The village where I grew up really hasn't changed much in the forty some odd years since my family first moved there when I was nine. That is true in a number of ways, as I see it, and in upcoming posts, I will attempt of try and explain some of them. For one, the little "downtown" that once thrived by most accounts and by small town standards, has withered on the vine, and most commerce as with many small towns, has gravitated out to the main highway that passes through town, carrying sportfishermen whizzing right past, to the evolving mini-Houston/San Antonio/Dallasite enclave/oil profit spigot that once was sleepy Port O'Connor. However, a hardy few will still stop and launch at the local docks. That's cool by me, as long as they continue to keep it zipped about how good the fishin' and flounder giggin' is here. I pray it stays that way at least until I'm gone. I like knowing that my kids can still go visit Uncle Bubba & Aunt Sue or Grandma and Grandpa, or drift by "Mr. Pat's" house with me for a visit and not have to dodge traffic but still will have to worry about the mundane things, such as the streets becoming liquefied in the July tropical sun and sticking to their bare feet. Biggest change I have noticed of late there though, is that the big culvert and ditch that we used to swim in and paddle "tinboats" (homemade canoes fashioned of sheets of tin and two by fours and nails, and sealed with black tar/pitch), is now at best, a place to just walk to and look out for the new resident gators, while trying not to encroach on a mama gator's nest! Beyond that, the population since those days of my youth, has fluctuated by maybe two hundred people. That influx took place shortly after I left for Austin in the '70s, when the government was accepting immigrants from Vietnam, refugees from that little unpopular war, and picked my town as a location to re-settle a number of them, hoping that the bay and it's bounty of seafood would afford them a means of surviving and hopefully securing their place in a local community. That is a story in and of itself, told many times over, and one to be retold many more I'm sure. It did not happen without considerable strife, bitterness and even some bloodshed(and a Hollywood movie made about it as well), but in the end, it has become a success story, of a diverse community coming together as one, and of that, and of my many old(and new) friends, and the townsfolk of my childhood and adolescence, I am quite proud.

So, enough of the sniffly stuff.

Another constant with the little bayrat burg is gulf storms. Piers have come and gone - Wolf's Pier, the T-head at the middle of the seawall, and a plethora of them on the "high bluff" west end of town. When the little Betsys and Beulahs(oh, I forgot - and now the Bobs and Barneys - so hard to get used to "guy" storm names), you know, the little high tide spitters that barely make the news outside of the state, come sloshing in, and leave the same day, there is usually only one lasting effect. They hydraulically hammer at and uproot about half the planking on all the local piers and docks. Okay, now we are finally getting to the meat of this story. And if the title didn't give it away, I will now explain. Just this past Saturday afternoon, I let my son and his girl cousins(my brother and his mate's girls), talk me into "one more trip" to the bayfront. The boards that the local public works folks have neglected to replace after Rita or Agnes, or Consuela or Carlos, hell, I've lost track, have left large gaps in the little town pier, as illustrated in this months old photo of more placid waters: that reqiure tightrope walking skills on the stringers, just to get out to the end of the pier, with an occasional remaining plank or two to stop upon, and get your bearings - if you make it that far! Did I mention the waves, and that these boards were wet, and in places adorned with garland(wet seaweed)? Do I really need to go into the gory details for the ending to this one? Suffice to say that I'm pretty sure the ribs aren't broken. Past motorcycle, car-train and mountain bike accidents have pretty well set the pain standards for "broken", when it comes to the old Pilot and ribs. That doesn't alter the fact that at the moment, I feel like I was forced to lie down and allow Tiger Woods to take a hack at a ball resting in the rough among the chest hairs on the flesh covering my sternum, with a sand wedge............Geez, sooner or later, you'd think I'd learn to say "you kids go ahead without me, I need to run by and say hi to Mr. Pat and Miss Reese". Little consolation here, but the one son(yep, the baby in my bio-pic - he's 11 now) who accompanied me to the bay on this trip, took a tumble at almost the same instant as I. Fortunately, he went the other direction - into the drink and came out soaked, but none the worse for the wear. Now that I think about it, after seeing Loon's gator pix, and reading the "watch for alligators" signs posted along the bayfront, I do believe the boy walked on water for just a moment after he took the plunge...... Good thing the old man always has the foresight to carry along change of clothes for us.......certain things about living by the bay, you just never forget. By the way, this could have been worse. Ol' Bayrat and Morgenroth could have been on the front porch taking in the whole show. I fear that there isn't enough time left on this Earth for me to ever live this one down!

No, it's not a new Disney movie, just an old boy musing about his years past. I am a kicked back city boy, watching the home team up in Pittsburgh a few minutes ago, thinking about the fact that scarcely a year ago, I was working up there in a Nova plant, and remembering the Allegheny River, and the oldness of the place - old hills, old houses, the area just oozes history. Anyway, between batters, the announcer remarked about seeing a towboat working out on the river, beyond the outfield fence. That set me to thinking about a past life of my own, many years ago, when my geographic place in this world, combined with a serious job hunting sense of urgency(fueled by an out of school/lack of funds status), my youth and my just plain Irish Setter/kid/hyperactive bullshitability, put me among the folks that work and move barges up and down the Gulf coast. It's not a life most would know much of, watching from the causeways and seawalls and parked along the barge canals as those strings of barges were pushed or pulled past their gaze, from Corpus to Lake Charles or Brownsville to Houma. But now, so far removed from that past life, in this cosmopolitan world and my evenings spent out in the adjacent surrounding countryside, the baseball announcer's observation of that working boat, made me realize just how much water has run under my bridge in life - so far. While I'd hope that most folks could at least pick out the wheelhouse, not too many guys can look at a tug and tell you exactly where the galley would be on that boat, or the captain's, deckhands' and mate's quarters, or even the engine room. I can. Once, I could pick out which cane pole marker was which on a radar screen, and I could run a compass course when the radar was out. I could figure out where I was with a sextant, thanks to the patient hours spent with Cap'n Boots. Probably could pick it all up again, if life allowed it....... I'm still workin' on how I can pull it off, but for now, the game is heading into extra innings, and the sandman is kicking my butt. Gotta be at my desk at 5:30 in the morning.........damn it all!

.......that we as a nation, and a people, do incur the wrath of and are regarded with such disdain by most of the people on this planet?

I'm going to do this one without the help of the commander-in chimp(who alone is reason enough for them to hate us).

The following statement is verbatim, from a program on PBS - probably out of context, but none the less, a stand alone sentence. "To most people, the King James Bible is the voice of God". That said, the "freedom of religion" portion of our "freedoms" as Americans, originally was intended only as a means of allowing our citizens to interpret said bible as they saw fit. Too bad the founding fathers didn't have the ability to predict jet airplanes, our imminent addiction to Muslim oil, and the fact that unbeknownst to them, there were many more cultures inhabiting this planet who actually preceeded us by centuries, and who would have the gall to actually have had their own ideas on creation and religion, and not just up and ditch their own teachings and buy right into the Christmas and Easter story that our miniscule clergy(by world population), teaches. There have been a few wars over this. There will be more.

Here's the deal.........the edge in technology and the biggest cannons are no longer ours alone. The economic balance is not far behind. Might be time to sit around the campfire and listen to what the other guys have to say and at least, give up on trying to convert them. It might mean the difference down the road, whether we are still enjoying our own "freedoms". In the grand scheme of this world, we are but a blemish on world history, and shrinking, due to our self centered and imperialistic notions. Our short time in existence as a culture and world power, pales by comparison to many great civilizations that fell before us, eaten alive by their own wretched excesses and their hunger for power and wealth. It would be nice to be the ones who broke the cycle and finally found the way to peacefully co-exist with the rest, wouldn't it?

Oh, and this was anything but a knock at PBS. They are truly a bright light in a really dark, big brother media culture in our land!

Thanks Craig.......

Then there was "The quality goes in before the name goes on" slogan(I could tell a dirty joke about that one, but recent experiences tell me I'd better save that for the fish camp). Anyhoo, what I am alluding to is that there really isn't much in the way of pride or quality being engineered into the products we consume these days. Everything from foods to Fords is on some sort of recall list. I heard on the news this morning that for the first time in a quarter, Toyota has passed GM in auto sales. Rather than a being source of pride for Toyota or shame for GM, I just see the big picture - 2.35 million new automobiles sold by Toyota in the first three months of this year, as wretched excess and a big part of what is wrong with this world. With the sort of cash outlay(nearing a mortgage in amount) for a vehicle, these days, why can't they take a clue from the aircraft manufacturers of the past and build something that will last when maintained? There are plenty of Piper Pa-18s, and J3 Cubs, Cessna 150s and 172s, and Beechcraft Bonanzas, looking good and being flown, bought and sold, daily that were built in the 1950s and 1960s. So, why is it that a new model of car is necessary every year from each manufacturer? Money, marketing, and planned obsolescence, that's why. It's their way of programming one more monthly payment or two into our lives and keeping it there. Take that 2.35 million cars and multiply it by four and then by the total number of major car manufacturers, to see just how many new cars are pumped into the planet each year. I suspect that the number of cars abandoned and discarded is not that far behind. And we wonder if there is actually global warming. Like the Loon says: .....too damn many people. And on top of that, many of them are just too damn spoiled and wasteful....... Somethings gotta give here. I try to do my share. I'll be seeing the road whizzing past under the rusted out floorboard of my pickup before I'll incur another truck payment!

At least that's what the A.P. headline claims. Just how much more bold than donning a shirt full of plastic explosives and having no qualms about self detonating, can one actually get? No, I don't think I'd describe sneaking on to the enemy's(that's us) military base actually qualifies them as bolder. If anything, it only serves to point out that for all of KIng George's "generals making decisions in the field", they still can't tell who the frickin' enemy is, let alone bomb him into submission.
It's a case of a lilly white bunch that subscribe to a fairy tale of a virgin births and rising from the dead, (but aren't sure enough about the story to allow it to be taught in their own schools), struggling against a darker race of people who are similarly convinced that by blowing themselves to smithereens, that before their left testicle lands in the sand, they'll be in the presence of Allah and seventy one virgins? By the way, what awaits the Muslim women who pull the pin? (W)ar is heck, huh George. But then life's just becoming a b**** anyway for the guy who basically got his job as a graduation present from Dad.

Okay, It's been a week now. Instead of having Fox, WB, CNN, and the network dinosaurs, continue to gnaw at the bones and lap up the blood of these fallen kids with their sleazy stories like "an interview with the sister of a student who lived in the same building with the friend of one of the victims", why don't we just put media guidlines in place that say: report it for four days max as facts are available, and then give it a fricking rest. Let these kids get on with their lives for christsakes. They are trying to finish a semester and grow into productive, functional adults. Larry King, Dr, Phil and Oprah couldn't care less about those kids' well being while they and their flunkies are waving buckets of cash at anyone on the campus and clamoring for ratings and a "story"(true or not, we'll sort all that out later).
And while we're at it, pass a law that says these limp, alcoholic senators and congressmen that want to make a name for themselves and convene knee jerk "hearings" every time a "creative" or prolific crime is perpetrated, should be removed from office and the guy they defeated in the last election, allowed to fill their seat until they complete a drug/alcohol rehab and pass a written test on current state and federal gun laws. It happened last week guys. Guess what? It will happen again, sooner or later, and all the "hearings" you can find time for, after the hearings on the ongoing (W)ar, won't change that.
When you've got a freak that is so well documented as a time bomb as this guy was, and you, for fear of stepping on his little legal toes after he has shown violent tendencies, been judged as a danger to himself and others, put him back into a university and dormitory environment, that he has clearly railed against, well you legal eagles can get out a mirror if you are looking for someone to blame. What more did you need? Did you have to catch him red handed, with paper targets of a silhouette standing at a podium or hunched, studying over a desk or at a computer?
What? Yeah, I'm angry about this, you should be too!

Up front, I will admit, that this started out as a comment to a post by our own fellow blogger http://vicadhosting.com/blo... target='_blank'>Teri, who can be found http://vicadhosting.com/blo... target='_blank'>here, and who did a piece on gun violence. Rather than ramble on as I did on one of her http://vicadhosting.com/blo... target='_blank'>previous posts and run out of allowable space in replying, I will pontificate on the subject from my own soapbox. So, Teri, as well, my heart goes out to any who are victims of losing a loved one to gun violence, of which I can count myself as a member. It is all too commom here in the city, be it accidental, suicide, gang violence, as a calculated reaction to greed or love gone horribly wrong, or "spontaneous" in nature by someone with a LTC. I think the difference in you and I, and the way we were raised with firearms around, as opposed to today's young people, can be traced directly to violent video games, and the six o'clock news and the bloody feeding frenzy that it derives it's ratings from. If we don't take our children back from the streets and the dramatization of life on the streets, that is where they will get their cue as to how life works. For the most part, I don't think that as a whole, today's kids are all that "tortured". I just think that the new "street reality" they encounter in violent video games, "entertainment" and the media is light years away from the "cowboys and Indians" and "Sink the Bismarck", kill the Japs, Nazis, Space Invaders and Commies - clear cut, good vs evil reality that was ours as kids and that it's up to us to teach them the difference.

.......River, it's treacherous currents and deep and swift muddy red water, history as we celebrate it, may well have been written as quite a different story. We all know the story of the defeat of Santa Anna's force of 1500 soldiers, caught napping at siesta, by a smaller, ragtag group of maybe 800 by some accounts. As one historian put it:
A recent recruit described the scene in the Texan camp -
Around 20 or 30 campfires stood as many groups of men: English, Irish, Scots, Mexicans, French, Germans, Italians, Poles, Yankees, all unwashed and unshaved, their long hair and beards and mustaches matted, their clothes in tatters and plastered with mud. A more savage looking band could scarcely have been assembled. Yet many were gentlemen, owners of large estates. Some were distinguished for oratory, some in science, some in medicine. Many had graced famous drawing rooms. Their guns were of every size and shape. They numbered less than 800 men.


Eight hundred men, chomping at the bit, yelling "Remember the Alamo, remember Goliad", overran and quickly subdued a force twice it's own in number. And the rest as they say is history.

But wait. Did you know that Santa Anna fought the battle with only a quarter of the troops that he had marched north from Goliad with? Yep, that's a fact. You see that big ol' formidable Brazos that as it nears the coast, becomes a churning monster, literally held back around three quarters of the army that the "Napoleon of the West" would likely have had at his disposal, were it not for the single small ferry at present day Thompsons that the Mexicans had captured, limiting their crossing to a mere trickle to join the Army at San Jacinto. Time marches on, and today, there are many bridges spanning that old red stream, likely with nearly as many Mexicans as Texans crossing it daily. It does however, as a testament to why Santa Anna encountered what he saw as a bottleneck, still claim several lives of people each year as they boat, swim and attempt to navigate or play in it's eddys, currents and steep drop offs. I know. I know because my friend, fellow native Texan and Texas historian, Wills, told me so. And I know 'cuz I live in Fort Bend County, near old Fort Bend, the site near Richmond on the Brazos River, which for some odd reason I find myself drawn to.

For a bit more on San Jacinto and on the Brazos, go http://www.sanjacinto.navy.... target='_blank'>here http://www.tsha.utexas.edu/... target='_blank'>here and even http://www.tsha.utexas.edu/... target='_blank'>to the Handbook of Texas Online.

NOT! What's that sound? Is it my brakes scraping and me getting older and conceding that technology is outpacing my ability to keep up with all of it, or is it just another goofy ringtone? Here I sit with a monster computer (by my standards, anyway) with a couple of wargabytes of memory, capable of running about ten browsers and a half dozen engineering applications simultaneously, and enough memory and disk space left over that I could probably rent some out on the sly to run all the traffic signals on the west side of town!

Once upon a time, I was "Tech Boy". I could install and run everything that hit the market and people from all around came to me to do it for them! Today, I think the help desk and I.T. people both have me on their "do not call" and "blocked senders" lists.

Seems like only yesterday, I was sales manager for a couple of major mobile phone dealers with a state of the art Cellular One mobile cellular car phone BOLTED in my Jaguar. Nevermind that today, that you could put an anchor line on that phone and it would hold a 20 foot boat in place on a shell reef in a 30 knot wind. And forget hand held phones! First couple of those I sold, I got $3000 apiece (yep, 3 zeroes) for them, and they were the size of Acme bricks: Now, you get a couple of those puppies free just for signing up for service. And to boot, they are smaller than Spock's communicator, and you can play music, record and watch videos, check stock quotes, and surf the net on them! They'll probably come free in boxes of Capn' Crunch in six months..... Now fast forward a few years, and I require the services of my twelve year old son to program MY new cell phone. That reminds me, I need to get the kid to show me how the camera and video on it work before the Jimmy Buffett show on Sat............

Oh, I just remembered what prompted this drivel........yesterday, I set my phone to stun (vibrate only) for a meeting, and forgot to set it back to sing "When The Saints Go Marching In" afterwards. A couple of minutes ago, I heard this buzzing sound coming from my desk/computer area. Well, despite being a Dell, and awesome, my hard drive from time to time, will develop this annoying little vibrating whine, at which point I normally whack the crap out of it and it usually stops. About the third time the sound came back, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my phone trembling and starting to "walk" a bit across the sloping surface of my desk. It was my boss calling from the airport...... Duh, sorry Dell, no hard feelings? And to dispell any thoughts of my being reactive and violent by nature for instinctively smacking the computer, I have one more little anectdote. Sometimes as a kid, when my parents and I would be sitting around glued to the old Motorola metal cube with the oval/square screen: and channel 1 still on the dial, the screen would just go black, right in the middle of Peter Gunn or Playhouse 90, at which point ol' Chuck(actually in '57, my dad was just a young lad of 36)would bounce across the room and give the old telly a left hook upside the cabinet, right under the rabbit ears. Now as angry and impulsive as that sounds, it almost always worked, though sometimes a couple of right jabs were needed too. Some years later, I found out why. You see, while living in Austin, and back in electronics school, in addition to the new digital technology, we also were trained to repair the older "tube type" TVs and radios as well. And there in the book, which to this day is in my bookcase, in black and white no less, it read "in the event of a loss of picture, before removing the rear cover of the set.........rap sharply on the side of the cabinet". I swear to God it said that - I'll find it and scan it if you'd like........(for you kids, I'm not suggesting you play Jay-Z to the TV. For one thing, "rap" meant something different then, and for another, rap ain't music - look it up). Anyway, seems that at times, those vacuum tubes would get a bit of corrosion on the pins or become a little loose (probably from getting cold-cocked so often)and a little tap would be enough to re-seat them......... I'll bet there's a couple or three of you out there who remember such a fix performed on your appliances - probably the same ones of you who once bought a set of recapped tires to go on your Plymouth you paid a hundred bucks for! Who'll confess to that?

Did you get that? I'm referring to a good ol' ********* whodunit, right here in the sleepy little bordertown of Houston. From what I heard on last night's nine o'clock Fox news, it started with an ambush, followed by a wild west style shootout with three people shot, one dead, one bystander shot, and the other shooting victim run over by the fleeing vehicle, and teetering on going from shooting victim to 2nd body status. To complicate matters for police, it appears that when police started trying to sort it out among the "no speakee ingles" group of participants in the melee, they ALL claimed to be the victims. I guess they'll print 'em all and let INS and Tx DMV sort it out........

In reality, it appears that one group of traffickers in human immigrant cargo, attempted to hijack and take away a group of immigrants from another group of coyotes, much as if it were a load of cocaine, weed, or a briefcase full of cash.

I guess this incident seems to point out a couple of things. For one, human smuggling must be a lucrative, if violent and dangerous occupation. The other thing it shows though, is the desperation of the Mexicans who will subject themselves to the obvious potential abuse at the hands of the underworld slime that preys on them and who is an unnamed business partner to the greedy bastards on this side of the border that would hire the never ending supply of illegals as opposed to paying a wage that an American citizen could live on. I wish I had an answer for this. Is it the need for ALL people appearing of driving age to be required to produce either a valid drivers license or some other form of official identification, verifiable by law enforcement, in an instantly available database? All that would do, is create a need for more detention facilities, as without documentation, even Mexico probably won't allow them back until they prove their citizenship there or wherever they came from.
In addition, The ACLU will be all over that "cause". That said, maybe the answer is to abandon NAFTA, and just close the Mexican border to commercial inbound traffic until their government stems the flow of illegals. Something's got to give with this revolving door flow of illegals. Our bordertowns are turning into battlefields. Any ideas? Don't say build a fence....

For the benefit of those who actually feel that a fence will do more than **** people off, screw up the view, and ultimately, only line the pockets of the Chosen Contractors(anyone doubt that it will be Halliburton or a subsidiary?)

Death and taxes......isn't that how the saying goes? At least in this country, whether we choose to or not, periodically, we have a chance at electing officials who allegedly have the power to do something about the taxes. So that leaves death, doesn't it? For all the fortunes we spend attempting to hold the grim reaper at bay by nip/tucking our bodies and swilling down potions and gobbling up Oprah,to at least make it appear that we are doing so, it's always there - waiting for us. Look in the mirror......you're dying. I'm dying.

And no matter what, all the guns, all the gun control laws, and all the praying in the world, will never stop what happened yesterday in Virginia. "Build it and they will come".........Human beings are going to snap and reveal their defects from time to time, and we are at the mercy of just how resourceful and prepared they are when that happens.

Deja vu.

I sat here yesterday, being bombarded with information on my computer about what was unfolding on the Virginia Tech campus, as did a lot of the rest of you, I'm sure. As I was drifting off to sleep last night, it occurred to me that yesterday's events were really no different than that first day of August back in '66, when I sat straddle my Honda 65 motorbike on Main St. in Seadrift at the U-turn in front of Neal Gray's Auto Parts. I was leaning, straining to hear updates on KTSA, or KVIC, on the AM radio in Billy Tyson's 57 Chevy, of the carnage that was occuring 150 miles away, on the U.T. campus.

Nor was it much different(other than my proximity) that April 20th, 1999, when I sat in my van at lunch in Littleton, Co., with police and news helicopters buzzing back and forth overhead. You see, just blocks away from me on the Columbine High School campus, two local boys just went off like a time bomb.

For all three of these events in which I like many of you, was part of the audience in one way or the other, there are a number of similarities. There are the emotions: grief, shock, anger. There are the questions:why, what could have been done to prevent it? There are the gun control nuts who know they have the answer, and there are the "they'll get my gun when they pry my cold, dead fingers from the trigger" nuts that would have gone in like Butch and Sundance, absolutely sure that THAT would have prevented it.

Truth is, it'll happen again. Despite everybody's grand plans to prevent it. It might be a copycat. It might be today. It might not be for 50 years. It might be some nut pulling the pin on a big one left over from the Cold War. Maybe just a U.S. Postal guy that snaps on tax day, five minutes before midnight's last postmark.

As long as there's folks, there'll be some defective ones. How many of you are aware that the Columbine is a beautiful wildflower? In fact, it is the State Flower of Colorado.........Pay attention people.

There's been a recent development in this circus. In true network, "suck the marrow out of the Anna Nicole story" fashion, after MSNBC suspended Imus, CBS radio one upped them and dropped(fired) him. Jesus, if this isn't a fuggin dinosaur fight, I am not sure what is. Two relics of the golden years of broadcasting, beating their greying chest hairs(gingerly) and trying to appease Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton for all the world to see. Welcome to New York! Well guys, congratulations on your apparent success in yanking off those two nappy headed homeboys. You have taken a giant step in sealing your fate as a fading relic of the broadcast industry and given ol' Don his free agency to sign on with XM/Sirius for millions more than you'll be able to get for your funky *** old tube type equipment at a nostalgia show. No, I do not agree with Mr. Imus's senile comments, anymore than I do .50, or Snoop Dog, with their nasty ***, violent "b****/ho" lyrics that they are selling like friggin' chicken fried hotcake watermelon sandwiches to your grandkids. However, I do defend his first amendment right to do his shock and yawn. I do think that what he says, good, bad, ugly, or stupid, and right or wrong, is benign by today's standards. He'll be laughing all the way to the bank while you guys are digging yourself a deeper hole with your trailer park "reality" horseshit "entertainment" and wondering why you're losing your *** in the process. While this isn't really about race at all, but rather stupidity and your having a chance to let bygones be bygones and have all parties work it out, you bet the farm, and chose a particular colored *** to kiss. Good luck........you might want to adjust your target audience advertising for optimal profitability as you die on the vine. I'll try to remember enough about you to tell my grandkids.

Caught a story on ABC news about a woman who just gave birth after a pregnancy that was a result of combining a frozen sperm with a frozen egg. Didn't catch whether they let the two experience the foreplay of thawing together or whether they did that separately in advance as well. While not wanting to downplay the scientific significance of this accomplishment, and the hope it might offer to otherwise childless couples, the angle of the reporter in this story was the convenience in the timing of the conception and what that might mean for the parents' convenience in planning their lives.

My vote is the natural way - okay, maybe assisted by a frozen margarita and a frozen daquiri (for science's sake, mind you). In personal research, I've found the process is so much more enjoyable in the absence of lab technicians and the "rubber" gloves.

From the ridiculous files(I could have said "Ex" Files) comes a story in today's Houston Chronicle. This one is beyond goofy, but apparently Rep. Warren Chisum, R. Pampa, feels that the time has come for the state government to both tax marriage(like the I.R.S. isn't doing a frickin' bang up job of that already), and to mandate a required prenupital class for marriage license applicants on how to behave as a spouse. Give me a break! I'd attempt to explain, but rather than waste valuable space better occupied by humorous comparison, I'll direct you http://www.chron.com/disp/s... target='_blank'>here for the whole silly story.
All of the schooling in the world will not change the basic reasons for the divorce rate. Simply put, unrealistic expectations are the rule of the day here. Women continue to marry men, thinking they will change, and men keep marrying women, thinking they won't. Truthfully though, there are many reasons for marriage problems, financial issues being a major one. There's also the infidelity/mid-life crisis phenomenon, etc........ Then there's the physical changes that we see in others but tend not to acknowledge in ourselves, huh boys and girls. Gone is the twenty five year old boy, full of **** & vinegar, with six pack abs. All of a sudden, she only sees the red faced old guy with high blood pressure, and a beer gut, who hasn't seen his "old friend" that no longer gets any harder than a raw oyster, other than as a reflection in the mirror, in longer than he can remember. And in place of the bikini clad hottie who loved to "do it in the dunes", he sees only the tired, exasperated, aging gal whose rump he now measures in axe handles, all after she has borne him, (and very likely, nearly singlehandedly raised) four children. That my friends, in a nutshell is a big part of the problem. We seem to have forgotten the simple vows. The "for better" or, what was it, oh yeah, for worse :-( part. In addition, we as a society seem to have interpreted "till death do us part", as "till something that looks better comes along", or in some extreme cases, a license to expedite or slowly facilitate the "death" part. Is it any wonder why so many kids are so screwed up in this throw away, and proud enough of it to glorify it on TV, society?

All that said, this idioitic bill sponsored by this silly assed grain fed, Panhandle Republican with way too much tumbleweed in his head is no answer. The answer is to face reality and understand the meaning of commitment, both prior to and after the vows are said.
Okay, for all that serious crap, I owe you a joke:
The only cow in a small town in Texas stopped giving milk. The
people did some research and found they could buy a cow up in Antigo,
Wisconsin, for $200.00.

They bought the cow from Wisconsin and the cow was wonderful. It
produced lots of milk all of the time, and the people were pleased and
very
happy.

They decided to acquire a bull to mate with the cow and produce more
cows like it. They would never have to worry about their milk supply
again.

They bought a local Texas bull and put it in th e pasture with their beloved cow.

However whenever the bull came close to the cow, the cow would move away.

No matter what approach the bull tried, the cow would move away from
the bull and he could not succeed in his quest.

The people were very upset and decided to ask the Vet, who was very
wise, what to do.

They told the Vet what was happening.

"Whenever the bull approaches our cow, she moves away. If he approaches
from the back, she moves forward. When he approaches her from the
front, she backs off. An approach from the side and she walks away to
the other side."

The Vet thinks about this for a minute and asked, "Did you buy this cow
in Wisconsin?"

The people were dumbfounded, since they had never mentioned where they
bought the cow.

"You are truly a wise Vet," they said.
"How did you know we got the cow in Wisconsin?"

The Vet replied with a distant look in his eye, "My wife is from
Wisconsin."

Thank Billy for the chuckle......

Up front I'll tell you I equate steroids to hemmoroids - both are a pain in the *** as far as I'm concerned.
I read this AM that the Texas Senate is to take up the issue of whether to pass a law requiring random testing of high school atheletes for steroids. Good for them. They should turn it up a notch and make it mandatory. For one thing, they're dangerous. For another, it's cheating to use them for enhancing one's performance unbeknownst to the league and other teams and players.

As far as in baseball, among adults, I have a totally different solution. After the last game of the current season, have a mandatory steroid screen given to all of the ball players from both leagues, and all minor leaguers as well. When next season rolls around, combine the American and National leagues into one. Then create a streoid league for all the players who tested positive at the end of the previous year and before the new season. Let the two new leagues play interleague schedules all year long, but still keep separate standings and stats and a playoff/World Series format. My guess is that the individual hitting stats will be higher for the juicers, but overall, speed, good health and agility will prevail, come playoff time, and the non-steroid league will run away with it in the end. Let it run that way for a few years and I predict that the injuries, heart attacks, and psychological and emotional flameouts resulting in abbreviated seasons and shortened careers among the league that looks like Michellin men in tights, will result in a permanent ban on performance enhancing chemicals and little or no bitching about mandatory testing for such substances in the future.

Don, Don, Don.... get outta here for a few days. Saddle up your pony, and go hole up in the Four Corners for a bit. Put "Sold American" in the 8-track and kick back and relax. I still love ya, Kinky still loves ya. I'm a little puzzled about something after listening to the replay of the statement - It sounded like you were using the word "ho" as a bad thing....tell me, what is it that they sell, again? Please do remember, when the natives settle down and you're back in town, not only do ya have to watch it in the public eye padnuh, but in this info superhighway age, there's probably so much footage of most of us picking our nose, takin' a leak - or worse, from hidden cameras that we would be abhorred to find out. Big Brother IS watching. So wash your hands.

I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. Surely, I am not the only one in possession of the live, Imus In The Morning studio recording of Kinky and the Texas Jewboys performing a rousing version of "They Ain't Making Jews Like Jesus Anymore"......... If they call me asking for it, mum's the word. Deny everything and demand proof, I say........ (actually, it's a good recording) - I'd bet even the Rutgers womens basketball team would get a laugh out of it!
Here's a book plug for you. I love the photography you guys did for "Two Guys - Four Corners".(by Don Imus & Fred Imus. I considered stealing a lyric from Kinky and titling this one "Now I'm No Exocentric Racist, But If There's One Greek I Don't Like, It's Aristittle Onassis". Catchy, but two problems here: One - there aren't any groups I don't like - as a whole, save for fire ants. I prefer to take folks on a one by one basis before forming an opinion. The other which probably saved me, was I think it's too long to fit in the title field. And there's Athey, whom I would never want to offend.

I have left no doubt about my sentiments on the war in Iraq. Nor have I kept anyone guessing as to my opinion of the president and his administration and their policies. I am vehemently against the war, and I want to see the troops out of Iraq. Period. Now. But until that comes to pass, we must not forget that they are there. I urge you all to pray to the god of your choice, for their speedy return home and for an end to this madness that is that pointless war unless you consider oil and imperialistic ambitions a valid point of contention.

But as we consider our countrymen and women who are currently there, dutifully following their orders, for better or worse, I would like to share another YouTube link with you. It is moving and compelling. It is personal, and humanizing, and in no way justifies or glorifies the war. It is just simply a tribute and a plea that they not be forgotten. To my friend, Peggy who sent it to me, thank you. You said, and I know well that we don't always see eye to eye on everything, but we do seem to respect one another's right to their opinion, and we do share that sometimes warped sense of humor......hope you're enjoying the Rockies.
So for the video by Lizzie Palmer and artist Ryan Farish, please look here



I'm sent these lyrics by a reader/pen pal. She sent them - said she found them at iTunes music store, for what it's worth, by the artist, "Bright Eyes". Upon further digging, I found a YouTube performance by the artist from a Jay Leno show. I highly recommend http://www.youtube.com/watc... target='_blank'>this for those who have a connection to view it. I read where he has been compared to Dylan. I'd not go that far based on a single song, but it is certainly evidence that good protest music is alive and well and that there is no generation gap in the disapproval of our current "dark side" administration.

After the printed lyrics, you'll a commentary/observation by my sister that was superimposed into a photo art piece by her son, and my nephew, Joshua Taylor, of Austin, Texas. I feel it fits well with the theme of the song and I hope you are as impressed with it as I am.

"When The President Talks To God"

When the president talks to God
Are the conversations brief or long?
Does he ask to rape our women’s' rights
And send poor farm kids off to die?
Does God suggest an oil hike
When the president talks to God?

When the president talks to God
Are the consonants all hard or soft?
Is he resolute all down the line?
Is every issue black or white?
Does what God say ever change his mind
When the president talks to God?

When the president talks to God
Does he fake that drawl or merely nod?
Agree which convicts should be killed?
Where prisons should be built and filled?
Which voter fraud must be concealed
When the president talks to God?

When the president talks to God
I wonder which one plays the better cop
We should find some jobs. the ghetto's broke
No, they're lazy, George, I say we don't
Just give 'em more liquor stores and dirty coke
That's what God recommends

When the president talks to God
Do they drink near beer and go play golf
While they pick which countries to invade
Which Muslim souls still can be saved?
I guess god just calls a spade a spade
When the president talks to God

When the president talks to God
Does he ever think that maybe he's not?
That that voice is just inside his head
When he kneels next to the presidential bed
Does he ever smell his own bul****
When the president talks to God?

I doubt it

I doubt it

Thank you Christina. If you haven't seen the video, I hope it is what you expected it would be......

Bright Stars - By Susan Austin Taylor - Illustration by Joshua Taylor
Again, if you missed the link to the song performance, go http://www.youtube.com/watc... target='_blank'>here.

Which was there first, is what I want to know.
From the "Only in California" bureau, comes this one. An AP story in the Chronicle today, tells of an amusement park ride in Sacramento, Ca., which has been forced to implement a no screaming ordinance due to it's becoming a disturbance, according to residents of a nearby housing development. WTF? And get this. The name of the ride is the Scandia Screamer.......WTF II? Oh yeah, the park and the houses are also separated by an eight lane freeway. He shakes his head....
I have not seen the ride, but I read that it is a bit difficult to be on it and not scream. I can relate, as at last year's Houston Stock Show and Rodeo, in a moment of temporary insanity(okay, there was a slight chardonnay buzz factor involved too), I actually allowed myself to be strapped in to one of those gravity defying tentacled contraptions for a "ride". Hey, my eighteen year old niece was on it too, how bad could it be, right? Not right! No, I didn't get sick(old boat captains don't puke from motion sickness), but what did happen, was that my entire life flashed before my eyes during that thirty seconds that seemed like forever while the small basket I was in, restrained only by a small bar, was repeatedly being catapaulted skyward, then falling earthward, and all the while revolving at warp speed. I'm not a structural engineer, but I knew at a glance that there was no way that bar was going to keep my big *** in that thing for more than a couple of back and forth whipping motions, at which point I would surely be launched. The only question in my mind at that point was whether it would be upwards(into orbit?), or how far across the parking lot I would travel before landing on a pimped out Cadillac pickup truck and pimped out Urban Cowboy horse trailer, or downward, raising the question of how long crews would have to dig to get to my remains. Needless to say, I survived, in fact by the time I'd sat through an hour and a half of John Fogerty delivering me through the Credence Clearwater Revival catalog plus Centerfield, I was near being able to walk under my own power again.

The previous tale was to point out that I hold a current rating, and I am sufficiently qualified to discuss "thrill" rides.....and screaming. That said, I wonder if the no screaming rule can ever be enforced. Somethings gotta give in a situation like that. Either you scream, or you hold on in silence and **** yourself. I'd say that if the ride does turn out to be defective, and if your private, enclosed capsule breaks free, and you are launched into the night sky over the neon midway, that either, and likely both reactions, would be acceptable and even expected. All I have to say is I am glad I gave up acid thirty five years ago....There isn't much chance I'll be getting on rides again anytime soon, like say the "Bungee Rocket" here but maybe in time, after memory of that last ride fades, I'll find one that will look safe enough to take a chance..... And yes, the last photo was submitted to the pecker checker, breast test and beaver retriever. If anyone finds something I missed with P'shop, enjoy.....I mean sorry. The bareback Roller Coaster came compliments of Milk and Cookies.....Google it - I dare not link it.

What a difference a day makes, huh Easter Bunnies? So who's surprised? So this one might set a record or two, but I'd bet two bits(thats a quarter, kids), there aren't too many of you out there whose uncle or grandpa hasn't at one time or another, said "you can count on it, son. There's always an Easter cold snap", and sure enough, here it is. Anyway, seems like only yesterday, I was flying low over Ganado, wearing my cool new hat and seeing bright sunny skies and 80 on the banco de Ganado marquee. While I'm thinking about it, and at the risk of cutting into Ganado's thriving tourist business, I need to mention for the sake of all you boat dragging bubbas, bound for Palacios or Caranchua Bay, that the little wide spot in the road known as La Ward, has a new distinction. It has become a speed trap. Good thing this city boy has a radar detector. To this point, my boys and I had really enjoyed passing thru that little place. You see, at about 85mph you can actually "get some big air" at the railroad crossing there, and quite frankly, I have yet to see anything else there that necessitates those 45mph speed limit signs. So be advised - last six times I've passed through there, my little Passport has warned me well in advance, of an antique X-band radar unit parked next to the feed store. Now granted, I could be wrong. The constable might be using it just to keep his coffee warm.....Anyway, if one opts to turn south at La Ward, one will initially be compelled to tap on the brakes.....there's an old 1960s era black and white police car parked in a carport beside the road which gives one a bit of a start if one is prone to exceed the posted limits. Once you get closer to it though, you'll surely be inclined to look around some, for Barney Fife and Gomer and little Opie.

Continuing south out of La Ward, is a treat for those to whom country back roads appeal, and to those in whom a slightly off kelter sense of humor exists. You see, after a couple of suicide railroad crossings, you are going to roll into a sleepy little place named "Lolita". Cool name, but deja vu and holy shades of Sue Lyon and the sixties again. It's a good thing the founding fathers named that place many years ago, because in this day of internet lingo, the Baptists would have never allowed that one to sneak under the radar.
Meet Lolita: This is the point where I'm sure a few will roll their eyes, and harumph, then sigh and click on the little red X in the corner (cya), but for those of you still here and those too young to remember, "Lolita" was a book written by Vladimir Nabokov, and made into a movie, starring James Mason, Shelley Winters, Peter Sellers(I'll play around with his name sooner or later, too:-), and newcomer Sue Lyon, and directed by the brilliant Stanley Kubrick. Though the subject matter(go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wik... target='_blank'>Wiki link for a complete background) raised a few eyebrows, the movie was actually nominated for several awards including one Academy Award, and a number of Golden Globes. How's THAT for 1962? I was twelve. I took it as proof there was a god. Further proof came in 1968(the year I graduated high school) in a movie called "Candy" , somewhat similar in subject,but did I mention "lighthearted"? or psycheledic??? What would you expect from a movie whose cast included a long haired, skinny Marlon Brando, John Astin, James Coburn, Walter Matthau, Richard Burton, Anita Pallenberg, Sugar Ray Robinson(yes, the boxer) and Ringo Starr as Manuel, the Mexican gardner.....and Ewa Aulin, as "Candy". The Author of "Candy", as well as "The Magic Christian", among other works, was Terry Southern. Who? Okay, for another Who's who lesson, one more trip to http://en.wikipedia.org/wik... target='_blank'>Wikipedia or better yet http://www.terrysouthern.co... target='_blank'>here. Okay, that's it for now kids. How was that for a cold, rainy Saturday morning ride in the family......

Correspondent Billy sent me one of those coffee through the nose and onto the keyboard (at least for me),jokes this morning. Not sure whether to categorize it as an accountant joke, a Jew joke, or just a Easter Weekend present, but it and the response I got from one particular e-mail server, was just too funny not to share.

Now the single server that rejected and kicked it back to me as sexual in nature (out of maybe, 25) was at my wife's company). You be the judge:
The Internal Revenue sends their auditor (a nasty little man) to audit a
synagogue. The auditor is doing all the checks, and then turns to the Rabbi
and says, "I noticed that you buy a lot of candles."

"Yes," answered the Rabbi.

"Well, Rabbi, what do you do with the candle drippings?" he asked. "A good
question," noted the Rabbi. "We actually save them up. When we have enough,
we send them back to the candle maker. And every now and then, they send us
a free box of candles." "Oh," replied the auditor, somewhat disappointed
that his question actually had a practical answer. So he thought he'd try
another question, in his obnoxious way.

"Rabbi, what about all these matzo purchases? What do you do with the
crumbs from the matzo?"

"Ah, yes," replied the Rabbi calmly, "we actually collect the crumbs, we
send them in a box back to the manufacturer and every now and then, they
send a box of matzo balls."

"Oh," replied the auditor, thinking hard how to fluster the Rabbi. "Well,
Rabbi," he went on, "what do you do with all the foreskins from the
circumcisions? "

"Yes, here too, we do not waste," answered the Rabbi. "What we do is save
up all the foreskins. And when we have enough we actually send them to the
Internal Revenue Service."

"Internal Revenue Service?" questioned the auditor in disbelief.

"Ah, yes," replied the Rabbi, "Internal Revenue Service. And about once a
year, they send us a little pr**** like you."

I'm still trying to figure out what the e-mail cops found that triggered the prude alert, maybe foreskin, or pr****, or possibly pr**** prefaced by the word little. I suppose a real stretch would be that it found the words pr****, balls and foreskin in the same e-mail and just figured: "hellfire and damnation, no fudgin' way that's a coincidence"!

Don't know about any of you, but after livin' in Austin in the shadow of the Old Armadillo for many years, that joke has Kinky written all over it........

Story in this morning's chronicle, and on the news last night complete with video, of a man whose $2000 Cockatiel escaped and flew up into the trees in his yard. Well, he followed the bird up and when he got to it at about 70 to 100ft above terra firma, he locked up as do some people when they look down and figure out how far up they are. Long story short: he was above fire truck ladder reach, and the Coast Guard had to rescue the fool. He said the bird was like a child to him and that he would do it all over again(at a $10,500 cost to taxpayers, for a $7000 per hr. rescue chopper). The TV reporter also said that he planned to have the birds wings clipped. That in turn, makes me wonder how he would handle his real kids after lets say, a bed wetting incident.......
Brings to mind an old inscription I once read. It goes something like this: "If you love something very much, let it go free" If it returns, it was meant to be. If it does not, you are probably an ******* anyway, and in all likelihood, if you replace it, the next one will probably fly the coop sooner or later too........less'n you maim it so it can't fly.

Okay, now a bird joke to close:
A young man named Victor received a parrot as a gift.

The parrot had a bad attitude and an even worse vocabulary.

Every word out of the bird's mouth was rude, obnoxious and laced with profanity.

Victor tried and tried to change the bird's attitude by consistently saying only polite words, playing soft music and anything else he could think of to "clean up" the bird's vocabulary.

Finally, Victor was fed up and he yelled at the parrot.

The parrot yelled back.

Victor shook the parrot and the parrot got angrier and even ruder.

Victor, in desperation, threw up his hand, grabbed the bird and put him in the freezer.

For a few minutes the parrot squawked and kicked and screamed.

Then suddenly there was total quiet.

Not a peep was heard for over a minute.

Fearing that he'd hurt the parrot, Victor quickly opened the door to the freezer.

The parrot calmly stepped out onto Victor's outstretched arms and said "I believe I may have offended you with my rude language and actions.

I'm sincerely remorseful for my inappropriate transgressions and I fully intend to do everything I can to correct my rude and unforgivable behavior."

Victor was stunned at the change in the bird's attitude.

As he was about to ask the parrot what had made such a dramatic change in his behavior,the bird continued, "May I ask what the turkey did?"

On second thought, never mind the question, as it would surely entail moving twelve times, and I'd rather cut off my toes one at a time with a hacksaw than move again. Maybe it's just due to my most recent move having been after setting a longevity record for both women and time in an abode, thus allowing for a significant accumulation of treasures......But the subject was pack ratting, and there is nothing like a move to illustrate to one that they are indeed a pack rat. In fact, the signs are all around me....... I have this back breaking 1940's era stainless steel Chambers oven and stove top in my garage. Been packing it around since my divorce back in '88. Someone once told me it was valuable, and I've hung on to that belief all these years......... I finally got on the phone with some antique oven dealers recently. They told me it was basically worthless unless I needed parts for another one......Great! Even if I hooked up the damned thing to a gas line, it isn't big enough to stick my head in it if I wanted to! Okay - now I'm getting somewhere. One item earmarked for disposal. Now, what to do with it? It's so heavy that the garbage collectors won't even consider lifting it. Maybe I'll just haul it back to the old house and bury the thing. I can use the dirt it displaces to fill in low spots in the yard...... I'd like to be there when the new owners decide to put in a garden or a pool and hit that shiny monolith with a shovel or a backhoe......Now, what's next? Two genuine Texas Tumbleweeds, imported from Loving county. I picked them off of a fence line on U.S. 285 and brought them home for some reason, on the way back from my last ski trip to New Mexico. What am I bid for these babies?

Billy Joe Shaver: A Texan's Texan, if there ever was one! Poet Laureate of Texas, contry songwriter extrordinaire, and no less than the spiritual advisor to another of my heroes, Kinky Friedman. While not one to go out and look for trouble, like say, those whiny assed hip hop punks who make a living off of it, Billy Joe apparently ain't one for taking any crap from anyone and is currently in a little honky tonk hot water for making his point. Unlike Willie, who from time to time is known to fall asleep alongside I-35 with a roach in the ash tray, Billy Joe pushed the envelope a bit, by popping a cap in the face of a guy allegedly following him with a knife, out of a bar up on the aforementioned Interstate, north of Austin. Shot him in THE CHEEK! Now like the fine line between a prank and a misdemeanor, there is an even finer line between being shot in the cheek and a bullet in the brain. He being no stranger to adversity, my guess would be that Billy Joe honestly felt threatened to the point of having to do what he did. Even if he walks on the assault charge, he'll likely get at least a slap on the wrist for packing heat in an establishment which serves alcohol. There's "Don't Mess With Texas", but also don't mess with a Texan, goin' on here. A quick glance at the storied past of Billy Joe Shaver http://en.wikipedia.org/wik... target='_blank'>here , will likely explain why he's one Texan with a "black sheep of the family" uncle, or maybe a Kerouac styled past, that anyone, let alone a belligerent drunk with a knife, just might want to think twice about crossing in a Central Texas honky tonk parking lot on a warm Saturday night....... Oh, for an offical report on the story, have a glance http://www.austin360.com/mu... target='_blank'>here in today's Austin American-Statesman. (Funny, I still remember when I first moved there, and the Austin American was the morning edition and the Austin Statesman was the afternoon edition). Where does the time go?

You know, longer, warmer days, baseball, etc. I will on occasion, when I am really dragging, like on MONDAYS, go out to my truck parked on the roof of the parking garage, and stretch out on the back seat and snooze for a few minutes or listen to the noon news on my little TV. Today was one of those days. After a weekend of moving, I had a rough night's sleep, waking up, tossing and turning and looking at the clock every few minutes. And the way the day started, I really had no trouble waking - without coffee. Usually, first thing I do when I come downstairs of a morning, is to tiptoe across the front yard in my socks to get the newspaper. Did I mention that I live in a house with a computerized lawn and landscaping irrigation system? No, that wasn't of my choosing - it came with the place, and like many other features of the place, I still am trying to figure out how(and when) it works. See where this is headed? The first clue should have been the wet sidewalk, then the wet socks....what the hell, I'm half way there, so I'm going for it anyway. Well, the first set of sprinkler heads pop up about halfway across the yard - the long range, big guns. The first one hit me square in the front of my Spongebob boxers, and as I recoiled and turned away defensively, the next stream got me in my glasses. Like I said - wide awake, no coffee needed. .......so today was one of those power nap candidates. Everything went pretty well, considering I actually fell asleep over the chorus of weed wackers and gasoline leaf blowers in the background of the office lawn. I actually dozed off for a while.
Now, I'm not a tall guy......okay, I'm short! But not that short, so I do have to bend both knees to fit between the two armrests in the back seat to snooze. Usually, that isn't a problem, but today, I had a dream during my nap. You see, I was playing baseball in the dream, first base to be exact, and I got a scorching ground ball hit right back at me. As luck would have it, the ball took a tailor made, convenient hop at the edge of the grass...... So to make a long story short, when I jumped up to catch the ball sailing over me, you guessed it - I met Mr. Armrest. If anyone asks about the neck, I swear I am going to pass it off as a sports injury.

Because after years of cooking with one of these:, I now find myself forced to try and poach my eggs on one of these: And I'm getting tired of burned huevos.....

Edit#1 - add sticky coonass rice to the list - except make it the opposite of burned. Livin' in Katy, one simply cain't screw up rice........

Yep, baseball season is starting today. I'm a baseball nut, so I am happy. I've pretty much given up trying to fool myself into thinking I can play anymore, though the guy that puts together the company softball team still asks if I want to play each league, and I still insist on clinging to a thread of the unrealistic expectation that I might, by answering "I've got too much going on now, but call me sometime, if you're shorthanded". One of these days he is going to do just that. Man, I hope he'll just be calling my bluff and not serious - otherwise, pride will force me to drag out my glove, cleats and big bucks CU-31 Aluminum bat that I haven't swung in years, and I know for the next two weeks(or more)afterward, I'll be hunched over and hobbling around the office like a blue crab with a couple of legs missing.
On a related note, for the first time in many years, both of my boys opted out of little league baseball this spring. Said they wanted to do some "summer stuff". I thought about it, and finally agreed, since they and their mom really seemed sincere about it, though right up until registration passed, I was having a hard time not running over and signing them up. Old habits are hard to break. Looking back now, I can't possibly im