Okay, so it's O'Reilly these days, and not Hi-Lo Auto Parts - Things change. The planes have turbine jet engines now, not four props, like when I flew to S.A. on TTA and ended up in Fredricksburg, picking up my used '60 DeSoto from my uncle Hedward (friend's called it the "Batmobile").
Sorry - drifting here. I was at the parts place, paying thiry five sawbucks for a heater core that the mechanic wanted to tag me for one five oh, big - uns. Sorry, Doc, I bend over, when necessary, but when I feel BOTH hands on my back, I straighten up and regroup".
I digress, I be drifting once again.....

The person who sold me the part, was a very young and pretty girl. Something I had not gathered when calling and asking her about it earlier today. Just goes to show you, it's a brave new world we live in. She told me on the phone, that she had installed her own heater core in her '95 Ford truck, in "minutes", which confused the hell out of me, contemplating a $600 labor charge, to insert a baby radiator that cost roughly what one of my kids video games does. When I arrived to pick up the part, "Miss Cora", all of 25 years, offered to come out and have a look at my truck, and offer up her assessment on the mechanic's estimate on labor. As is usually the case, my vehicle was just new enough, to not be as straightforward as the "old body style" (see my Murphy's Law Blog).

This is not about my propensity to incur the catastrophic failure as opposed to the missing gas cap, or slipping belt, though. This is about our changing times (for those of us who embrace change, anyway).

I will have to admit, after, many years of being a know it all regarding cars and car repairs, and doing most of it myself, we have entered a new world in that arena.

I am paid well to live in a computer - virtual world of getting oil from the ground to my bike chain, my kid's go-kart gas tank, and my wheels as well. I will readily admit, that save for a few basic repairs, I am out of my comfort zone, when it comes to major car repair issues.

Finally, back to Cora - I don't know if she has four older brothers who are mechanics/hot rodders, or if she is an only child with a Little Deuce Coupe dad who indoctrinated her on all things "auto shop", or if she just inherited her "baby", her '58 Chevrolet Apache pickup, and fell in love with cars on her own. What I do know, is that I was very pleasantly surprised to see a young lady, in what was once a man's world, not just doing her job, but standing far out from the crowd with her knowledge and expert advice and making me comfortable in deciding whether to tackle it myself, or leave it to the people who know "new cars".

The shiny truck I drive, ain't my old flathead V8 '49 Ford, bullet nose Custom, with a sun visor over the windshield, that I could pop off a head with a Crescent wrench, and wiggle a piston at the top of it's stroke to see if the rings were worn out. By the same token, I am not the guy who has to be seen in a brand new ride every year, complete with new warranty, and, oh yeah, another four years of payments. "paid in full" looks good on paper to me, and I am one to try and get my money's worth out of a set of wheels.

While my ride and I both still scrub up pretty good, it's not like I need to impress the ladies or jack it up at a light and do the testosterone dash anymore. I got me a cute girlfriend with the same last name as me, and a coupla cool boys who are starting to drive their go-karts like they've seen me drive. I got me a truck that waxes up nice and will get me to the bay or out to the Indian (Cochise - not Calcutta) reservation where my Apache buds are running chairs on cables from the bar/burger joint to the top of the world for me to blast back down on the snow over and over until I need a hot drink and a nap.

Sometimes, you have to trust the expert advice of others. When it's a sweet gal/mom/wife who breaks the mold, and puts the stereotypes to rest with authority and no doubt, you just have to walk away with a grin and realize how far we have come. From what I have seen so far, my oldest had better set his sights on such a lass. While he may well find a cure for something, or break barriers in the scientific world, he still doesn't know when a go-kart chain needs a drop of oil to keep it from melting off the sprocket!

Oh yeah, P & R, I finally got tired of the ethylene glycol cloud and put it in the shop. It'll cost the price of a fishing license and gas to Cloudcroft and lift tix, but as indoor clouds go, it wasn't doing anything but making my eyes water, and with no particularly pleasant side effects. Besides, I have saved up some money for car repairs, by growing my own breakfast.

I published this piece, then retracted it as personal diary type drivel from a wannabe literary constipated writer. A pen pal suggested I disregard the critic on my shoulder, so here, it's back. Slice it, dice it`or ignore it. I ain't goin' away.....


What a tropical conclusion to the year about to give way to the next one! As we were all parting company on the bay yesterday, my sister Sue observed "what a difference a year makes". As many who read this are noticing the hum of the A/C outside today, you are probably saying the same thing. Hard to fathom, a year ago, you were playing North Dakota games, shoveling near a foot of snow from your sidewalks! Just serves to reinforce the "if you don't like the weather, hang around a few minutes" legend we foster here, eh?

So much for the weather. In a week or so, I'll fly to Minnesota, and my niece and I will make the trek back south to the land of plenty. She's just out of school,and fresh out of ideas about which way is up at the moment. Boy, do I remember that time in my life. I hope the weeks and months with our family will serve to give her some time to reflect on things and maybe light a path for her. It seems like yesterday, that my wife was fresh off the polar express, and terribly homesick for Minnesota, and in particular, pining for her family, and for a chance to meet the same young lady about to join us, though at the time, a newborn to her sister. The more things change, the more they stay the same, huh.

My saving grace here, is that I am welcoming a good kid. You want to see quality, shake her dad's hand, or look into her mom's smile. Sit down for a conversation over a cup of coffee with her grandma.

I'll report back on this one in a couple of months (or sooner as theraputic feedback requires). All I know at this point, is that I am looking forward to this opportunity to make a positive impact on a life, and that I have a flight upcoming to the cold blue north in my near future, followed by one of my trademark road tirps, and with any luck, a couple days of skiing sandwiched in for good measure.

And to boot, I get to venture in and out of Iowa. A place that as a child of a tropical upbringing, I regard as the "Bermuda Triangle" of winter. In seventeen winters of travelling north and through Iowa, I have yet to pass through without encountering a blinding blizzard, two inches of I-35 ice, freezing fog, or the infamous "black ice" (the road was clear, so why are we upside down?)

I am going to go to Iowa one time during summer - just to see if it actually thaws there!

I saw the story in the press, and I started a response to a piece the Grey Beard Loon had offered up on it. Problem was, I think as is usually the case with me, I would run out of space before I run out of thoughts and words to express them. So instead, I shall drag out mt soapbox and put it up alongside his, and offer my two cents worth.

I was married once in the Catholic church, and once in a 100 year old hotel foyer, by Harry, a peach of an old pastor from Edna or Ganado or one of the little jewels on the route between Mexico and the wheat fields of Midwest. Both were fine with me, although the second seems to have taken root, as they say, and produced three beautiful sons. Two of which have survived and flourished, to convince me beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we are here by design, and that there is a creator.

Beyond that, at age fifty five, I will tell you that since age three or four, I have been steered, cajoled, badgered, preached to, revivalized, Hari Krishna-ed, by numerous friends and relatives, by Marjoe Gortner, George Harrison, Cat Stevens, Mahatma Ghandi, and a host of others, Billy Graham, Timothy Leary, Baba Ram Dass, etc.that their interpretation of God was the real deal.
Dunk 'em in the Jordan they said, no, sprinkle 'em, no, an ash smeared on the forehead - no a purple dot. Circum...... you're gonna cut off the tip of my WHAT?

Then there was the old gal who ended up in an oil drum buried up around Dripping Springs, Madalyn Murray O'Hair who was bent on making sure nobody was allowed to believe in anything but their next breath.

All in all, a host of folks who, are big on trying to have us believe their story, as it was told to them, with scarcely a fraction of it recorded (by them), compared to our millions of years of existence. A bunch of folks who either will swear there is no heaven, or pray that there is no hell.

I took the long route to getting around to telling you what I think, didn't I? I will say that I feel that the term "intelligent design", free of attempts to link it to an organized religion, comes as close as I've heard to a good description to what I believe.

Take a look at your sleeping child, or at a Monarch butterfly. Go onto a reef in the Caribbean, have a friend or a relative take their last breath in your presence. Watch an ocean sunrise, or the birth of a child or grandchild. Change a flat on a freeway in August, or have your child come home from first grade and with sparkling eyes, tell you a joke that he heard, and has been waiting for hours, trying to remember, and beaming when he gets it right.

It's all too beautiful and complex and imperfectly perfect, to have been an accident. Try as we might to define it, or put a name on it, that may never happen. Or maybe some being from beyond our own world will show up one day(a second coming, some would say - only this time, we'll get it at six and ten and have it analyzed on Face the Nation) and play back our own creation for us, and confess that they are still trying to figure out their own. This of course can only happen, if we don't hunt him down and kill him for not being like us, or believing as we do, though. Do you wonder how many would believe, and be able to handle the truth, if it were presented to us in such a fashion?

Now picture this: Nothing - void - blackness - absence of life, color or any consciousness on any plane. Surely someone can come up with a plan for "life" happening and evolving, sorry wrong word. Make that developing and growing.

Who might that "someone" be? What would we call him or it?

I have found myself in a bit of a writing funk lately, and I am starting to think it is due to the short days, and the lack of warmth and sunshine. My wife loves this time of the year. But she is from Minnesota, which makes Amarillo seem tropical.

Looking for some consolation this AM, I checked the Anchorage Daily News. Sunrise:10:13 AM, Sunset:3:40 PM, then I read an article on Barrow, Ak., by a psychologist studying the effects of light deprivation. More I read, the more it convinced me that is what's affecting me. Those poor people won't even see the sun rise again, until well into January!

Don't get me wrong, I don't mind some cold, but I know where it lives. I'll go and visit it. I think kamikaze trips to the mountains for a few days are great! Drive twelve hours to meet winter head on - romp in the snow, run like a puppy for a couple of days, then run for the border. Meet me in Margaritaville. Next year I am going to push for a Christmas trip to Veracruz or Merida or Havana.

Oh, for those of you hoping for two in a row on the blizzard thing, I have checked the forecast, sorry.......
It is for a low of fifty three and a high of seventy two glorious sunny degrees! Ho,Ho,Ho! There is also a good chance of scattered fried shrimp and oysters. The coldest thing on Christmas Sunday, will be the cerveza.

I may well have to wag my laptop down to the pier, and catch up on my writing by the bay, while Frosty the Snowman is doing a good job of keeping the Tecate cold in the ice chest! Make hay while the sun shines!

I am still here. Here is a tedious place at the moment, requiring some deliberate and calculated footwork at this time. I wish I could put my finger on it, to explain it better. I think it may be a recurring thing, and it may well be a seasonal thing. There are stories and ideas and opinions I need to put into words. They come like a flash, ane they disappear into the drippy grey sky. Do you ever feel that way? I am trying to do some reading now, and I am trying to listen some more now. That is something I need to work on. Listening is difficult if you can't quit babbling.

I started a piece earlier, I was referring to the weather as suicide weather - grey, gloomy, and at this point, I know in my heart there is no such thing as suicide weather. There is despair and depression. there may be grey skies that serve to punctuate such feelings, but the feelings that some feel, and that drive them to those extreme decisions, have nothing to do with the sky or the rain. They must be so deep, so personal, and so seemingly irreversible, to manifest themselves in such a final desperate tragic act. There are those who are left behind to wonder "WHY", and who tear at their own hearts and souls, trying to figure out what we missed, or could have done to change the outcome. I think more often than not, the answer is probably, nothing. There are some things that are simply beyond our reach and control. Things so private and buried within our friends' own reality, that we are not allowed access to them. Things that they alone, must overcome to deal with. If they choose to share them with us, and ask our help in dealing with them, we have at least a chance to intervene. If not, we will always wonder what and why.

Chelsey, I am so sorry for the loss of your friend. I know, it will in no way make it any easier for you, to know that I have experienced the same sadness on more than one occasion in the small village and tiny circle of close friends where I grew up.

Please know though, that to carry on and to bring your energy and love and friendship to all that you see fit to do so, you will be doing your part to let them know that you are there for them, and know that in having done so, you have fulfilled your mission in being a true friend.

I am glad I took the time to read your writing. My heart, while heavy for your loss, was jump started by the reality of it.
Dig in, and watch. The sun will shine again. You will be here to enjoy it, and to point it out for those around you who may from time to time lose sight of it.

There are scofflaws, and there are outlaws. Which one are you? I would classify myself as one of the former, part of the group that will occasionally disregard a traffic sign, two black diamonds, or a "walk bicycle across road" sign. That is like an telling an occasional little white lie, as opposed to someone like, say a certain political leader, who, when he opens his mouth, you pretty much know a lie is forthcoming, likely a good ol' big un.

There is one law though, that some may think of as superstition, but that I need to try harder to obey, because I have a very poor track record of breaking it, and not getting caught.

It's Murphy's Law. It's the one that when you have put peanut butter on a slice of bread, and drop it, determines which side lands on the floor. It's the law that when you have scored primo seats right behind the first base dugout, and decide to put your beer and nachos on the roof of said dugout, determines the exact moment and trajectory of a foul ball.

I was passing the store last night on my way home, and I remembered that I was out of oatmeal at work. Rather than stop, I just thought to myself, I'll just grab the opened box in the pantry for work, and I'll stop at the store tomorrow, and bring a new one home. You can see where this is headed can't you? I actually remembered the oatmeal this morning, and tossed it into my backpack, along with my books, camera, Chronicle, and assorted items (see old "What's in your wallet" blog).

You guessed it, something put a squeeze on and barfed the box of oatmeal into my treasure chest. I painstakingly dusted each item off, and got out my oatmeal measuring cup(a white styrofoam coffee cup with a red pencil mark inside)to use as a scoop, to return the grain to the box. Thought about finger sifting once to be sure, but decided it wasn't necessary. Strike two!

Long story short: Got the backpack back to normal, and about halfway through my morning bowl of oatmeal, I have already found a paper clip and a ponytail holder. You would think I'd learn sooner or later.

And no, I'm not worried about my wife finding the pony tail holder in my backpack or truck ash tray/junk drawer. I offered her half the pack when I bought them. She prefers the fat frilly ones. I use the skinny ones - brown to match my hair color. Do they make them in grey?

Though I lean toward telling stories or subjecting all who'll listen to my rants, I rarely include large quotes or written work from another in my posts - other than maybe an occasional link. I, like the rest of you, am innundated with, for the most part a lot of e-mails and jokes, some poignant, a lot tasteless, along with an occasional gem. This time I am going to share one of them in this forum. if that is out of line, I apologize, and I ask that you comment, or contact me and tell me so.

Richard Pryor, and George Carlin have been probably the two most influential comics of my generation. Mr. Pryor broke many barriers, and I was saddened by his passing. George Carlin has broken some barriers as well, but in addition to his comic wit and delivery, he has always managed to inject something more - some social and political insight, told in a way that few can tell it, and that is what I'd like to share:

Paradox,
A wonderful Message by George Carlin whose wife died recently:

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints.

We spend more,but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems,more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life.
We've added years to life not life to years.

We've been all the way to the moon and back,but
have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait.

We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever,but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes.

These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throw away morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom.

A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete.

Remember, spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember, to say, "I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there any more.

Give time to love, give time to speak, and give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind. AND ALWAYS REMEMBER: Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take,but by the moments that take our breath away.


George Carlin

Wait a a minute....That's not news. That is just justice, as defined by California law, being carried out - albeit about twenty years too late.

Divine Intervention - God Spares Kookie Tookie! - That would be news, even in California.

Ressurection! Williams Four Murder Rictims Rise From the Grave, Rendering Murder Convictions Void! - That would be news.

Williams Confesses, Expresses Remorse for Crimes - Is Pardoned and Adopted by Arnold and Maria - that would be news.

I recently read a most compelling passage in a letter shared by a friend from a relative of his who is a public defender, stating his reasoning against the death penalty, one which gave more than one of us a reason to question it. This isn't about debating the death penalty though. It's about what passes as newsworthy.

For instance, I think it's newsworthy to note that some attorneys are allowed to have a career comprised of defending a single guilty as hell thug for twenty five years, bleeding away your's and my hard earned and easily pissed away tax dollars by the government for his defense.

I think it's newsworthy to note, that within another year, we will have spent 400 billion in Iraq, and still have nothing to show for it but graves and broken families, when for a fraction of that, the New Orleans levee system could be rebuilt strong enough to prevent another flood such as that produced by Katrina.

I think it would be a big news story to see, after the war in Iraq is finished - if it ever is, just what percentage of that 400 billion ended up in Halliburton and other defense contractor's coffers.

Our government had better hope Halliburton doesn't declare war on us. They'd win.......

Remember that front that came thru a week or so ago? I took advantage of the light show mother nature provided, for a bit of a twist on target practice. My boys and I have a short archery range in the back yard. Hay bales stacked with a spray painted target on them. The hay bales, for the most part, keep the stray arrows inside the fenced area.

When I moved here, behind my fence was roughly three or four hundred acres of marsh, creek, and deer, coyotes, and assorted other birds and critters - a nightly serenade. Mornings were quiet until just before sunrise, then the birds made it sound like a Tarzan movie. I miss that.

Nowadays, there is a four lane thoroughfare, about six feet behind my fence. The speed limit is thirty, but I'll kiss your hiney, if anyone is doing less than fifty.

Anyway, as I was saying, during the lightning storm, while everyone was gone that night, I discovered a new approach to target practice - in total darkness, Jedi style, waiting for the flashes of lightning to illuminate the Storm Trooper target sprayed on the hay bales, before releasing the arrows.

Found most of my arrows afterward, surprisingly in a fairly tight pattern, but so far nothing on the news or in the paper on the missing few. Guess I need to think about moving a little farther out into the country again..........

Up front: Please bear with me, and my editorless column. I am working on my notebook, as a result of yielding to two pre adolescent boys' being first in line for the mother ship computer. Typing errors are a fact of life under such a situation.

Music Review:
Moody blues - Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavillion
Timeless excellence. If you've seen them, no review necessary. If not, none would do them justice.

John Fogerty/John Mellencamp - Same venue, early fall show: basically a Credence Clearwater Revival, time machine tour - a master at his peak! Johnny Cougar showed some balls to follow the master onto the stage afterward.

Advice for music lovers: Don't be intimidated by Houston. After dark, the Woodlands and Downtown venues, are probably both as easy and uncongested as trying to see a local show of much lesser quality, save for the drive up here.

I read of a show touted by a local music reviewer, coming to Vic - Brother BMW bike rider Lyle, and his large band, at the Welder palace, for $200 a pop. Save your money. He'll play up here sooner or later for a fraction of that. Not that he isn't worth it, if you can afford it, but those people, should put it on for free.

I remember a night in my harbor town, when the rancher boys from the "big" city roamed the streets, firing automatic weapons into the air, from their rich boy jeep, with impunity, while Cassius Liston Cantwell, the local constabulary, who was in their pocket, and hunting on their ranch, looked the other way.

There are the haves, and the have nots. The former, sometimes see themselves as above the laws and think that money and power will pave the way home for them.

There is always that final door to pass through. I don't think there is a coin slot or money changer there. Just a Saint, with a list compiled by the boss. You are either on the list, or you are not. Nobody to blame but yourself. You had a lifetime, however long or short, to earn your place on it. They don't sell tickets there, so keep your cash in your pockets, boys. The scalpers are down at the "other" show, selling rhe really "hot" seats.

I woke up this morning, essentially on fire with ideas and big plans for the day and weekend. I had watched an interview with an old friend last night, on PBS. I thought it was a good one, and I called to speak with her sister, to see about maybe dropping in for a visit. She was asleep when I called, but I did have a nice conversation with her husband. Probably talked his ear off. I tend to do that when I get wound up talking to folks sometimes.

As it turned out, I learned that the friend I had called to check on, had unfortunately, been incarcerated for a past run in with the authorities for her methods of protesting the pollution of our native waters and soil.

Bummer. Not totally unexpected, but without a doubt, a bummer. I called the place she is being held, for the moment, to see if there was a chance I might visit her. I wanted to offer some moral support, and maybe co-miserate a bit, as I have had a couple of sleepovers in the same facility, many moons ago. No success whatsoever on the phone - and I am a master at getting out of touch tone hell, and coaxing a living breathing person into picking up a phone and dealing with me. Not today. I gave up, and I am ready to deal with the state or feds or whoever is next, and be a regular visitor to my friend's new temporary home, when the time comes.

Best I can tell, things haven't changed with the Victoria County authorities in thirty five years. Or how they are handled with kid gloves by the local media, for that matter.

I did call back this morning, though, and spoke with the lady I tried to reach last night. Turned out to be one of the most rewarding conversations I have had in recent memory. Amazing isn't it, how we let the years slip by, and lose contact with the treasured friends who helped shape who we are today?

Where I am from, it is a small place, and there were not that many of us to begin with. An alarming number of our ranks have departed all too soon, for varying reasons - war, accidents, and more than a few at their own hand, leaving the rest of us to try to figure out why. Maybe it was the time we grew up in. The sixties were turbulent.

Then on the other hand, maybe that girl who once was an athlete and a cheerleader, and who saw her life and her livelihood come from our bays and our ecosystem is on to something.

Maybe, just maybe, it's something in the water.

It's comforting to know that the children of our founders are still keeping watch and are willing to pay whatever price it takes to keep the bad guys from paving over our paradise with glow in the dark, toxic concrete. We should all take a lesson from her.

I will do my best to not allow this to devolve or dissolve into potty humor. I have an issue with buildings and the bright folks who decide how many restrooms they need to have in them. Not public facilities, but private office buildings in general, and mine in particular.

Specifically, I'd like to know what goes into the equation when coming up with a throne to butt ratio. I have not ventured into the ladies' room mind you, but I have seen the floor plans. Mirror image of the men's room it is, with one exception - four porcelain thrones, with doors, in the gals' latrine, to two in the mens'. Yes we do have two upright, numero uno only stations, with tile floors that resemble a slip n slide for about the final two feet of the glide path when making your approach. I assume this works out okay for the gals, I have heard no complaints anyway. After all, no matter what their mission, it is accomplished in the same position, though I have overheard some of them talking, saying they don't trust the *** gaskets and that they prefer to hover above her.

I'm drifting here, sorry. My problem is that there are five floors here. Two locations per floor for a total of twenty thrones for about 2000 rear ends!
And HALF of those are marked Handicapped. There are maybe three handicapped persons working in the entire building!

My luck is that when I really have to go, after starting with the one nearest my office, I frequently find myself climbing several flights of stairs, usually gaining speed and an increasing sense of urgency as I move from floor to floor, looking for a spot to land.

I'll have to tell you, it's quite frustrating, finding locked door after locked door, and hearing the sports section rustling behind that door (or worse, use your imagination)!

When I finally find one, usually the handicapped one, and I've finished my business, more often than not it seems, there is one of the three resident sets of hot wheels parked outside, and some old forlorn looking dude with an expression on his face like a kicked puppy.

At least he was able to drive to his destination, sitting, and not be forced to do that goofy desperate, pucker walk and stair climbing exercise.

Any of you guys ever encounter this problem? Maybe even start to eye that upright station as the last act of a desperate man?

But I'm not the only one....
I'll quietly remember John Lennon today, as will Wayne, Beckie, Mike W., Chris A., Wayne Green, Martha, Mary Chris, "Saint Patrick", Shawn, and a lot more of us, that there just isn't enough room to print all their names here.

Go to http://www.vicadhosting.com... target='_blank'>CJ's Blog for a good piece on John, and let us see how many of you remember.

Give Peace a Chance

Unless I miss my guess, there will be a lot of kids, large and small with their eyes to the sky this evening and tomorrow morning. For the first time this winter, there is a good blast of cold air headed south, along with enough moisture in the air to raise the possibility of some sleet, freezing rain, or a few flakes, happening not far to our north and west.

If there are any of you out there like me, you'll probably admit to having some of the kid still inside of you. You'll walk out in the back yard, bundled up, and give yourself eyestrain, squinting up through the illumination of the porch light, trying your best to see even a single flake, maybe even imagining that swirling light mist that seems to float in the light is really snow. There's just something about snow falling, that is so soothing, maybe it's the quiet that comes with it........

I might not be addressing you veterans of the South Texas Christmas blizzard of '04 - I'm sure you grizzled old snow plowers are still telling stories on that one. Like the fish that grows each time you tell the story, those yarns likely have drifts up to the top of the Der Weinerschnitzel sign by now!

And where was I when that "hell freezes over" event occurred? In 20 below Minnesota, with maybe an inch on the ground!

I wouldn't count on it happening here two years in a row, but just in case, I'm staying in Texas this Christmas. We get another one like that, and you'll be able to find me skiing on the Whataburger roof or down those man made mountains out by DuPont!

Dear Abby,
If there is a science guy out there among your readers, who can explain this to me I'd like to hear it. Why is it that some of us are blessed(cursed?) with exponentially more static electricity in our bodies than others?

I fit that description, and this morning after a cold ride (still no heater) in to work, and peeling off my jacket, my first contact with my office, was an inch long, quite audible arc from my elbow to my upright file cabinet. I'm not talking little baby spark here. No sir, I mean welding rod arc, burning flesh smell - the kind that makes dogs cower in your presence after their little wet noses have experienced a shot from my Harry Potter fingers.

I think I actually fried the sound card on my computer here last winter with a jolt from my hands.

Like I said, I'd love to hear why this occurs so much stronger in some of us. Meantime, I'll continue use a key,to either discharge myself against doors or furniture, or maybe tie a foot or so of grounding chain around my ankle to make constant contact with Mother Earth. I probably should avoid dry forests too.........
Sparky in Texas

Funny as this may seem, this piece was triggered by a call from one of the scant few phone solicitation groups that I actually endorse - the Blood Center. But I digress. I want to key on the others, and the practice, in general, of the telemarketing of RESIDENTIAL telephone, and cell phone subscribers. Forget the "don't call" list. That is right up there with the "no right turn on red light" signs at dangerous intersections, as far as having an real impact.

Bottom line, is that I am paying for my telephone line, and in my opinion, anyone else using it to try to make a buck for personal gain, is stealing from me, unless they send me a cut from their profits. I have even asked telemarketers for their billing address, so I could send them a bill for the use of my private telephone line. That is usually a good conversation stopper.

Another thing I will do from time to time, is to say "can you hang on for a sec?", then I turn to my fictious cohort and say in a strained, frightened tone, "What are you doing with a gun?". Then I slam a kitchen cabinet door a couple of times quickly and loudly, then drop the phone on the counter.

There are more, but I'll leave it at that.

The only ones I don't use that tactic on, are the ones purporting to be police organizations. They may accidentally, actually have some weak link with a real law enforcement agency, and be inclined to send a swat team out, which would undoubtedly interfere with the evening's plans. In truth though, they are no different from the rest. I'd bet one of my twin hairys, that no actual law enforcement organization employee, sees even a penny on the dollar, from those guys. When they say, "I'm so and so, with the Texas highway patrol", I cut them off and ask if they are an employee of the Texas Department of Public Safety, and for their badge number. You guessed it, another conversation stopper.

Now for a some I will actually speak with: as I mentioned, blood donation solicitations(I usually have to fend them off, as I donate on a very regular and short timetable as it is), Salvation Army, Purple Heart, Disabled Veterans, Katy Christian Ministries - a short list, to be sure. Another thing, we regularly put out a marked bag or box for these folks. Whether we can or can't, we ask them to please keep us on their call list, and to call us next time they are going to have a truck in our neighborhood.

I'm sure there are more deserving ones out there, but in the process of trying to figure out which ones are, and which ones are telegypsies, they will all have to endure my Q & A, and possibly a taste of my sense of the macabre........

This isn't about the Stones, believe it or not, it's a story about regular folks, and their forays into the music business. I had a couple of comments made about one of my ten items yesterday - number ten to be exact. The one about John Lee Hooker. So I guess it's also a story about a brush with legendary greatness

Some years back, while trying to find my niche in life, I got the urge to dabble in the production side of the music biz. No experience mind you, just blind ambition and a whim.

I have a dear friend Wayne, who lived outside of St.Louis at the time and his and now my friend, Mike, who were involved with a production company up there, working with the likes of Heart, and Head East, doing their stage lighting wizardry. Like I said, on a whim, I decided that living in Austin, that kind of work would be right up my alley, and proceeded to arrange to buy some stage lights and controls and dive head first in to the business of stage lighting.

I would like to say "to make a long story short" here, but you know me better than that, so kick back.

Did I mention wizardry? That would be Mike. If you had watched his work before or during a Head East show, you would understand that. I don't think I mentioned drive, business savvy or tenacity either. That would be Wayne. The guy could get interestd in lawn bowling, and in a years time, be the
worldwide distributor for and expert on all things lawn bowling. Those two and what they bring to the table, plain and simple, are what I lacked in really doing anything in that business.

But.......being mule headed, and not one to give up quickly, I tried to work out a deal, doing contract type stage lighting in a club in Austin - Antone's for a while. Antone's was known as a blues venue primarily, and I should have guessed how I would fare, by the way Clifford Antone sang the blues every time I tried to get money out of him for the work I did.

In a nutshell, I really never made any money at that gig. What I did do however, was spend months on end, sitting most every night, in a smoky club, running a light board, and rubbing elbows with up and comers as well as legends. For that I am grateful, as I love music, and have since I heard Buddy Holly and Elvis on the AM dial as a kid.

I got an album as a gift (TNT) hand delivered by a pretty little eighteen year old Tanya Tucker, and met her brother Dane and the whole rowdy Mother Tucker production team. I learned that old George Jones liked the sauce and saw him stiff us by being a regular no-show at his scheduled dates. Marcia Ball could pound those ivorys back then too, just with a little less grey in that pretty mane. Lou Ann Barton was a bluesy mama. An after the fact line sneaked in here - Angela Strehli, was every bit, her name personified, a smile and a soul to behold. She used to work the door, I doubt because she had to, more likely to see who showed up that night.

I watched Clifton Chenier dance on one leg after diabetes had claimed the other, playing that squeezebox and moving better than most people with two good legs. I worked shows for Buddy Guy, Junior Wells, Jimmy Reed, and a young Stevie Ray Vaughan, opening for his big brother Jimmy and the T-Birds, to name just a few.

The night John Lee Hooker played though, I left the board vacant and the lights on for the opening act, and spent the entire time backstage talking to him in the dressing room - just the two of us. I'd be lying, if I said I remembered a whole lot about that conversation thirty years ago. What I do remember, is that he was old, and I was young, and that was the tone of the talk - an old man telling stories to a wide eyed kid. He said things like "honey, let me tell you somethin', you know, like a grandpa would talk to you on the porch. When it was time for him to go to work, and for me to sit behind the slide pots on the light board, I ripped a handbill for the show off the wall and asked him to autograph it for me. I think it caught him off guard, but he did it - his hands shook, and it was nothing more than a shaky scribble as he was trying to sign his name.

My God, you should have heard that man play his guitar after that. I boogied that night, but now, as I think back on it with a lump in my throat, I spent a couple of hours in the company of a great man and a true music legend.

Thank you, Wayne, thank you Mike, it was fun. We must have done something right, to still be in the here and now huh?
BTW it's 27 and snowy in Union right now. You reckon they are gathering wood from those apple trees for a fire right about now?
Rock on.........

It just gets stranger from here on....

At around age 16, while looking at my friend Lloyd's .22 pistol, I blew a hole through the metal dashboard of his dad's '62 Chevy Impala, quite by accident, but a valuable lesson. Have any of you ever fired a gun inside a closed car? It get's everyones attention.

I got my very first mate's job on a tugboat, not because I could make up to a barge and push it from Brownsville to Lake Charles (I could - and did), but because I could cook fried chicken and make coonass ice cream (rice and gravy). The captain wasn't a cook.

I didn't try coffee until I was thirty years old.

I bought a Mr. Coffee coffeemaker the same day. If I had the money to do it, I would have bought a coffee plantation!

I have never smoked tobacco - not once.

I saw a professional bullfight in a ring in Mexico before I saw my first pro baseball game. I much prefer baseball.

I was actually invited to play on a men's amateur hockey team once - and did, very briefly until I found out that it was a sport where size counts and teeth don't.

I once snow skied in a snowstorm, rainstorm, and in a dust storm - same place, same day.

My scuba diver's certification card is thirty years old.

I once spent close to two hours talking, just plain B.S.in' with John Lee Hooker backstage. A really nice old guy, like talkin' to your granddad. My grampa couldn't play a guitar like he could though……….