happy hour here at the hotel. They are smart, if I drink enough beer I will not leave to eat. They will get my dinner business at their shitty hotel restaurant. But I get free beer. Some days it is good to be me.
The planes were crowded full both ways. The asshole next to me on the way to Minneapolis felt the need to impress us with how much work he had to do. He poked his damn elbow into my side the whole way as he tried to type on the tiny keyboard of his miniature laptop. On the long flight to Portland the lady in the middle seat dropped subtle hints about how bad her back was and that she needed to get up frequently. Blah blah I quit listening at that point. I have one of those damn middle seats on the way home Wednesday.
It is party cloudy and warm, but the sky is too overcast to see Mt. Hood or Mt. St Helens. I did drive up into the Columbia River Gorge this afternoon. I can only offer a prayer of thanks to the Almighty for letting me see such beauity. Google some pictures of the Gorge if you do not believe me. Here is one looking upstream itook with my phone.
I went to the rental slot to grab my car. I guess the people at Hertz felt bad giving me a minivan last week. They gifted me a bright red Mustang with 4700 miles on it. That car is fun to drive. I learned to drive on a 1964 Mustang. This one has more comfort and far more power. There is an actual picture of the car taken at Crown Pont above the Columbia River.
I have to take a quick power nap so I can get ready for the free happy hour here at the hotel. They are smart, if I drink enough beer I will not leave to eat. They will get my dinner business at their shitty hotel restaurant. But I get free beer. Some days it is good to be me.
May 15, 2010
Submitted for your approval
Below is the rerun I was actually searching for earlier this week. I wrote this back in the early 1990s when I was working the graveyard shift. I ended up writing three or four chapters. It was garbage. The prologue is not bad, though. Of course that's my opinion.
December 5, 2005
Prologue
The silence of the pre-dawn morning was broken only by the occasional car or truck passing on the snow-slick two-lane highway. A car slowed to a crawl as if closing in upon its prey. The rear end slid a little as the sedan skidded to a stop. The darkness was broken by the white flash of backup lights as the vehicle slowly backed up four dozen yards and turned into a narrow driveway. The sounds of a straining engine could be heard through the barely falling snow as the car lumbered through the mud and slush. The headlights bounced up and down and side to side in duplication of the rutted road. Snowflakes danced in the twin beams like chorus girls in the spotlight. Round and round they spun, climbing and falling to the ground in the wake of the slowly moving automobile.
The car coasted to a stop in front of a run-down farmhouse. The roof was partially caved in and the awning over the porch had long since been consumed as firewood. The glow of a cigarette could be vaguely seen through the frosted windows of the idling car. The engine cut out as the door opened. A short figure in a bulky overcoat climbed out of the dark vehicle. The cigarette arced a path through the darkness as it was flipped into the distance. The man looked to the east as the first rays of dawn began to spread their pink and orange fingers through the clouds of the night sky. It had stopped snowing. The man's breath made clouds around his head in the early morning cold.
The man huddled next to the car until the sun began to peak over the horizon. He opened his trousers and relieved himself on the left rear tire before clearing his throat and spitting in the direction of the vanished cigarette. He slowly made his way toward the house.
The man mounted the sagging steps, hesitated and ducked through the doorless entryway. The sun’s weak rays provided just enough light for the figure to navigate the littered hallway. He made his way to what was the front living room. The television set and VCR were strangely incongruous in the surroundings.
He started the gas-powered generator. Its sound filled the early morning air. The man involuntarily winced at the noise. He lit another Camel and turned on the TV. Static changed to a blue screen as the VCR powered on. The tape was over after three minutes. He poured steaming coffee from a large green Thermos and went to the corner to relieve himself yet again. He sat down and watched the tape twice more.
His assignment was clear. The Vice President of the United States was to attend the “Greatest Spectacle in Sports” – the Indianapolis 500 in just four and one half months hence. In May the Indianapolis 500 gets top attention in the papers: not this year. This year the Vice President would be assassinated while attending the race. The man in the bulky overcoat watched the film yet again. The man would go to Indianapolis tomorrow and begin laying the plan to kill the heir apparent to the Presidency.
He picked up all of his cigarette butts and placed them in his pocket. From his briefcase, he took a wad of plastic-like gel. He first stuck the plastique to the side of the generator and then added a detonator. He was seven miles away on the interstate when the farmhouse disintegrated into a ball of flame.
December 5, 2005
Prologue
The silence of the pre-dawn morning was broken only by the occasional car or truck passing on the snow-slick two-lane highway. A car slowed to a crawl as if closing in upon its prey. The rear end slid a little as the sedan skidded to a stop. The darkness was broken by the white flash of backup lights as the vehicle slowly backed up four dozen yards and turned into a narrow driveway. The sounds of a straining engine could be heard through the barely falling snow as the car lumbered through the mud and slush. The headlights bounced up and down and side to side in duplication of the rutted road. Snowflakes danced in the twin beams like chorus girls in the spotlight. Round and round they spun, climbing and falling to the ground in the wake of the slowly moving automobile.
The car coasted to a stop in front of a run-down farmhouse. The roof was partially caved in and the awning over the porch had long since been consumed as firewood. The glow of a cigarette could be vaguely seen through the frosted windows of the idling car. The engine cut out as the door opened. A short figure in a bulky overcoat climbed out of the dark vehicle. The cigarette arced a path through the darkness as it was flipped into the distance. The man looked to the east as the first rays of dawn began to spread their pink and orange fingers through the clouds of the night sky. It had stopped snowing. The man's breath made clouds around his head in the early morning cold.
The man huddled next to the car until the sun began to peak over the horizon. He opened his trousers and relieved himself on the left rear tire before clearing his throat and spitting in the direction of the vanished cigarette. He slowly made his way toward the house.
The man mounted the sagging steps, hesitated and ducked through the doorless entryway. The sun’s weak rays provided just enough light for the figure to navigate the littered hallway. He made his way to what was the front living room. The television set and VCR were strangely incongruous in the surroundings.
He started the gas-powered generator. Its sound filled the early morning air. The man involuntarily winced at the noise. He lit another Camel and turned on the TV. Static changed to a blue screen as the VCR powered on. The tape was over after three minutes. He poured steaming coffee from a large green Thermos and went to the corner to relieve himself yet again. He sat down and watched the tape twice more.
His assignment was clear. The Vice President of the United States was to attend the “Greatest Spectacle in Sports” – the Indianapolis 500 in just four and one half months hence. In May the Indianapolis 500 gets top attention in the papers: not this year. This year the Vice President would be assassinated while attending the race. The man in the bulky overcoat watched the film yet again. The man would go to Indianapolis tomorrow and begin laying the plan to kill the heir apparent to the Presidency.
He picked up all of his cigarette butts and placed them in his pocket. From his briefcase, he took a wad of plastic-like gel. He first stuck the plastique to the side of the generator and then added a detonator. He was seven miles away on the interstate when the farmhouse disintegrated into a ball of flame.
May 14, 2010
Weekend reading
I have been re-reading E.B. Sledge's memoir of World War II -- With the Old Breed.. I owned an original hardback copy in the late 1980s, but it, like around 150-200 other books were destroyed by termites while stored temporarily at my Mother-in-Law's house. I lost priceless books on the Civil War, The SpanAm war, and some truly expensive books about the Zulu Wars, among others.
Back to the point, if you have never read Sledge you are missing out on a true literary masterpiece. The 'Sledgehammer' paints a personal account of the iseries of war. Parts of this memoir are being used in the HBO Miniseries The Pacific.
Back to the point, if you have never read Sledge you are missing out on a true literary masterpiece. The 'Sledgehammer' paints a personal account of the iseries of war. Parts of this memoir are being used in the HBO Miniseries The Pacific.
May 13, 2010
I'm leaving on a jet plane
I had to make a quick one day trip to the land of the Cheeseheads yesterday. I snagged a flight for $149. I could not drive for that price, even when I add in the rental car. Eight hours driving each way plus meals and a hotel would be more expensive.
At the airport there was a little excitement as a woman behind me in Security refused to show her ID. You see she was in a full Burka -- covered head to foot with just a mesh screen over her eyes. She would not show ID, because she would have to show her face. The TSA had to shut down a line so a couple of female agents could be rounded up to private screen the Burka babe.
Since I have already proven I am a racist asshole today, I do not mind admitting I was sure glad the hard-core Islamist family was not on my flight.
The guy next to me on the plane to Milwaukee whistled quietly the entire fucking flight. The only thing worse than a whistler is a change rattler.
I went to get my rental car and they gave me a white Town and Country mini-van. I went back to the counter, but she told me too bad, that is all they had. When I started the f-ing mini-van I realised it had exactly three (3) miles on the odometer. Hertz clearly pulled it off the truck and straight into stall 87.
I ate a chili-dog for lunch. You can bet I marked that brand new mini-van as mine later in the afternoon. No more new car smell for the next traveller. Who got the last laugh, Hertz Rent a Car?
Anyway, I had a good customer visit. I left home at 7:00 am and returned at 11:00 pm. Two, two, two work days in one.
At the airport there was a little excitement as a woman behind me in Security refused to show her ID. You see she was in a full Burka -- covered head to foot with just a mesh screen over her eyes. She would not show ID, because she would have to show her face. The TSA had to shut down a line so a couple of female agents could be rounded up to private screen the Burka babe.
Since I have already proven I am a racist asshole today, I do not mind admitting I was sure glad the hard-core Islamist family was not on my flight.
The guy next to me on the plane to Milwaukee whistled quietly the entire fucking flight. The only thing worse than a whistler is a change rattler.
I went to get my rental car and they gave me a white Town and Country mini-van. I went back to the counter, but she told me too bad, that is all they had. When I started the f-ing mini-van I realised it had exactly three (3) miles on the odometer. Hertz clearly pulled it off the truck and straight into stall 87.
I ate a chili-dog for lunch. You can bet I marked that brand new mini-van as mine later in the afternoon. No more new car smell for the next traveller. Who got the last laugh, Hertz Rent a Car?
Anyway, I had a good customer visit. I left home at 7:00 am and returned at 11:00 pm. Two, two, two work days in one.
You will laugh anyway
The Secret Service has uncovered a plot to kidnap the President...
I know, but it is still funny.
I know, but it is still funny.
May 12, 2010
One more rerun
I wrote this back in 2008 also.
At the time I do not think it garnered a single comment. I enjoyed writting it any way.
From March 20, 2008 (avery great day):
March 20, 2008
One April Morning
He opened his eyes and for a moment and did not know where he was. It was the grey twilight of predawn. The dew was heavy and there was a thin veil of fog drifting from the river. He heard the snap of twigs and the hard breath as someone blew on the previous nights embers. A few more huffs and he heard the pop of the wood as the fire caught hold of the kindling.
He rolled from his blanket and made his way through the thick underbrush behind the camp. He unbuttoned his fly and relieved himself. He pulled up his suspenders and buttoned the top button of his shirt. As he walked to the fires he picked up a few sticks for fuel. He stopped at his blankets and pulled on his jacket and wide brimmed hat. He shivered a little as the eastern sky grew pink. Jacob Hoffert offered a prayer of thanks for the new day.
Steeling himself, he reached for his haversack and moved toward the nearest fire. He saw Jonathon there. Jonathan was the last of his original mess. His pard Isaac had gotten bronchitis and was left behind 12 days ago. Seth had simply disappeared. Along with Jonathan, the four had been childhood friends back home. Jonathan had always been kind of a bully, teasing him about his size. As Jacob approached Jonathan said something to the man across the fire. The man turned to look at Jacob and rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. Jacob dropped the armful of wood next to the fire. "Watch it runt" said William Hazlett, who was even bigger than Jonathan. As Jacob squatted next to the fire the wind changed, blowing the smoke from the green wood into his face. Jacob tipped his canteen into the lidded coffee boiler and set it near the flames. Matthew Walker joined the others around the fire. He stirred the embers and knocked a large piece of wood into Jacob's mug, knocking it over. "Hoffert, you are just a Jonas" Walker said, shaking his head.
Jacob reached deep into his haversack and found a cotton poke. In it was a handful of coffee beans he had roasted the previous evening. He had taken the beans and placed them in his rubber blanket, then pounded them into rough grounds with his rifle butt. He righted his cup, added some more of his precious water and dropped in a scant handful of coffee. Jacob noticed the others' envious looks and reluctantly offered the bag. He knew these men, who treated him so badly, would not hesitate to use his whole stash. When the poke was returned, only a thumbwidth of coffee remained in the bottom of the bag.
Walker placed a skillet on the embers and began slicing some salt pork. Jonathon was breaking hard tack into pieces to fry in the grease of the pork. In the distance they heard the sentries fire off the charges from the night before. A few more shots sounded up and down the line. They all looked toward the Southwest as a few shouts were heard, but the call was too far off to make out the words. Motion and more shouts were moving up the line as the firing began to grow heavier than merely the pickets clearing their Springfield rifles. The firing grew into a steady roar as the sound of the long roll was heard. More and more drums took up the call. The soldiers snatched up their accoutrements as their own drummer beat his skins. The officers echoed the shout of "Fall In" as the men raced to the stacked arms, breakfast forgotten.
The bullets began to crash through the branches as the men fell into a rough line before the stacked muskets. "Take arms" was followed by a hasty "load" as the shouts and shots of the Rebel soldiers became clear to their right and front. At the far left of the line --the 'short' end -- Jacob felt the First Sergeant at the left end of K Company move in line next to him. Everyone was loading in haste as the men in butternut erupted from the treeline 30 yards away. They stopped in a rough line and fired a volley. Half of Jacob's own C Company and all of K Company turned and ran. Jacob hastily brought his rifle to full cock and fired a shot without aiming. He turned and ran towards the ridge behind him. The hungry Southerners stopped to loot the camp and pluck the burning bacon from the fire.
The company reformed and fell back to the treeline. A clearing was before them. The armies stood toe to toe, the shots buzzing through the trees and undergrowth like a swarm of hornets around their nest. Jacob fired. His shoulder ached and his face and mouth were black from the powder as he bit into the cartridges. Constant curses and shouts of "dress center" and "close up" came from behind him with numbing regularity as his comrades bled and died in the line. After a few hours there was a lull in the fighting. The shots and killing did not stop, it just became less heavy. Ammunition was brought forward and Jacob took a drink from the brackish water in his nearly-empty canteen. He could see the Rebels rolling artillery into place across the clearing. The sound of battle was so loud he was nearly deaf. He heard a thump like a dropped melon and saw Matthew Walker's head explode in a red mist.
Suddenly the late morning was split with a mass barrage of cannon shot and shell. Branches fell from overhead killing the lieutenant. Pieces of wood flew from the trees as parts of bodies erupted in fountains of blood. The smoke hid the carnage as Jacob Hoffert loaded and fired, loaded and fired. The big guns spurted flame as if the gates of Hell were opening, men died calling for their mother and a few crawled to the rear and hopeful safety. With a blood curdling yell a wave of men in grey and butternut uniforms erupted from among the canon. With bayonets fixed they charged the Union line in the treeline. Jacob Hoffert felt a stinging blow across his side as he was grazed by a musket ball. He did not notice the blood crusting his head from a falling chunk of wood, blasted down by the case shot of the Confederate guns.
The line fell back again. This time to the river. A short heavy officer with a dark beard directed him into line with other troops he did not know. Units were mixed, makeshift regiments formed from individual companies and soldiers. Jacob was hungry and thirsty. As darkness fell, the firing to the front slowed and finally ceased. He fell into a restless sleep born from exhaustion. Suddenly the night sky blazed in red as the gunboats in the river began firing on the Confederate lines.
A body dropped down beside him, it was Jonathan. "God, I am glad to see you" Jonathan said. "I thought we were all gonners". Jacob Hoffert could only nod his head in the dark. He hurt all over and the pain in his skull only seem to intensify the burning crease on his side. Jonathan handed him a damp piece of hardtack. It had a bitter taste, from mud or blood, he did not want to know.
"What happened?" he asked his childhood friend. "The Rebs were supposed to be in Corinth."
"I guess they was here instead. They must of not got the message". deadpanned Jonathan.
"And where is here?" Jacob spoke the words so softly he was barely heard.
"Well the sign on that little white church back by camp said Shiloh Meeting house. I guess that is where we is". Jonathan looked at his scrawny friend, sighed and rolled his eyes.
At the time I do not think it garnered a single comment. I enjoyed writting it any way.
From March 20, 2008 (avery great day):
March 20, 2008
One April Morning
He opened his eyes and for a moment and did not know where he was. It was the grey twilight of predawn. The dew was heavy and there was a thin veil of fog drifting from the river. He heard the snap of twigs and the hard breath as someone blew on the previous nights embers. A few more huffs and he heard the pop of the wood as the fire caught hold of the kindling.
He rolled from his blanket and made his way through the thick underbrush behind the camp. He unbuttoned his fly and relieved himself. He pulled up his suspenders and buttoned the top button of his shirt. As he walked to the fires he picked up a few sticks for fuel. He stopped at his blankets and pulled on his jacket and wide brimmed hat. He shivered a little as the eastern sky grew pink. Jacob Hoffert offered a prayer of thanks for the new day.
Steeling himself, he reached for his haversack and moved toward the nearest fire. He saw Jonathon there. Jonathan was the last of his original mess. His pard Isaac had gotten bronchitis and was left behind 12 days ago. Seth had simply disappeared. Along with Jonathan, the four had been childhood friends back home. Jonathan had always been kind of a bully, teasing him about his size. As Jacob approached Jonathan said something to the man across the fire. The man turned to look at Jacob and rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. Jacob dropped the armful of wood next to the fire. "Watch it runt" said William Hazlett, who was even bigger than Jonathan. As Jacob squatted next to the fire the wind changed, blowing the smoke from the green wood into his face. Jacob tipped his canteen into the lidded coffee boiler and set it near the flames. Matthew Walker joined the others around the fire. He stirred the embers and knocked a large piece of wood into Jacob's mug, knocking it over. "Hoffert, you are just a Jonas" Walker said, shaking his head.
Jacob reached deep into his haversack and found a cotton poke. In it was a handful of coffee beans he had roasted the previous evening. He had taken the beans and placed them in his rubber blanket, then pounded them into rough grounds with his rifle butt. He righted his cup, added some more of his precious water and dropped in a scant handful of coffee. Jacob noticed the others' envious looks and reluctantly offered the bag. He knew these men, who treated him so badly, would not hesitate to use his whole stash. When the poke was returned, only a thumbwidth of coffee remained in the bottom of the bag.
Walker placed a skillet on the embers and began slicing some salt pork. Jonathon was breaking hard tack into pieces to fry in the grease of the pork. In the distance they heard the sentries fire off the charges from the night before. A few more shots sounded up and down the line. They all looked toward the Southwest as a few shouts were heard, but the call was too far off to make out the words. Motion and more shouts were moving up the line as the firing began to grow heavier than merely the pickets clearing their Springfield rifles. The firing grew into a steady roar as the sound of the long roll was heard. More and more drums took up the call. The soldiers snatched up their accoutrements as their own drummer beat his skins. The officers echoed the shout of "Fall In" as the men raced to the stacked arms, breakfast forgotten.
The bullets began to crash through the branches as the men fell into a rough line before the stacked muskets. "Take arms" was followed by a hasty "load" as the shouts and shots of the Rebel soldiers became clear to their right and front. At the far left of the line --the 'short' end -- Jacob felt the First Sergeant at the left end of K Company move in line next to him. Everyone was loading in haste as the men in butternut erupted from the treeline 30 yards away. They stopped in a rough line and fired a volley. Half of Jacob's own C Company and all of K Company turned and ran. Jacob hastily brought his rifle to full cock and fired a shot without aiming. He turned and ran towards the ridge behind him. The hungry Southerners stopped to loot the camp and pluck the burning bacon from the fire.
The company reformed and fell back to the treeline. A clearing was before them. The armies stood toe to toe, the shots buzzing through the trees and undergrowth like a swarm of hornets around their nest. Jacob fired. His shoulder ached and his face and mouth were black from the powder as he bit into the cartridges. Constant curses and shouts of "dress center" and "close up" came from behind him with numbing regularity as his comrades bled and died in the line. After a few hours there was a lull in the fighting. The shots and killing did not stop, it just became less heavy. Ammunition was brought forward and Jacob took a drink from the brackish water in his nearly-empty canteen. He could see the Rebels rolling artillery into place across the clearing. The sound of battle was so loud he was nearly deaf. He heard a thump like a dropped melon and saw Matthew Walker's head explode in a red mist.
Suddenly the late morning was split with a mass barrage of cannon shot and shell. Branches fell from overhead killing the lieutenant. Pieces of wood flew from the trees as parts of bodies erupted in fountains of blood. The smoke hid the carnage as Jacob Hoffert loaded and fired, loaded and fired. The big guns spurted flame as if the gates of Hell were opening, men died calling for their mother and a few crawled to the rear and hopeful safety. With a blood curdling yell a wave of men in grey and butternut uniforms erupted from among the canon. With bayonets fixed they charged the Union line in the treeline. Jacob Hoffert felt a stinging blow across his side as he was grazed by a musket ball. He did not notice the blood crusting his head from a falling chunk of wood, blasted down by the case shot of the Confederate guns.
The line fell back again. This time to the river. A short heavy officer with a dark beard directed him into line with other troops he did not know. Units were mixed, makeshift regiments formed from individual companies and soldiers. Jacob was hungry and thirsty. As darkness fell, the firing to the front slowed and finally ceased. He fell into a restless sleep born from exhaustion. Suddenly the night sky blazed in red as the gunboats in the river began firing on the Confederate lines.
A body dropped down beside him, it was Jonathan. "God, I am glad to see you" Jonathan said. "I thought we were all gonners". Jacob Hoffert could only nod his head in the dark. He hurt all over and the pain in his skull only seem to intensify the burning crease on his side. Jonathan handed him a damp piece of hardtack. It had a bitter taste, from mud or blood, he did not want to know.
"What happened?" he asked his childhood friend. "The Rebs were supposed to be in Corinth."
"I guess they was here instead. They must of not got the message". deadpanned Jonathan.
"And where is here?" Jacob spoke the words so softly he was barely heard.
"Well the sign on that little white church back by camp said Shiloh Meeting house. I guess that is where we is". Jonathan looked at his scrawny friend, sighed and rolled his eyes.
Tuesday reruns, Wednesday edition
I am not sure what inspired this, or what drugs were driving my brain at the time.
From February 2008 I offer this rerun:
February 11, 2008
Do you know me?
I am the smoke from your campfire dissipating in the leafy branches of the trees. I am the dream that makes you smile in your sleep. I am the shadow on the lawn you see on a moonlit night. I am the moan of the wind on a springtime morning. I am the ache in your heart for what you never had. I am the pain in your gut for all you miss. I am the cloud that shines red-gold in the setting sun. I am the butterfly that flutters from petal to petal. I am the drifting snow. I am the smell of corn and fresh mown alfalfa in the fields. I am here and not. I exist on the peripheral of your vision, a shape, a ghost. I am thunder in the clouds. I am the magic you feel at Christmas. I am the tremor you feel in your soul walking a dark street at night. I am the goosebumps on your arms, the tears in your eyes. I am the lingering smell of your wife on the pillow. I am the frost etched on your windows, only to be melted by the winter sun. I am the nuzzle of your man on the back of your neck. I am summer lightning over the horizon. I am a lingering kiss goodbye. I am neither here nor there. I am the lie that tells the truth. I am the pain of childbirth. I am the joy of a first kiss. I am the white heat of betrayal. I am the cold touch of loneliness. I am the kick of a gun. I am the thrill of a roller coaster. I am nobody. I am here and gone. I am real and imaginary. I am Hoosierboy, and I do not exist.
From February 2008 I offer this rerun:
February 11, 2008
Do you know me?
I am the smoke from your campfire dissipating in the leafy branches of the trees. I am the dream that makes you smile in your sleep. I am the shadow on the lawn you see on a moonlit night. I am the moan of the wind on a springtime morning. I am the ache in your heart for what you never had. I am the pain in your gut for all you miss. I am the cloud that shines red-gold in the setting sun. I am the butterfly that flutters from petal to petal. I am the drifting snow. I am the smell of corn and fresh mown alfalfa in the fields. I am here and not. I exist on the peripheral of your vision, a shape, a ghost. I am thunder in the clouds. I am the magic you feel at Christmas. I am the tremor you feel in your soul walking a dark street at night. I am the goosebumps on your arms, the tears in your eyes. I am the lingering smell of your wife on the pillow. I am the frost etched on your windows, only to be melted by the winter sun. I am the nuzzle of your man on the back of your neck. I am summer lightning over the horizon. I am a lingering kiss goodbye. I am neither here nor there. I am the lie that tells the truth. I am the pain of childbirth. I am the joy of a first kiss. I am the white heat of betrayal. I am the cold touch of loneliness. I am the kick of a gun. I am the thrill of a roller coaster. I am nobody. I am here and gone. I am real and imaginary. I am Hoosierboy, and I do not exist.
May 11, 2010
Tuesday Afternoon
It remains cloudy, windy and overcast here in the Hoosier heartland. We had a round of storms come through this morning and it looks like it might rain again at anytime. The weather man says this is what we should expect for the next several days.
I am beleaguered by goofy bullshit at home and work. The boy's ex-girlfriend and three of her friends beat the shit out of his current girlfriend in the phys ed locker room yesterday. He has not dated the old girlfriend for about five months. She broke up with him. Nothing like holding a grudge. His current girlfriend got expelled from school too, since the school policy dictates if you fight back you are guilty of fighting too. I guess she should have let four people beat her until she had to go to the hospital? The boy feels bad. He did nothing wrong, but feels somehow responsible. He has not been able to talk to his current girl. He assumes she is grounded and cannot use her phone. I tried to cheer him up by telling him he is a stud -- chicks are fighting over him. he hates conflict so this is not going well with him. I won't even get into the crazy crap going n with work.
I put some chicken breasts in the crockpot with a couple cans of broccoli cheese soup (and about 1/4 can of milk)and some salt and a few red pepper flakes. Served over noodles or rice it makes an excellent dinner. You can put in 1/4 cup of dry white wine in place of the milk if you desire.
You are welcome.
I am beleaguered by goofy bullshit at home and work. The boy's ex-girlfriend and three of her friends beat the shit out of his current girlfriend in the phys ed locker room yesterday. He has not dated the old girlfriend for about five months. She broke up with him. Nothing like holding a grudge. His current girlfriend got expelled from school too, since the school policy dictates if you fight back you are guilty of fighting too. I guess she should have let four people beat her until she had to go to the hospital? The boy feels bad. He did nothing wrong, but feels somehow responsible. He has not been able to talk to his current girl. He assumes she is grounded and cannot use her phone. I tried to cheer him up by telling him he is a stud -- chicks are fighting over him. he hates conflict so this is not going well with him. I won't even get into the crazy crap going n with work.
I put some chicken breasts in the crockpot with a couple cans of broccoli cheese soup (and about 1/4 can of milk)and some salt and a few red pepper flakes. Served over noodles or rice it makes an excellent dinner. You can put in 1/4 cup of dry white wine in place of the milk if you desire.
You are welcome.
Tuesday reruns
As we head into the spring season, the networks are trotting out re-runs. Always quick to jump on the bandwagon, always a slave to popularity, always trying to be just like everyone else, I present a dose of reruns today.
Well at least one.
Below is one of my favorite short stories. In all, I do not think it is badly written. I also think I am a handsome devil and quite amusing in my way, so there is no accounting for taste.
Anyway, this story was first published in April of 2007. Some of you may have read it way back when:
April 8, 2007
A Day at the Beach
He gasped as he stepped into the surf. He knew the Atlantic was cold, but the chill surprised him every time. The waves were a little higher this time. The ebb tide had turned and high tide was again on the make. His friend and their kid had gone with his son to the outer sand bank about 50 yards offshore where the waves broke just a little bigger. There they could feel the waves crash into their bodies and take turns riding the boogie board on top of the waves for 15 yards or so.
He had made the trip out twice earlier in the afternoon. He could wade out about 30 or 40 feet then he had to swim out to the sand bank where the water was waist deep at best. He had promised his son one more trip out through the surf. When the time came, he begged off. The sun and day at the beach coupled with the two previous swims in the cold ocean to the sand bar had taken their toll; the man was tired. His friend said he would go and with his larger teen aged daughter and the man's small teen aged son they set out, calling him as wuss. The man's wife heckled him to go, reminding him he had promised his son. The man got to his feet with a sigh and followed the three into the surf.
At the sand bar the waves hit with more power than before, coming quicker and stronger with the growing tide. The water was not so cold once you got used to it he remarked. Soon the tide made it time to go in. The water level at the sandbar was now at the man's chest level as opposed to barely waist level a few hours earlier.
The man and his son started back. The son was an OK swimmer so he paddled on top of the boogie board. The man waded along for a few steps then was forced to swim. He would climb the swell with a strong breast stroke. He was forced to stop and tread water to stay with his son. The waves were growing larger. It took more effort to climb to the top of each succeeding wave. The waves came quicker and he urged his son to paddle faster. A wave broke over his head. He saw a large wave coming and swam to the top. In the valley he could feel the pull backward, he swam forward and moved only a few feet against the current. The pattern repeated. Now the swim to shore was fifty or sixty yards as opposed to the thirty before.
He urged his son to go quicker, a little panic creeping into his mind. His friends were far behind him. He swam to the top of another wave, his arms and legs beginning to feel heavy. Again he urged his son to hurry. He was smothered in the swell again, this time he swallowed the salty seawater. His arms and legs felt like lead. He could not swim another stroke. He tread water for a minute to see his son, now 10 yards behind him. Another wave. "Come on" he shouted. Another wave. Always a good swimmer, he could not believe he was struggling like this. Another wave. His legs would not move. Oh God, he thought, I am not going to make it. Another wave. The shore was too far. Another wave. He went under again. He tried to swim, but his arms would not work. Another wave. He rolled to his back, knowing if he could just rest a moment he would be fine. Another wave. He swallowed even more water. He called to his son to hurry, maybe he could rest on the board for a moment and catch his breath. Another wave. His son saw the worry on his dad's face and mistook it. He shouted back he was fine. Another wave.
The man drew on every bit of strength he could find and swam a few yards before he was pounded down by another wave, he was closer. He wife began running into the surf, she could see he was foundering. His friend told his daughter to hurry and they sped forward. The man could not move his arms. He went under to see if he could stand up yet, the bottom still was beyond his reach, maybe an inch -- maybe by feet. The effort to climb to the top of the swell was all he could muster. Another wave. He turned to look at his son, concerned he was OK. The boy was dog paddling with ease over the swell. Another wave. The man went under. Pure panic set in, but he could not move his exhausted limbs. He felt sorry for his family, he was embarrassed, he fought again, but the energy was gone. Another wave. He struggled, he thought his tired lungs would burst. Another wave.
He at last felt the bottom and was enveloped by a warm glow the likes of which he never felt before. He was calm, he was peaceful. He felt another wave crash over him. He was no longer tired. Another wave pushed his lifeless body toward the shore, just a few yards away.
Well at least one.
Below is one of my favorite short stories. In all, I do not think it is badly written. I also think I am a handsome devil and quite amusing in my way, so there is no accounting for taste.
Anyway, this story was first published in April of 2007. Some of you may have read it way back when:
April 8, 2007
A Day at the Beach
He gasped as he stepped into the surf. He knew the Atlantic was cold, but the chill surprised him every time. The waves were a little higher this time. The ebb tide had turned and high tide was again on the make. His friend and their kid had gone with his son to the outer sand bank about 50 yards offshore where the waves broke just a little bigger. There they could feel the waves crash into their bodies and take turns riding the boogie board on top of the waves for 15 yards or so.
He had made the trip out twice earlier in the afternoon. He could wade out about 30 or 40 feet then he had to swim out to the sand bank where the water was waist deep at best. He had promised his son one more trip out through the surf. When the time came, he begged off. The sun and day at the beach coupled with the two previous swims in the cold ocean to the sand bar had taken their toll; the man was tired. His friend said he would go and with his larger teen aged daughter and the man's small teen aged son they set out, calling him as wuss. The man's wife heckled him to go, reminding him he had promised his son. The man got to his feet with a sigh and followed the three into the surf.
At the sand bar the waves hit with more power than before, coming quicker and stronger with the growing tide. The water was not so cold once you got used to it he remarked. Soon the tide made it time to go in. The water level at the sandbar was now at the man's chest level as opposed to barely waist level a few hours earlier.
The man and his son started back. The son was an OK swimmer so he paddled on top of the boogie board. The man waded along for a few steps then was forced to swim. He would climb the swell with a strong breast stroke. He was forced to stop and tread water to stay with his son. The waves were growing larger. It took more effort to climb to the top of each succeeding wave. The waves came quicker and he urged his son to paddle faster. A wave broke over his head. He saw a large wave coming and swam to the top. In the valley he could feel the pull backward, he swam forward and moved only a few feet against the current. The pattern repeated. Now the swim to shore was fifty or sixty yards as opposed to the thirty before.
He urged his son to go quicker, a little panic creeping into his mind. His friends were far behind him. He swam to the top of another wave, his arms and legs beginning to feel heavy. Again he urged his son to hurry. He was smothered in the swell again, this time he swallowed the salty seawater. His arms and legs felt like lead. He could not swim another stroke. He tread water for a minute to see his son, now 10 yards behind him. Another wave. "Come on" he shouted. Another wave. Always a good swimmer, he could not believe he was struggling like this. Another wave. His legs would not move. Oh God, he thought, I am not going to make it. Another wave. The shore was too far. Another wave. He went under again. He tried to swim, but his arms would not work. Another wave. He rolled to his back, knowing if he could just rest a moment he would be fine. Another wave. He swallowed even more water. He called to his son to hurry, maybe he could rest on the board for a moment and catch his breath. Another wave. His son saw the worry on his dad's face and mistook it. He shouted back he was fine. Another wave.
The man drew on every bit of strength he could find and swam a few yards before he was pounded down by another wave, he was closer. He wife began running into the surf, she could see he was foundering. His friend told his daughter to hurry and they sped forward. The man could not move his arms. He went under to see if he could stand up yet, the bottom still was beyond his reach, maybe an inch -- maybe by feet. The effort to climb to the top of the swell was all he could muster. Another wave. He turned to look at his son, concerned he was OK. The boy was dog paddling with ease over the swell. Another wave. The man went under. Pure panic set in, but he could not move his exhausted limbs. He felt sorry for his family, he was embarrassed, he fought again, but the energy was gone. Another wave. He struggled, he thought his tired lungs would burst. Another wave.
He at last felt the bottom and was enveloped by a warm glow the likes of which he never felt before. He was calm, he was peaceful. He felt another wave crash over him. He was no longer tired. Another wave pushed his lifeless body toward the shore, just a few yards away.
May 10, 2010
Inside the liberal brain trust
Dave: Der, Josh, it sure is cold this morning.
Josh: Yep, the moving pitcher box says it was 82 on Friday and only 36 this morning.
Dave: That is a big drop off, probably because of global warming climate change.
Josh: Yep, all them glaciers melting puts the cool air into the sky and makes things get real cold like. Dumb fat working 'Mericans insisting on driving their SUVs are causing it. Fat 'Mericans and Fox News is responsible.
Dave: Its cause they is all fat and hates the gays...and Fox News...Hey I was trying to figure how much colder it is now because of global warming. Lemme see, 82 minus 5...there's five more. and then ten...der, uhhh...hey Josh, can I see your toesies?
Josh: huh huh huh you knows you can, I gots on my Birkenstocks, huh huh huh.
Dave: Minus ten more...der...well that is more than 40 degrees colder now.
Josh: I hope the big watery ocean don't swallow up New York City.
Dave: Well ifn it does at least we will have free health care in six years.
Josh and Dave: huh huh huh Huh...Hoosierboy is so stupid.
Josh: Yep, the moving pitcher box says it was 82 on Friday and only 36 this morning.
Dave: That is a big drop off, probably because of global warming climate change.
Josh: Yep, all them glaciers melting puts the cool air into the sky and makes things get real cold like. Dumb fat working 'Mericans insisting on driving their SUVs are causing it. Fat 'Mericans and Fox News is responsible.
Dave: Its cause they is all fat and hates the gays...and Fox News...Hey I was trying to figure how much colder it is now because of global warming. Lemme see, 82 minus 5...there's five more. and then ten...der, uhhh...hey Josh, can I see your toesies?
Josh: huh huh huh you knows you can, I gots on my Birkenstocks, huh huh huh.
Dave: Minus ten more...der...well that is more than 40 degrees colder now.
Josh: I hope the big watery ocean don't swallow up New York City.
Dave: Well ifn it does at least we will have free health care in six years.
Josh and Dave: huh huh huh Huh...Hoosierboy is so stupid.
May 9, 2010
Weekend funny
Barack Obama got out of the shower and was drying off when he looked
in the mirror and noticed that he was white from the neck to the top of his head.
In a sheer panic and fearing he was turning white all over,
he called his doctor and told him what had happened.
The doctor advised him to come to his office immediately.
After an examination, the doctor mixed a concoction of brown liquid,
gave it to Barack, and told him to drink it all.
Barack drank the concoction and said,
"That tasted like bullsh*t!"
"It was." the doctor replied, "You were a quart low."
in the mirror and noticed that he was white from the neck to the top of his head.
In a sheer panic and fearing he was turning white all over,
he called his doctor and told him what had happened.
The doctor advised him to come to his office immediately.
After an examination, the doctor mixed a concoction of brown liquid,
gave it to Barack, and told him to drink it all.
Barack drank the concoction and said,
"That tasted like bullsh*t!"
"It was." the doctor replied, "You were a quart low."
May 8, 2010
Saturday
Cold and windy here at the homestead. Highs expected in the 50's. The wind is howling at a steady 20-30 mph with higher gusts. Not a good day at all. The weather man is talking FROST tonight. weehaw. It was 80 yesterday. Frost tonight.
Enjoy your Saturday. here is a little earworm for you:
Enjoy your Saturday. here is a little earworm for you:
May 7, 2010
A very special post for you
Dear person in the car in front of me at the drive-through ATM this morning,
It is a drive-through ATM. There is no need to park and walk up to the machine. I know your window works, because you had it down. The reason you had to bend over to use the machine was because it was designed to be seen from inside a vehicle.
More importantly, if you are over the age of 12, and the controls and intricacies of operating an ATM leave you flummoxed and confused, you have no business handling money. If it takes you nearly SEVEN FUCKING MINUTES to make a withdrawl, you should step away from the confusing machine and re-evaluate your life.
You are a waste of valuable oxygen. You are clearly dumber than a brick. How do you operate your car? Do you need help with the toaster too? Is your name Josh or maybe Dave? Are you angry no operator's manual came with your last purchase of Charmin? Do you need a recipe to prepare cereal? I bet you are a Hopey Changey Obama man through and through.
Go home, find a suitable firearm, and disconnect your very tiny brain.
Your Friend,
Hoosierboy
It is a drive-through ATM. There is no need to park and walk up to the machine. I know your window works, because you had it down. The reason you had to bend over to use the machine was because it was designed to be seen from inside a vehicle.
More importantly, if you are over the age of 12, and the controls and intricacies of operating an ATM leave you flummoxed and confused, you have no business handling money. If it takes you nearly SEVEN FUCKING MINUTES to make a withdrawl, you should step away from the confusing machine and re-evaluate your life.
You are a waste of valuable oxygen. You are clearly dumber than a brick. How do you operate your car? Do you need help with the toaster too? Is your name Josh or maybe Dave? Are you angry no operator's manual came with your last purchase of Charmin? Do you need a recipe to prepare cereal? I bet you are a Hopey Changey Obama man through and through.
Go home, find a suitable firearm, and disconnect your very tiny brain.
Your Friend,
Hoosierboy
Friday Covers
The Yardbirds version
Zep covers it in a live version
The greg Kihn band takes on the classic
How about Richie Sambora (Bon Jovi) from the show American dreams
Finally a version by Peter Noone from Hermin's Hermits
May 6, 2010
President Obama again proves he does not understand words
If anyone was unclear about President Obama's distaste for the new Arizona immigration law, he cleared it up at his Cinco de Mayo celebration in the White House Rose Garden Wednesday night.source
"We can’t start singling out people because of who they look like, or how they talk, or how they dress," the president said. "We can’t turn law-abiding American citizens, and law-abiding immigrants, into subjects of suspicion and abuse."
'Law abiding'...except that pesky federal infraction of entering the country ILLEGALLY. What a fucking douchebag. If anyone can show me in the Arizona law the requirement to only go after people with brown skin, I will quit blogging forever -- after posting naked pictures of my ass crack. I repeat, what a fucking lying douchebag.
I never thought in my lifetime I would use that term to describe the President of the United States. Obama is starting to make not only Carter, but Buchanan look good. Shit, Wilson was a better President and he was unconscious most of his second term.
A day in the life
The wife, boy and I went to a nearby town to eat at a pizza buffet. It was most excellent.
Across the aisle was an elderly couple. Just after we got our food, they rose to leave. As the old lady got up she let out a monumental fart. This baby was a two to three second long duck quack.
Immediately, one of the true laws of nature known to men the world over was again proven true:
Farts are funny.
The boy and I instantly broke into laughter. The wife even smiled. You would have too.
Across the aisle was an elderly couple. Just after we got our food, they rose to leave. As the old lady got up she let out a monumental fart. This baby was a two to three second long duck quack.
Immediately, one of the true laws of nature known to men the world over was again proven true:
Farts are funny.
The boy and I instantly broke into laughter. The wife even smiled. You would have too.
Co ink a dink
Once again, The Obama and Janet "the system works" Napolitano are trying to convince the American public that a potential mass murderer is just a crazy guy reacting to stress.
That once again the fact a potential terrorist has a Muslim surname is merely a coincidence.
Just think, there are some liberal sites that claim I am so stupid I should not be allowed to have children (really), yet they believe that "stressed out guy" bullshit.
That once again the fact a potential terrorist has a Muslim surname is merely a coincidence.
Just think, there are some liberal sites that claim I am so stupid I should not be allowed to have children (really), yet they believe that "stressed out guy" bullshit.
May 4, 2010
Memories
My dad had this big black leather chair and foot stool. Maybe it was pleather. He has not had it for probably 25 or 30 years, but when I think of my Dad's chair, that is the one that comes to mind.
It was more than four decades ago and I woke with a bad dream, or had to go pee, or just could not sleep. It seemed like the middle of the night, but I am sure it was not that late. Dad let me climb up into his chair with him, if I would be quiet and watch the movie. He was eating potato chips and he let me have some.
Dad was watching PT 109. I remember with vivid detail the Japanese destroyer cutting the 109 in half. I remember the men swimming and swimming. I remember falling asleep snuggled with my Dad.
I am not sure how old I was, but pretty small. IMDB tells me PT 109 came out in theaters in 1963. It had to be 1965 or so before it came to TV. I would guess I was three or four at the most. This episode remains one of my fondest memories.
I watched PT 109 Sunday. I talked to my Dad. He is doing fine.
It was more than four decades ago and I woke with a bad dream, or had to go pee, or just could not sleep. It seemed like the middle of the night, but I am sure it was not that late. Dad let me climb up into his chair with him, if I would be quiet and watch the movie. He was eating potato chips and he let me have some.
Dad was watching PT 109. I remember with vivid detail the Japanese destroyer cutting the 109 in half. I remember the men swimming and swimming. I remember falling asleep snuggled with my Dad.
I am not sure how old I was, but pretty small. IMDB tells me PT 109 came out in theaters in 1963. It had to be 1965 or so before it came to TV. I would guess I was three or four at the most. This episode remains one of my fondest memories.
I watched PT 109 Sunday. I talked to my Dad. He is doing fine.
May 3, 2010
Hangings
My office is a home office. That means it is a former bedroom. My office has cathedral ceilings, a ceiling fan and one small window.
It is small, 12 x 12, but it works for me. It has my cheapo black desk, a small filing cabinet and a printer/fax. On my desk is my laptop, a phone, a stoneware beer mug full of pens and a stack of papers. I brought the mug home from a trip to Germany. It features a drawing of the Bamberg Rites Rathaus. There is a cube of note paper and a very small container of paperclips. A coaster supports my coffee mug. The coaster has the Cubs logo.
The back of my desk has some shelves and cubbyholes. They hold a calculator, some files and a stapler. On top of the desk shelves is a plant, a coffee mug my son brought me from Japan and my awesome humidor.
There is a blue checked camel-backed couch and a 12 inch TV in my office. There is a ladder back chair in the corner.
There is a long dress my wife bought for my daughter's wedding and my daughter's wedding dress hanging on the frame of the closet. A large poster of the famous Beatles crossing Abby Road is above the closet, a remnant of the days when this was my daughter's bedroom. There is a copy of a black and white photo featuring Frank, Dean and Peter Lawford walking down the streets of Vegas hanging near my desk. A date of issue Frank Sinatra stamp is stuck in the frame.
On the couch, waiting to be hung, is a terrific large picture of Wrigley Field my wife gifted me yesterday. She said she saw it and thought I would like it. She was right. Some days it is good to be me.
There you have a boring post about my workplace. This is the place I hang for many hours each day. What is in your "office"?
It is small, 12 x 12, but it works for me. It has my cheapo black desk, a small filing cabinet and a printer/fax. On my desk is my laptop, a phone, a stoneware beer mug full of pens and a stack of papers. I brought the mug home from a trip to Germany. It features a drawing of the Bamberg Rites Rathaus. There is a cube of note paper and a very small container of paperclips. A coaster supports my coffee mug. The coaster has the Cubs logo.
The back of my desk has some shelves and cubbyholes. They hold a calculator, some files and a stapler. On top of the desk shelves is a plant, a coffee mug my son brought me from Japan and my awesome humidor.
There is a blue checked camel-backed couch and a 12 inch TV in my office. There is a ladder back chair in the corner.
There is a long dress my wife bought for my daughter's wedding and my daughter's wedding dress hanging on the frame of the closet. A large poster of the famous Beatles crossing Abby Road is above the closet, a remnant of the days when this was my daughter's bedroom. There is a copy of a black and white photo featuring Frank, Dean and Peter Lawford walking down the streets of Vegas hanging near my desk. A date of issue Frank Sinatra stamp is stuck in the frame.
On the couch, waiting to be hung, is a terrific large picture of Wrigley Field my wife gifted me yesterday. She said she saw it and thought I would like it. She was right. Some days it is good to be me.
There you have a boring post about my workplace. This is the place I hang for many hours each day. What is in your "office"?
Sarah Palin is sure dumb
I cannot believe she claimed there were 57 states. How about her health plan that would save employers 3,000%? And now she has shown her lack of international policy expertise by claiming Europe is a country.
What a maroon..
What?
You say that was not the former Governor of Alaska, but our very own current Commander in Chief, the noob in charge, The Obama, hissownself?
And somehow, in the minds of liberal elitists everywhere Quayle, Reagan, Bush and Palin are all the dumbest politicians to grace the national stage.
Why would we listen to anything you say?
What a maroon..
What?
You say that was not the former Governor of Alaska, but our very own current Commander in Chief, the noob in charge, The Obama, hissownself?
And somehow, in the minds of liberal elitists everywhere Quayle, Reagan, Bush and Palin are all the dumbest politicians to grace the national stage.
Why would we listen to anything you say?
Today's earworm
Here is another 1970s/1980s band from Central Indiana. I bet I saw these guys 30 or 40 times. They used to play at my college on a regular basis. They also played a couple of dances at my fraternity.
Bass player Toby Myers went on to play with John mellencamp.
May 1, 2010
Today's earworm
This is one of my all-time favoriite songs. Unless you are from Central Indiana, you have likely never heard it. Give it a listen and let me know what you think.
Happy May Day you commie bastards.