Nothing new here........This is just a thing that has nagged at me since I was a teenager. One of the songs that was from my parents' "courting" period was called Mairzy Doats and Dozy Doats (and liddle lamzy divey. How do I know that? Because, like one or two of my reader(Sybil), I was forced to sit, on more than one occasion and listen to "real music" for a change, rather than "that noise crap" that started out as Buddy Holly and enolved into Roy Orbison, then the Beach Boys, The Beatles, and finally into The Byrds, Gram Parsons, Hendrix..........and finally Iron Butterfly, with their one hit, "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida", which I will now try and tie to my parents "Mairzy Doats". My contention is that both lyrics were penned with a ray of hope that one of the opposite sex would be moved to the point of ultimately caving in at the peak of passion.

For the former, I'm pretty sure some lovestruck homeboy in tweed slacks and his Sunday go to meetin' shirt & wing tips, with a bit of a buzz, thought he was recording "mares eat oats and does eat oats, and little lambs eat ivy" so sweet, almost makes me want to hurl........ As for the latter, I am fairly certain that a frustrated hippie garage band songwriter, in an attempt to penetrate the defenses of a "almost made it to flower child" status former classmate cum Jesus freak, intended to record: "In the Garden of Eden Honey, Oh Won't You Come With Me?"
Okay I've attempted to tie the two generations together with trying to use subtle song lyrics, designed to achieve a common goal. Everything considered, I guess that with a bit more digging, we could conclude that the same ploy in one form or another has been employed by creative suitors of both sexes since time began.

Unfortunately, from what I hear in the hip hop and rap lyrics these days, the message is no longer so subtle. It's pretty much of a cut to the chase, let's do it nasty b&%{h approach now in those circles.

It's getting close to time to talk to my boys................ I have never had to do this before. I never had it spelled out for me either, for that matter. But you know, for all the hormone driven "missions" I have embarked upon, and all of the indiscretions I have committed, usually in the heat of the moment, I honestly think I will be able to impart a message to my little men that will assure that they will at least be gentlemen, and be responsible and able to distinguish love from lust in their "quest for fire". Both will happen. Only one lasts.........

News flash:Boogeyman is put to death. For a moment, put aside your feelings on the death penalty and ask yourself - will George Bush now come to his senses and do the math and see how many American lives have been sacrificed to this point in an effort to punctuate his vain statement to the world. And should he do so, does he have sense enough and conscience enough to put a stop to the killing?

Unfortunately, I doubt it. Yes, I think all along, that this was all about a personal vendetta on the part of the elder Bush's "slow child". He has however,knocked himself out trying to spin this as being a war against those who, to use one of his newly learned words, would "foment" terrorism and disorder to advance their agenda. In truth, he is the one most guilty of that, with his thinly veiled plan to promote "democracy" in Iraq. My contention is that he is trying to "foment" or to foster a government that will be a puppet to Exxon, Mobil, Royal Dutch Shell and the likes of Halliburton, with no regard for the lives of American soldiers he has marched to their death in his "stay the course" campaign. It's fairly easy to say "damn the torpedoes" when your pansy *** is nowhere near the water isn't it?

I don't think we have enough now, do you? Biggest b**** I have is that for all of the extra holidays that exist today, the only people that get the day off for the majority of them, are the people that handle my money, pick up my trash and bring my mail - not me! I just heard on Fox News from an reporter of African descent(notice I didn't say African American? - you can be one or the other - not both)dressed in a festive African dress, that they were celebrating thirty years of Kwanza tradition. Cool. I wear tee shirts older than that. I have ingrown whiskers that old. Wow, 1976 - first time I got married. Long since I stalked and killed my last critter (intentionally - roadkill, mosquitoes, and fish don't count). Where was I? Oh yeah Kwanza - Handy for it to fall right at Christmas, along with a couple of other suspiciously timed holidays. We need some more though. bring 'em on, but try to be a little less competitive and more creative in your timing and spread 'em out throughout some of the dry spells. And please, let's get some lobbyists going to bat for us here and make them top shelf holidays we can all get off work and not just the mail carriers and bank tellers........

What a nice end to a long sweet weekend. I.am.a.music.lover.
I probably owe that to my dad. He is one too. Whether he knows it or not, when the Mp3 hijacking craze was in full swing a few years back and Napster R Us was in business, and I was pulling down my Beatles, Doors, Dave Clark Five and Beach Boys cuts, I was also 'Napping my share of Mills Brothers, Artie Shaw and Glenn Miller tunes as well. My time to really start digging music though, actually started about age nine around the time I moved to Seadrift as a boy. New town, no PS2, PS3, Wii or such distractions to contend with. Know what I did? Borrowed the keys from dad. Went out to our driveway on the bayfront and hopped in the drivers seat of the '60 Galaxie and away I went. I went to Lubbock and listened to Buddy Holly, to Ventura Beach and listened to Dick Dale and Jan and Dean, and I went to Detroit and listened to Smokey Robinson and the Miracles.

This morning I woke up and read a story in the Advocate about the guy that piqued my first interest in music - my dad. And I was proud. Now as I am winding down from the long holiday weekend, getting ready for bed, I stumbled onto one more real treat - the Smokey Robinson tribute at the 29th Annual Kennedy Center Honors.
I don't know how many of you saw the same program I did, but I'd like to think that if you did, there weren't many dry eyes among you. I hope dad watched it.

I feel good....I knew that I would.... R.I.P. James you were one of a kind.

Sometimes it's okay if you fall asleep maybe with a little mist in your eyes - as long as it's accompanied by a smile.

That's right - the King of the "why do today what I can put off until tomorrow" club, the master procrastinator, is done. Stick a fork in me - I'm DONE with my Christmas shopping. And with a day and a half to spare. And you know what? It was fun for a change.

First night was with the girl....a sobering experience, particularly after a long day's work. We hit Katy Mills Mall - basically an outlet mall, but the size of Dewitt County. Truly a large place and the crowd was a mutant mix, best I could tell, but when I'm really tired and being whipped like a sled dog, I tend to hallucinate and the people around me start to take the form of Ralph Steadman illustrations in a Hunter Thompson "Fear and Loathing" story...... Best thing about that trip was the boot camp the wife put me through. At some point while I was panting, trying to keep up on the mall march, she slowed up, fell alongside me and barked like a D.I.: "head up, shoulders back, suck in that gut, deep breaths, and KEEP UP". Next day, I hit West Oaks Mall, a step up from the first, as the people all had taken human forms at least. Came home empty handed again, but smarter and with no lingering ill effects.

Today was the grand finale - mission accomplished. Only had to make one lifeline call from the field. Best part? I hit it early, caffiene coursing through my system, and I tackled Memorial City Mall, an old but classy place, and I hit it with an attitude of finding the thing that would please and delight, rather than a deadline driven find something /anything just a "git 'er done" tack. Guess what? Made a big difference. The crowds started small, and built....no big for a people watcher such as myself. Closest thing I experienced to a negative was my impulse to grab a cup at Starbucks....line looked like they were selling $5.00 tickets to a Rolling Stones show. Glad I coffeed up before I went. The crowd was a rather attractive and/or happy bunch, and in less than three hours I had finished my shopping with a smile on my face and the fires still burning in the boilers. I even spent the better part of an hour swapping New Mexico and Colorado stories in the bike and ski shop with an old ski patroller. At the peak of my shopping "experience", I must confess, I found myself unconsciously in a head up shoulders square and back, breathing deeply, tummy in (far as it would go at least) posture. I'll have to admit that on the "empty handed" gift shopping trips, I didn't come home completely empty......I found for the old Pilot, a brand new 2007 hardback sesquicentennial edition Texas Almanac, a DVD copy of a classic "Harold and Maude" movie and one nifty shifty eyeglasses mount, clip-on rearview bicycle mirror that is so cool, I may just leave it on and endure the hippie nerd comments.......

Maybe the best part of my solo early mall hike today was that I took the time to reflect on the last year and where I am in my life at the moment.

I've been writing this blog over that period. In doing so, I have made a lot of new friends, found myself in an old job anew, working with a great bunch of people - some old friends and a couple of really quality new ones. Good a time as any to slow down and count my blessings........ Then there is my wonderful family - the girl and our two little half Texian and half Norwegian offspring.......

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays from the Pilot.

I am referring to the "Globe" headline "Is America Ready for Either of Them?" and Barak Obama and Hilliary on the Cover....he shudders. Now B.O. may be the second coming and the former First Ballbuster may just have heretofore undisclosed talents and leadership traits that will be just what it takes to pull it out in '08.
BUT...............
I don' tink so Queekstraw...... Why's that Baba Looey?

Well, I'll tell you. Recent history for her, and good old fashioned name association/recognition (or lack of) for him.

Geez, let's see, a skinny black guy out of nowhere with a name that sounds perilously close to the ol' bearded one that George W. can't seem to find and a woman who has our Prez before last's figs in her firm grip and on a choke collar. Lord, I hope in the next few months, someone steps up as a saviour for their party, because at this point, McCain could mail in his filing fee and wait until election night to celebrate. Hell, they could even run Jeb up there, depending on how this Florida death penalty thing goes. He might run as a Republicrat and hose the rest of the field.........

Okay, this is going to be one of those pieces that tips my hand and shows my "old fart", alarmed father side, however briefly, but mixed with glimpses of why this is actually aimed at parents rather than the teen crowd.
Yes, I was sent home from school for having long hair - in 1968.......It's MUCH longer now. A ponytail in '68 would have resulted in my sudden demise at the first date's house I showed at. My boys, aged 9 & 11, would have been denied entry to classes at Calhoun High School for their current hair length (a school no less with CRABS as a mascot - can you see the banners-"scratch the 'Crabs" in the Bloomington or Palacios gym at their pep rallies?

So much for that glimpse into my therapist's file.........

For my childrens' benefit, I would like just a bit of input from some parents and/or some teens, tweens and anyone with some insight into what is currently passing for teen entertainment. It seems like only a year or so ago, I was seeing adorable little Lindsay Lohan and Britney Speared on Disney, thinking how cute they were.
Is it just the fact that these days, lifetime fortunes are acquired by age twenty, and no further actual career concerns beyond shock value and party antics matter? These kids are taking the money and running - before coming out of the closet or getting things pierced, painted or tattooed and then photographed and publicly displayed, that heretofore were reserved for spousal eyes only. Sorry, I'm just ranting, because my boys are about to move up into that realm of the media circus, and I think I'd like to see some better examples of living and behaving for the "long term" by the "stars" that are in their sights.
Billy Ray, keep a tight reign on your kid - she might be a glimmer of hope for us. Otherwise bud, you'll see her on some celebrity websites before long, like Lindsay, Paris, and Britney - flexing their mussels.... God forbid that Raven should resort to that tactic.........I'll hurl! Now, Ms. Vanderpol........

Caught this sight a couple of days ago near where I live, work and shop for groceries. Some of the boys from the county lockup out gettin' a little exercise and fresh air while at the same time, beautifying the streets by pulling up all of the illegally placed advertising signs in the esplanades and along the roadside.
Personally, I think that it's a great idea, and would like to see them in waders doing the same thing with trash in the streams and along the bayfronts and highways too. I am sure there are plenty of other situations where these folks could work off some time and be of use, though I'm sure there are ACLU lawyers licking their chops over the use of inmates as "forced laborers".... I especially like tthe outfits - a throwback to the "good old days" when bad guys wore black hats 'till caught and stripes afterward.

I've seen this same trailer parked at the county parking lot full of the signs. Can't help but wonder if some of the more enterprenurial types on this detail don't attempt to sell the signs back to the maid, landscaping, remodeling, and windshield repair services on the side........... seems like it could be a self-perpetuating enterprise.

After my bitching about the recent cold snap, I really must concede that we are wallowing in the dividends of choosing to invest in a south Texas existence. This morning, for the third in a row, I did ten plus miles on the pedal powered two wheeler. A man could not have dreamed up a more glorius day, unless he had wished to be on the Seadrift bayfront or maybe riding from Austwell up past Hopper's Landing to Whooper Whorld.
As if that weren't enough, my personal favorite and yours truly's listener sponsored, commercial free radio station http://houston.kpft.org/sit... target='_blank'>KPFT Listen Live was cranking out a beautiful blues show this morning during my ride. The last piece I heard was brand new to me - by a lady named Deitra Farr. Worth a listen if you like the blues....probably falls more into the Taj Majal "sugar blues" category. Her guitar player sounds like he was channeled in from Heaven. Kinda somwhere between Earl Klugh and a chorus of angels accompanied by harps.........

Well, looks like I've come around in the cycle of life again. Found myself being fitted into Oscar De La Whazziz name, split tailed outerwear last night, only to be paraded into the city in the thing this weekend to make an appearance at the girl's company shindig. Just kidding mom - should be interesting to see if the old guy can still be scrubbed up and made presentable for the city crowd. Particularly since last time I was by for coffee with the Loon, he made a fuss about the fact I'd "dressed up" for the holiday by wearing "leather" deck shoes and a shirt with buttons.

Fact is, last suit I bought was a throw down, for solemn affairs....and interviews. It no longer fits and I no longer do interviews - just haggle over pay these days. The odometer and stickers on the suitcase are the resume'. Before that the previous suit was a silk Georgio Armani, bought at Sak's - on Fifth Ave - in Manhattan. That one saw some serious use..........then exited my life via garage sale.

I joke about the suit and the party, but the truth is the wife and I don't get out like that near enough, and she's quite a fetching lass when she puts on her party dress, so perhaps I should go ahead and get into the spirit of the season. How about something to pick up and bring to the party? I was thinking maybe a sack of oysters and I'd just toss a couple of my dad's custom made oyster knives and a bottle of Louisiana Hot Sauce into my jacket pockets. Or do you think that'd be too much?

Why DO kamikaze pilots wear helmets? Probably the ones that do, fit the colloquial definitions:(1. said of exploits, missions, etc: suicidally dangerous or 2. foolhardy, reckless), and are safe in the knowledge that while they shouldn't be attempting a particular feat or adventure, that that little voice or driving force is gonna win anyway, so a helmet probably is warranted.

Do any of you have kids that take that approach towards having fun and well, life? I'm batting .500 in that department - .333 if all three of us boys are averaged in...... My oldest is the one who calculates risks and studies possible outcomes. He's the one who, when I am trying to defend my driving, slam dunks the conversation with "but dad, you smacked a train in broad daylight".(he's also the only one of the two who's had a broken bone, but in all fairness to him, the little one gave him the push) Hard to argue with that one.
My baby,(9)on the other hand, is the one who'll grab my hand and jump, no questions asked, and then get down to working on a landing spot and if necessary, "plan B" with me, cool as a cucumber. Mom mans the medicine cabinet and the E.R. transportation,(so far it's been just her driving for the most part - she's only called for an ambulance once - for me after a motorcycle exhibition gone wrong) so consequently, in a lot of cases, she insists on driving on our family excursions.
Works for me. Frees me up to look out the window with Buford and take pictures.....
I took out my skis this weekend, (I love my skis)in preparation for the next four or five months and some anticipated road trips to the "Land of Enchantment". They looked great, but upon closer inspection revealed some surface rust on the edges. Time for a run to the ski shop for re-edging and a hot wax. That made me think of a time once long ago in Austin. Another "kamikaze" experience if you will....... I have somewhere, an old pair of Bauer or CCM hockey skates I liked almost as much as I do my skis. I worked a second job at the Ice Age rink in Northcross Mall, played hockey VERY briefly, and mostly just enjoyed skating. One night after we resurfaced the ice, and even before the door had closed on the Zamboni, I hit the ice nad made a mad dash, at full speed, the length of the rink. My wife, was standing behind the boards and plexiglass at the opposite end of the rink, and my plan was to barrel up to just shy of the wall and hockey stop about a foot away from her, spraying the glass with snow/shaved ice. What I failed to mention here (and also failed to remember in the heat of the moment and at the height of my testosterone fueled charge), is that I had had my skates sharpened that day. Anyone who has ice skated or played hockey will know that to initate such a spectacular stop, all that is required is a subtle flick of the hips and a lean and a twist into it. What I also overlooked was how fresh edges & new ice act in concert. In so doing, let me just say that in executing the ever so slight maneuver to pull my stunt, absolutely nothing happened. I hit those boards in what to anyone looking, had to have all the appearances of a full bore, effort at ending it all right then and there. Oh, and I crumpled and fell like a garbage bag full of vanilla wafers too. As I recall, I then pulled myself up, opened the door and vanished down the stairs rather than take a victory lap in front of the crowd who, if they hadn't seen it, they heard it and came running from as far away as The Drag and Antone's. God, I am so happy that I had the presence of mind not to yell "hey y'all, watch this" just before I pulled the pin on that one. I really do try and impart the wisdom I have gained from incidents like this over the years, to my boys and any youngsters who will listen. Problem is, when you're a kid, and the adrenalin is pumping and you really know better, there's that little voice........."go ahead, YOU CAN DO IT"......

Sorry Jeff....er......#29296-179. I ran the wrong photo. Here's one of the recreation yard


Uff Da - I almost forgot to tell you. Put the sandwich in the cooler to keep it from freezing and the pop (that's Pepsi/Big Red in River Oaks) outside to keep them cold........

Now, fast forward exactly 230 years. Try this one: One government, under multiple(insert your diety or militant lack thereof here), divided by classes, with liberty and justice for those who can afford to litigate for it.........
The rich are riding the crest of the wave, the poor keep being pounded into the sand with each crashing wave and the rest of us are just bobbing along trying to keep our heads above water while we snap at that carrot dangling from somewhere up in that whitecap.

That's it......just my observation.

Second Floor: Skis, Boots, Ski Poles cats, and oh yeah......attic door....
Ding -First Floor:Fishing Equipment, Paddles. Thanks for riding the express elevator.....
Who, Me? Yeah, You!
Welcome to the world of inquiring dogs.......my Catahoula, "Buddy", alias "Buford" when presented with an open attic door on Saturday, took it upon himself to do a bit of exploring. Appears he ventured beyond the floored area, onto the drywall ceiling of the garage. I find my self torn between two schools of thought here. Now mind you, either way, I have a ceiling to repair. Now I pride myself in having a good digital camera as a near constant companion. Just hate to miss a "Kodak moment"..... knowwhutimsayin'????? And while I can say that I'm certain it would have made quite the fine "YouTube" caliber, short video clip, that hound coming through that ceiling, I have to wonder just how my heart and/or Fruit of the Looms would have handled the shock, had I been standing beneath when my 80lb coonass hound came plummeting out of the blue like a meteorite, through the ceiling and into the trash can below...... FYI - the dog photo was snapped AFTER the fall. The mutt is none the worse for the wear........

The votes are in and apparently, judging from the weekend box office receipts, all is well for Mel. Mr. Gibson's new movie about the rise and fall of the Mayan civilization, Apocalypto, came out on top of the heap of new and current movies at theaters near you. It does appear that the movie going public has either forgiven Mel Gibson, or at least put aside their judgment of his personal life in deference to wanting to see a good movie. All in all, that's probably the way it should be. After all, he's just a regular guy(though a rich one and one with a gift when behind a camera)who like a lot of other regular guys, slips up and says what he thinks, for better or worse, when in the grips of the demon rum. It's not like he made a career of parading kids across his bed at Neverland Ranch or hacked up his wife and her boyfriend on the front step, then led L.A. police on a low speed chase, hiding in the back of a white Bronco - and got away with murder, now is it?

Just trying to put things into perspective......Truth is, reviews I've seen for the film have been pretty favorable, though they do mention a lot of graphic and gratuitous violence. The piece I saw on the making of the movie along with his interview with Diane Sawyer served to pique my interest in the film, but more so I believe, I was swayed by his own words and by his interest in people and a culture that is near and dear to me. I have been travelling to and from the jungles of the Maya and the Yucatan peninsula for many years, though it's been a few....though I avoid Cancun as I avoid Dallas, as it is just another American city. I traveled past that place in a rented VW when it was no more than a quiet fishing village. I have wandered countless hours among the Mayan ruined cities. The famous ones such as Chichen Itza and Tulum and Uxmal, and the off the beaten trail ones such as Dziblichaltun and Coba, deep in the sweltering rain forests. There is indeed, something mystical and compelling about the Mayan civilization, even today as their once great cities lie crumbling under the tropical sun and overgrowth. Even more compelling to me is to consider that the peak of their civilization and their vast knowledge of engineering techniques and understanding of our solar system, was in it's full glory about the time our ancestors were switching their calendar from B.C. to A.D. and developing a polarized religious fanatacism that exists to this day.

I posted a pic of a shuttle launch as viewed from the space station a while back. To me this one is equally impressive. On staring at it for a few seconds, I got a sense of deja vu. It took a minute or so to register how much it reminded me of the bayfront at Seadrift many years ago, during the Vietnam War. You see, at that time, Matagorda Island was home to a USAF Strategic Air Command base. Boiled down, that means that on the Port O'Connor end, there were a few barracks and a tiny base and one hell of a good redfishing hole in the winter (Army Hole), but the other forty miles of island, directly across the bay from my little hometown was a TARGET. At night long range bombers would fly down from other bases and bomb the crap out of that strip of dunes and coastal marsh (and one would assume a rather large number of deer, hogs, wild turkeys and various and sundry thousands of birds). The other thing they did though, was to fly the length of the island and drop a succession of white phosphorus flares which for a minute or so, bathed the surrounding countryside and coastal area in a really surreal daylight effect. I don't recall what the purpose was, possibly for a trailing plane to photograph nighttime ground activity. Maybe they bombed the lighted area before turning around and flying back to Lubbock or Midland (you don't reckon George W was hitching a free ride on one of those planes do you? Nah, he'd have to have actually reported for duty to do that), or wherever they came from. It was just a war, and for civilians, I guess we had our own little ringside seat some of the matches on the under card.....

What was I talking about......oh yeah, the shuttle launch. War is hell. Such peaceful activities as this sure make for a nice glow!

It might be time to take the show on the road. Maybe to Tuna, Texas, where they still pronounce San Antonio Sanantone, and Ruidoso: "Ree-a-dosa" and think of it as a horse track town and a place to win sneaky bets on their scraggly *** looking, fastest horse from the caprock area, three year old "Sleeper" (then move from track town to track town, all the way to Barstow, cleaning up as they go), rather than a place to party with diluted Apaches named "Chango" Gonzalez, and ski until you get hurt or run out of sick days and to forget about trying to come up with interesting yarns borne of a very fragmented past.

When you play your songs for the fun of it, and hit a long spell where you can't seem to either relate, stimulate, or even **** off the crowd and raise an eyebrow or two, you start to wonder if you are preachin' to the choir, or worse yet, that you're stuck in '69 and pretty soon, some old friend you thought was dead will be shaking you and sponging your face with cold water and telling you how "out there" you were for "like three days man"...... far out.

On the other hand, maybe some more friction in my diction would stir the pot...... As they say down on Bayou Teche, is that too much to axe?

I shall do my best here to offer my observations on the titled subjects, and to do so without it devolving into a cuss-fest and blood pressure raising diatribe. Wish me luck. A slight disclaimer here - there may be a veiled reference to past episodes of a powdered substance consumption on the part of the author (it fits the story - deal with it).
First, I must say that in a couple of hours, I am off to my "sleepover". This will be the follow-up to a story I started a while back on my snoring problem (actually, it's more my wife's problem), and my attempt to do something about it. Wish me/her luck!

That brings up the doctor part of this story. Do you have a drink handy? Are you sitting comfortably? Good. Now I need to explain my association with doctors. My personal approach to health care, has in the past, been to only enter a medical facility either feet-first on a cart being pushed by EMS personnel, or so obviously ill that people parted for my wheezing, feverish, hunched over form like the Red Sea did for Moses. While I still endorse that plan as a personal practice, I find that having kids has dramatically altered the number of visits and widened the scope of reasons one might take off work and drive at break-neck, death defying speeds to get to the Dr's office or to the E.R. I'm certain there will be more, but hopefully not too many stories here on that subject.

Okay, doctors. I have a cardiologist - I forget his name(which indicates I'm in level flight on that trip at the moment). When I discovered my blood pressure problems a few years back, he got it under control, and transferred my routine care to my family physician - whom I did not know or visit - ever. When time came for my first physical/prescription refill obligatory visit there, I made an appt to see the clinic head. I got a call a day or two beforehand asking if I minded if my physical was performed by Dr. Nguyen, a new lady doctor at the practice, as Dr. whatzizname was too busy to see me that day. I figured what the hey, this was gonna be an in and out affair (I'm not talking about the prostate exam), I'd get my scrip filled and that would be the last I'd see of those guys for a year. Well imagine my surprise when after waiting only a couple of minutes in the room, this adorable little red headed pixie shows up, looking like a college cheerleader in a lab coat.........and I meet Dr. Elizabeth Coon-Ngyuen, who dismissed my open mouthed stare with a grin and a "my husband is Vietnamese", and proceeded to conduct my physical, minus the "turn your head and cough",(which probably would have caused something to come up I'd have had to explain), and minus the prostate "digital" exam, which by the way, she offered to do and I politely declined, (see reason mentioned above).

A side note here: Fantasies aside, when faced with the prospect of being rendered a human corn dog, at the hands of a doctor, albeit a rather cute, young bright-eyed female doctor, don't be fooled. It might as well be seventy year old Dr. Gillick. When the rubber hits the road, you will be overtaken by an uncomfortable, bordering on an urge to bolt sensation. Trust me there are far more sophisticated and advanced tests for prostate health.......
And as for the fig squeeze, ditto - if you haven't busted a gut doing some of the stupid stunts you tried, or drinking and eating some of the things you did on numerous "dare ya's" by age 55, your pipes are probably in pristine condition.......

Cut to the chase here - that was three years ago, and my doctor/muse, has turned out to be quite a fine physician with my best medical interests in mind and a very professional and punctual medical person whom I trust with my care and well being.

Guess what? Four months ago, she quit! Drug up. Threw in the towel and moved forty miles across town to a new practice. Dammit, what a bummer......because, that left me in the care of Dr. whatzizname who blew me off for my last scheduled appointment with him three years ago. Well, in the interest of fairness and not wanting to drive 40 mi.(across Houston) to see the doc, I gave him a chance.

Let me just be nice here, and allow me to relate to you how I have come to feel that this guy would much rather be talking about golf and getting perks from pharmaceutical salespeople, than concerning himself with the fact that I am sitting, steaming, two doors down, B.P. on the rise, an hour and a half past my scheduled appointment.

Screw it. Dr. Whatzizname is now fired and I have gassed up the truck for a drive across town with my medical records in tow, to see Dr Coon-Nguyen! There are a number of things I may tend to overlook or shrug off these days, but at my age, I believe I'd rather stick with a doctor I trust to keep the old outboard running for my kids and wife.

Sooooo, in a couple of hours, I'm going in for "the mask" calibration appointment to allegedly stop my snoring.......

I am having second thoughts about this, as I have seen pictures of "the mask" in use, and I'm not sure that some stormy night, my Catahoula wouldn't wake up from a bad "doggy dream" (you know the kind where they lay there running in place and puppy woofing in their sleep), and take one look at the alien form lying next to mom, then remove my mask - AND FACE with his fangs before he realized it was his provider/bike riding pal.

So regardless of the outcome of tonights test, I am going to let my new/old doctor have a look at my throat and my uvula(get your mind out of the gutter - that's the little hangy down thing at the back of our throats) and try and determine whether uvula reduction surgery might be a more viable option for me.
You see, way before wives and children, back in the Austin years of the seventies, I subjected that little fleshy stalagmite to a near constant drip from a then popular substance that in retrospect, probably wasn't the best thing for it (or my heart, for that matter). Result is, that though that lifestyle ceased for me thirty some odd years ago, on some mornings I wake up feeling like I'm choking, and a glance in the mirror reveals the little dangler to be about four times its normal size and in a prone position on my tongue looking like a little naked surfer on a longboard (yes LONGboard) waiting for a big wave..........

I have discussed both remedies with a number of guys and gotten good reports on both. I'm all ears if any of you have any experience or stories you'd care to share with me on this before I get cut on or don the old WWII gas mask looking rig........

Now I'm looking at the clock. I don't have all night and I still have a sink full of dishes (mom's at bible study tonight)(and most likely for my benefit), so maybe this story will have to be curtailed here and I'll save the Health Plan and drug companies' portion of the rant for another time. Probably not a bad idea, as I promised to try and keep it PG rated, and that would be most difficult if not impossible for me, were I to really get wound up on THAT subject..............

Oh, I forgot - it was "Golden Tail",
or as this Continental stew I dated for a while many years ago called it, "Brass ***".

I read this morning in the business section, where Continental Airlines is going to ban shipments of live poultry. Seems they were unwittingly shipping thousands of roosters to Guam for the purpose of cockfighting, rather than just for breeding as some of the shippers had claimed.
There goes a lucrative market both for the shippers/breeders and for the airlines. I guess there was just no way, after flying those thousands of miles that the birds, could be verified as being in compliance with the Federal Animal Welfare Act, and that guarantees be in place they would only be mounting the hens(proud of me for keeping it PG here?) as opposed to fighting amongst themselves.....
......Silly guvment rules. In trying to make something idiot proof, they forget that the world usually just invents a better idiot.
In this case, I just envision a guy buying three seats and boarding with two sharp leather covered pet carriers embossed with "Pancho" and "El Gallo Diablo", (and labeled breeding stock only)..........
Or they could just create a new Federal Agency to oversee international cockfighting enforcement laws. Sounds like a good government job, insuring that the co.....er, roosters are used only for breeding.

I dunno George, you might want to take a look at these figures and statistics. Seems the numbers are starting to indicate that this is truly a conflict among men from the same country with somewhat differing views on how they should live their lives and run their government. But I don't find that nearly as troubling as the indisputable reality that for over a year now, it appears that the Sunni's have been exploding car bombs exclusively in blue Mercedes Benzs while the Shiites lean strictly toward grey ones.......and referring to themselves as Jihanni Rebs.

According to a news report, a certain school in GardenCity, MI was recently faced with a unique problem. A number of 12-year-old girls were beginning to use lipstick and would put it on in the washroom. That was fine, but after they put on their lipstick they would press their lips to the mirror leaving dozens of little lip prints. Every night, the maintenance man would remove them and the next day, the girls would put them back. Finally the principal decided that something had to be done. He called all the girls to the washroom and met them there with the maintenance man. He explained that all these lip prints were causing a major problem for the custodian who had to clean the mirrors every night. To demonstrate how difficult it had been to clean the mirrors, he asked the maintenance man to show the girls how much effort was required.
He took out a long-handled squeegee, dipped it in the toilet, and cleaned the mirror with it. Since then, there have been no lip prints on the mirror.
THE MORAL OF THIS STORY..
There are Teachers, and then there are Educators.

Anybody watch the Texans vs Raiders yesterday? Now, it's no secret I am not a football fan, but after enduring an hour and a half of that howling north wind at an outdoor skateboard park with Los Dos Norwegians, mas Blonde, and I being the one chilled to the bone, I was driven indoors where while in the course of my chores, I allowed the game to play on in the background.

All I can say about a game like that, is "where are the Sandcrabs when you need 'em?"

About the only suspense in that game was that sooner or later, someone was going to have to win so they could crown the loser.

Didn't there used to be another football team in Texas? Oh, nevermind, I remember now, that wasn't Texas, it was Dallas.......

Okay, time to come to grips with reality for the old Pilot - I have had it with the cold weather......at least for where I live. Time to write the in-laws up in Minnesota and tell them to close the freakin' back door! Maybe this year it is because it was such an abrupt end to summer, and it was followed by THIS! I'm hoping this is a fluke, and not a preview of what's in store for us until February.......

I suppose it could be worse....

Now, don't get me wrong, I love a snow covered mountain and ten degrees outside with the spruce trees singing in the howling wind. I do so relish jumping from a ledge and ripping 2000 ft down a twisting trail in a spray of snow with Bob Seger, Green Day, Willie Nelson, Robert Earl Keen, or any one of a hundred bands blasting through my headphones....... I just want to do it in New Mexico, or Cal/Nevada, or Colorado, or even Minnesota - not where I live!

I live down here for a couple of reasons. One is by birth and birthright. The other is because I CHOOSE TO! I like it being 70 degrees in January. I like oyster shell roads and palm trees and walking on the beach in December in a tee shirt. I like it so much, I am willing to trade having the streets be about two degrees shy of a liquid state in August!

Yes, I thought it was extremely cool that it snowed a foot here on Christmas a couple of years ago(but nowhere near as cool as driving around in the peak winds, then the eye of Hurricane Claudette with my 8MM camera rolling....). Unfortunately though, for my family and I, we had only a dusting of snow AND it was twenty below zero - ACTUAL, probably more like minus forty with the north wind.....pouring down into Minnesota from Canada. Wouldn't you know it - one white Christmas in South Texas in my lifetime - and I'm stuck at the north pole without enough snow to make a snowball......

I have, over the years, acquired and told my share of tales of my winters in the frozen north. Stories of ice fishing trips. Stories of Minnesota Vikings fans and their forty below tailgate parties in the alleys around the Metrodome(the Metrodome has no parking lot - go figure), stories of driving across Iowa(the Bermuda Triangle of the Midwest) and arriving in Minnesota or Kansas city with my car looking like an iceberg with wheels. Fact is, there will likely be another story or two come out of the north from me, because that is half of my sons' heritage - a healthy half of Norske blood.

But......I reiterate, close the door and keep the cold up north! As much as I relish living out icy and snowy adventures and telling stories of the same, I KNOW WHERE TO FIND THEM! I'll drive or fly there and bring my stories home - where it's SUPPOSED to be warm.

There is a reason to the phenomenon that when I visit Minnesota at Christmas and start my trek south afterwards, there is a vee formation of snowbirds in Airstreams and Winnebagos in flight behind me. It's because they see this old tanned guy with white knuckles and Texas tags, following that snowplow and driving in those two little skinny ruts, hauling *** south on I-35, and they figure If they can stay on my tail for the eighteen hours it's going to take, that I might just lead them to the Promised Land!

Makes perfect sense. After all that's the way it's always been. Two Texas boys and the Guvinator, ride south of the border for a good time. Could be it's off to Villa Acuna to Papagayo's in Boy's Town, or down to the bullfights in Nuevo Laredo, but not this time. This time it was on down to Mexico City for the Midnight Main Event. And El Prezi-dad(George the 1st), Governor Goodhair, and The Arnold had ringside seats as usual, while the rest of us (assuming y'all pay your cable bill) had to settle for "Pay per View", and a delayed broadcast, at that.

Seems the Mexican government is up to it's old tricks again. Rather than deal with the pissed off masses and have a public, daytime swearing in ceremony for their newly elected(?) Presidente, they opted for a few hand picked semi-local luminaries, available on short notice, and with a definite vested interest in their affairs, to be notified of the minor scheduling change and whisked into the city for what turned out to be a ringside seat for what Chuck would call a "good ol' Messkin' free for all"!

Though my family has a personal historical connection with Mexico that goes way back to Stephen F. and when Austins, were Mexican and when he was in good graces with the local powers that be, I must confess that my working knowledge of the country hasn't flourished as a result of my connection by blood. As a matter of fact, my connections lean more toward the aforementioned good times, and such issues as where to dive, where the water is safe to drink, where to find some good hooch, where to party and in particular, where to stay the hell away from if you plan on going home on the outside of a box, if you know what I mean......

What I have had the benefit of though, is living next door to Mexico for fifty six (56-1/2, if your counting closely), and observing their "rich get richer" at the expense of the poor(and in a much more thinly veiled manner than we are doing it), way of government.

Now I am sure our esteemed senior correspondent, the Loon, with his knowledge of and travels throughout Mexico will have a lot to say on this subject over time, and we, sitting down here on the border, will have a pretty good vantage point to observe from. From what I can tell at this point though, with Calderon in power, the Bushies and the oil companies are likely licking their chops behind closed doors. In a world void of victories for them of late, this does appear to be one, and it appears they might just be looking forward to the "good ol' days" again when it comes to doing business with Mexico.

One thorn in their side though, may turn up a bit farther south....those pesky-assed little Sandinistas appear to be back....... Ollie? Lookin' for work?

1. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.

2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.

3. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.

4. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.

5. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

6. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

7. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

8. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

9. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.

10. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long it had rusted shut.

11. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.

12. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.

Courtesy of Jonco....