Wordless Wednesday - 4/30/08

Three Word Wednesday - Empty, Highway, Ignored - 4/30/08

It was a dark, moonless, Wyoming night. He was driving US Hwy 20/26 from Casper to Riverton. It was 120 miles with virtually nothing in-between except empty highway and abundant wildlife.

He hated making this drive this late at night but the urgency could not be ignored. It was one of the loneliest stretches of highway he had ever driven. He was tired and the road stretched before him was very hypnotic.

He was glad that he was the driver and not a passenger along this route. A passenger endures the horror of seeing the glowing eyes of animals, both large and small, which line the highway and might at any time dart out into the headlight beams of an oncoming vehicle. The driver, due to his concentration, is spared from these visions. Heaps of road kill littered the roadway. The suicidal night creatures had not learned from the demise of their brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, and mothers and fathers.

He considered the parallel of this to a human drug addict.

His thoughts returning to humans reminded him of the precious cargo on the seat next to him. He increased his speed and his focus.

Sunday Scribblings - The End of the World - 4/27/08

I don’t know if or when the end of the world will come and neither do you. Religious fanatics have claimed it was coming since shortly after it began. They believe it so fervently that they spend so much time preparing for the next life that they don’t enjoy this one. They don’t go to movies or watch television because there are sinful things on the screen. They can’t laugh at an off-color joke. Almost any pleasurable experience is sinful. Basically, they are a very sad and mean-spirited lot. They have the awesome responsibility of saving everyone they meet.

I believe in everyone’s right to believe what he wants to. One of the beauties of living in America is that you can worship as you please. I served 20 years in the military to defend that right, among others. I also have the right not to hear about your religion. If I feel the need to explore another faith, I have the Yellow Pages at my disposal.

I live in the “Bible Belt”, so there is a church on practically every corner. I was going to list the churches here in my community but since there are several hundred, I will not. But I think you get my point. My uneducated opinion is that the vast number of churches is somehow linked to money more than faith. Just for fun I did a Google search “get ordained online.” There are 270,000 websites. Religion is big business. Television evangelists are millionaires many times over. “Send us $100 and we will heal you through your television.” That sounds ridiculous, but I have heard that exact claim. There is a fine line between a cult and a religion.

Most of them call themselves Christian and they preach from the same book but they each have their own interpretation and believe that only they have the “truth”. Everyone else is wrong and is going to burn in hell for eternity. There is an old Emo Phillips joke that illustrates this better than I ever could. Don’t forget that most jokes are based on truth:

Once I saw this guy on a bridge about to jump. I said, "Don't do it!" He said, "Nobody loves me." I said, "God loves you. Do you believe in God?"
He said, "Yes." I said, "Are you a Christian or a Jew?" He said, "A Christian." I said, "Me, too! Protestant or Catholic?" He said, "Protestant." I said, "Me, too! What franchise?" He said, "Baptist." I said, "Me, too! Northern Baptist or Southern Baptist?" He said, "Northern Baptist." I said, "Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist or Northern Liberal Baptist?"
He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist." I said, "Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region, or Northern Conservative Baptist Eastern Region?" He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region." I said, "Me, too!"
Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1879, or Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912?" He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912." I said, "Die, heretic!" And I pushed him over.

Almost everyone I have ever met that introduces himself as a Christian (You would think that one could tell that from their actions and would not require an intro) has not been a good spokesman for Christ. They carried with them an air of superiority; often looking down on and talking about how horrible others are that haven’t been “saved”. They actually believe that everyone who does not adhere to their beliefs is wrong. If you are a Christian and the exception to this observation, I am glad for you. If you are sure of your faith, nothing I say here will bother you. Anyone with a knee-jerk reaction to my words is probably uncertain.

I have had the opportunity to travel extensively and have met Buddhist and Hindu folk that live their beliefs far more religiously than any self-proclaimed Christian I have met. Are they going to hell? Not bloody likely.


Having studied eastern religion a bit, I find many of those beliefs more plausible and certainly more optimistic than the more fatalistic Christian, Moslem, and Jewish beliefs. Talk about interpretation. These three all come from the same source and all share prophecies of Armageddon.

What I am trying to say in my rambling style is that the world may end one day (or night). Our sun may flame out. Global warming may melt the icecaps. One of the psychos with nuclear weapons may provide us with nuclear winter.

When and if it does the billions of us on this planet will have to deal with it in their own way. Perhaps the two-dozen people worshiping in a tiny church in the country are the only ones who got it right and the rest of us are damned to eternity in hell. Maybe Heaven’s Gate was on the money, waiting for a UFO to collect them. Maybe John Travolta and Tom Cruise have the answers.

Only time will tell. But until then, I am going to try to enjoy the pleasures of this planet. It is a beautiful world.

I have not revealed in this writing my actual beliefs. That is a private thing between God and me and no one's business. Nor are your beliefs anyone else's concern.

Saturday Photo Hunt - Funny Signs - 4/26/08

Thursday 13 - Favorite Sad Country Songs - 4/24/08

As I get older I listen to more and more country music. I still love classic rock but there is not too much new music that catches my attention other than country. I am all about the words and country music not only has great lyrics but you can actually understand them. So today’s Thursday 13 is some of my all-time favorite SAD country songs. But I warn you: If you listen to the songs I have listed, do not have any sharp objects or firearms within reach. Some of these will rip your heart right out of your chest. I am not sure why, but these songs make me feel good. Maybe it is because I know that no matter how bad my day is going, my life is much better than the poor bastard that wrote these lyrics. There are many to pick from. I picked the first 13 that came to mind. They are in no particular order. I am listing the singer of the version I like best regardless of who wrote it. Pause my automatic music and have a listen.

1. Hurt – Johnny Cash

2. Concrete Angel – Martina McBride

3. Sunday Morning Coming Down – Johnny Cash & Kris Kristofferson

4. Whiskey Lullaby – Brad Paisley & Alison Krauss

5. He Stopped Loving Her Today – George Jones

6. I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry – Hank Williams

7. How’s The World Treating You – James Taylor & Alison Krauss

8. Paint Me a Birmingham – Tracy Lawrence

9. Love Me – Colin Raye

10. Don't Close Your Eyes - Keith Whitley

11. A Bad Goodbye – Clint Black & Wynonna Judd
Clint Black & Wynonna A Bad Goodbye

12. The Dance – Garth Brooks

13. Do You Believe Me Now – Vern Gosdin

Wordless Wednesday - 4/23/08

Totally Optional Prompts - Late Spring

This year spring came a bit late
But it was well worth the wait
As most things we anticipate
Like intimacy at the end of a date

Photo Hunt - Thirteen

The prompt for Photo Hunt this week was Thirteen. The first thing that came to mind was our original 13 colonies. I now live in one of them. This is the first flag from the work of Betsy Ross.

Sunday Scribblings - Composed - 4/20/08

It was a beautiful summer evening. The sunset casting long shadows across the lush green fields. Hot and humid, but not unpleasantly so. A slight breeze aiding the retreating sun in cooling the couple sitting in the porch swing. This was a quiet time, before the dark brought the cacophony of sound from the night creatures that hated the heat of the day as much as the farmer. This was the best time of day, as any rural South Carolina native will attest.

Something disturbed the silence. It was a car, still a couple of miles away but definitely heading their way. That was obvious because theirs was the only house the dusty road led to. They loved the fact that they could not hear highway traffic from their porch. It was rare that anyone came out here without calling. It was a long way to come to find out they were not home. But they always welcomed visitors with a smile and a glass of sweet tea.

Jack Francis immediately had a thought that struck him like a blow to the stomach. It was a flashback to an evening very similar to this in 1968, when down this very road came a visitor that he would never forget. Though forty years ago, he could recall every detail. It was a navy blue sedan with an eagle on the front of it. Jack’s dad had told him later that they always sent a colonel to give the family the condolences of the President of the United States. His older brother had been killed in Vietnam, in something called the Tet offensive. He remembered how composed his father had been when he shook hands with the Colonel and accepted the letter from President Johnson. Dad was not one to show emotion or weakness, but Jack knew in his heart that his dad had died that evening. He drew breath for nearly three more years, but he was never the same man. That evening did what 40 hard years of working a farm could never do. It broke him. His dad once confided in him over a too-large glass of Kentucky Bourbon that he was glad Jack’s mom had died two years before. "I am glad she was spared this. No one should have to bury their children,” he added with eyes misting. "They say God never gives you more than you can handle. They are liars."

Jack wanted to follow the path of all the men in his family and serve in the military but by the time he was old enough his dad had passed away and someone had to run the farm. He married his childhood sweetheart and though they would never be wealthy, they had a good life. They raised three wonderful children, who they were extremely proud of. All grown and gone, they now had only each other and these pleasant summer evenings together.

Their daughter, Charlotte (who they called Charley), was now a doctor in Charleston. Their youngest son, Taylor, was an architect in Raleigh. Their oldest son, Carey, was a marine. It was hard to keep up with where he was. They received tapes and letters but he didn't talk much about what he was doing. He didn't like to worry them.

Jack's thoughts were disturbed as the car came into view out of the dust. They had walked down the steps towards the road. He recognized the car immediately, though his wife, Dianne did not. He knew that because she was still smiling, ready to greet their visitors. No one else but the government bought a car like that, not these days. A late-model navy blue Crown Victoria. Nothing good ever comes out of such a car.

Even before the dying sunlight reflected on the silver eagle placard on the front of the government issue car, he knew. He knew what his dad knew 40 years ago. As he embraced Dianne, he only hoped he could be as composed.

Thursday 13 - My Favorite Dog Breeds - 4/17/08

My 13 favorite breeds of dogs. I have chosen some for their temperament, some for their personality, others for their intelligence, and still others for their beauty. Kind of the same way I choose my friends. These are in no particular order:

1. Dachshund















2. Labrador Retriever














3. Akita


4. Boxer













5. Shar-Pei















6. Petit Basset Griffon Vendeen (PBGV)










7. Corgi (both kinds)















8. Irish Setter












9. Bloodhound














10.German Shepherd














11.Mastiff (all kinds)














12.Golden Retriever















13.Miniature Pinscher














I thought I would also include my favorite breeds of cats. They are listed below:

1.

Wordless Wednesday - Cheyenne, Wyoming 8/1/1985

Writer's Island - Flight - 4/12/08

The Writer's Island prompt this week was flight. This is what came to my disheveled mind:

Having spent 20 years in the Air Force it is obvious that I have done my share of flying. Though I was never a pilot or on a flight crew I have logged countless hours on both military transports and commercial planes. I used to enjoy flying until the douche bags of 9/11 ruined it forever for me (and many others). Gone are the days of arriving at the airport 20 minutes before boarding. Now we must arrive two hours prior to the scheduled departure (which is never actual) and endure a screening process as if we were attempting to enter the Lincoln bedroom. I am not complaining. I want my flight to be safe and have an absolute minimum of terrorists on board with me. So, I endorse the inconvenience.


When I was young, married, and broke, living in Denver in the early 70s, Stapleton International Airport was a source of entertainment for my wife and me. We would go sit in the arrival/departure lounge and watch people come and go. We would make up stories about people we observed. The airport was the best place to people watch. Sometimes we would play spy at the airport and try to pick out which of the travelers were CIA or KGB. We would even bring our own refreshments because airport prices were not much different then than they are now. A hotdog and a coke required a cosigner. Again, the assholes of 9/11 have made that activity impossible, as you can’t even enter the gate area without a ticket.



One of the benefits of military service is that you could fly anywhere in the world that the Air Force does for free. This program was called Space-A. We took advantage of that privilege many times. Sometimes we would just go to the terminal and fly to whatever destination was readily available. That was an adventure sometimes, as you could not always get back from that country in a timely manner. For instance, I have flown from England to Greece and had to fly from there to Germany in order to get back to England. It was also possible that the plane would not bring you back to the same base you departed from so you might have to arrange ground transportation from one base in England to another. But that only added to the adventure. So traveling space available required patience and plenty of time. Though I still have that perk, I have not tried to fly this way since the shitheads of 9/11 have probably screwed that up too. I am certain that a lot of flights are now destined for locations I have no interest in visiting.

One anecdote that came to mind while I was writing this post was a military Space-A flight my kids and I took from Germany to the states. The only other passengers on the plane were federal prisoners being transported to the maximum penitentiary at Leavenworth Kansas. The prisoners were held in stockades in Europe until they get enough to full a C-141 transport. The terminal staff informed me that this was the only flight available for the rest of the week and we could take it as long as I knew the situation. There were several armed guards accompanying the hundred or so prisoners and many of them were so after conferring with my kids I accepted the risk involved. We were given specific instructions and assurances of our safety with regards to the inmates. We were not to talk to them, accept or give anything to them, and other common sense warnings. It was very much like the movie Con Air except that flight had no families on it. Oh yeah, and ours did not crash. What I didn’t realize though was that FAA regulations in those days required all prisoners be unshackled and the guards could not have access to firearms during the flight. Military personnel are armed in the cockpit, but those were the only weapons allowed. So we were flying with a hundred or so prisoners who could at any time attempt to take control of the aircraft. Well, they never did, though I kept a watchful eye (not sure why) until we arrived safely without incident.

Another time we were flying in a KC-10 tanker plane. A couple of hours into the flight, a crewmember came up to my son, Josh, and asked him if he wanted to see something cool. He, of course, wanted to see something cool. Doesn’t everyone? He was escorted back to the rear of the plane where he got to witness the refueling of a flight of F-16 fighters. He was close enough to be nearly face-to-face with the pilots. They showed him in detail how to link up with the fighter and start the flow of fuel. Not every kid gets to see that.


We have also been on a plane that’s engine caught fire, flew through a spectacular but terrifying lightening storm, and have diverted to locations that were not on the flight plan.


Yes, flying was an adventure before the whoresons of 9/11 ruined it for me (and others).

Sunday Scribblings - Fearless - 4/13/08

The prompt "fearless" immediately brought two names to my weary mind, neither of which were Myrtle Beached Whale. I am the polar opposite of fearless. I am afraid of spiders, snakes, clowns, mimes, heights, women with tattoos, badgers, poop, any word ending in noma, dentists, meteorites, herpes, and shopping.

The first person that personifies fearless to me is General Chuck Yeager. In World War II, by the age of 22, he had shot down 11 German aircraft and had been shot down himself over France. He evaded capture, found his way back to England and flew more combat missions.

He actually had to bail out of an aircraft on two separate occasions.

That would be quite enough flying for most pilots. Not for Chuck, though. He became a test pilot after the war.

What a test pilot essentially does is attempt to fly an aircraft that no one really knows for sure will actually fly. Theoretically, it is supposed to fly. So was the Spruce Goose.

He was the first man to break the sound barrier. He was a test pilot for 13 years, during which he flew 330 different aircraft and flew faster and higher than any pilot had ever flown. He then flew combat missions in Viet Nam. He retired from the Air Force in 1975, after 34 years. Now for the amazing part: In 2007, at the age of 84, when most people are driving 45 on the Interstate, indicating an intention to turn left for 30 miles, and eating dinner at 4 PM, General Yeager piloted an Air Force F-16 through the sound barrier. This was to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the first time he did it.

This is a truly fearless man. I had the pleasure of meeting him some years ago.

The other person that immediately came to mind was the late Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter. Here is Steve Irwin in a nutshell: (Imagine an Australian accent. I am doing one now in my head): “Look at this beauty. This is the most deadly poisonous snake in the world. I am going to tease him until he is forced to bite me in the face.

Then I am going to ride this 15-foot croc down the river so I can better observe his death roll.“

Since his untimely death there have been several poor imitations of him, but there will only ever be one Crocodile Hunter.

He honestly did love those deadly reptiles. With all the amazing adventures he had, it is ironic that he would be killed by one of the most docile creatures in the sea.

Many who read this will call both of these individuals not fearless, but crazy. I agree. I don’t think any rational person can be totally fearless. Oh yeah, almost forgot. I am also afraid of bees and fire ants.

55 Flash Fiction Friday - 4/11/08

The challenge is to tell a story using only 55 Words.


First day of school. Third grade teacher, Mrs. Johnson sat at her desk fretting over the class roster. As the clock inched towards roll call, she realized she had no chance of pronouncing more than a handful correctly: Jaanai, Faizah, Eliyahu, T'ien-Khuan. Oh how she longed for the good old days of Davids and Susans.

The most amazing thing I have ever seen

You may have seen this but I had not and my jaw is still on the floor.

15 Words Or Less Poems - 4/10/08

Laura provided the following prompt:

At the end of spring break, I took the girls to the Mall of America to meet friends. We spent lots of time in the theme park, which just reopened as Nickelodeon Universe. This pic is of Maddie and me (you can tell, right?) on one of the new roller coasters.

What does this image remind you of? Do you love or despise coasters? Can you feel the motion? Does this bring back any childhood memories?

Pick any thought and quickly write a 15 Words or Less poem. Put it in a comment and I'll post it tomorrow. Check out the guidelines link in the sidebar if you've never played before, and, most importantly, have fun!


It elicited the following childhood memory:

Greasy corndogs
Tilt-a-whirl
Stomach churning
Gonna hurl
Round and round
Spewing on a pretty girl

Thursday 13 - Television Characters - 4/10/08

Thirteen of my favorite television characters of all-time. As you can see, some entries list two characters that are inseparable. As always it was hard to limit it to 13, but these are the first that came to my fragmented mind. They are in no particular order:

1. Greg House

2. Al Bundy

3. Chandler Bing/Joey Tribbiani

4. Cosmo Kramer/George Costanza





5. Frasier/Niles Crane

6. Hawkeye Pierce

7. Tony Soprano

8. Barney Fife

9. Andy Sipowicz

10. Tommy Gavin

11. Ed Norton/Ralph Kramden

12. David Addison

13. Any character played by Jerry Stiller

Due to the limits placed on me by the rule of 13 I limited this to American television. If I had included British television, I would have added Basil Fawlty/Manuel




and Edmund Blackadder/Baldrick:

Wordless Wednesday - 4/9/08

Three Word Wednesday - Theatre Funny Remember - 4/9/08

Today's Three Word Wednesday prompts are theatre, funny, and remember. The first thing that comes to my fragmented mind is:

I was born about the time that Network Television broadcasts reached the wilds of Northern Idaho. Like most of you, except those of you who are Bushmen of the Kalahari, I have always had television in my life. As an only child, TV was my companion, and through the years has enriched my life like nothing else. Though sometimes we had one set with sound and another with picture and some winters there was more snow on the screen than on the ground, my family loved TV.

I remember my dad climbing up on the roof to move the antenna around while he and my mom yelled back and forth like some kind of long-range eye test “Is that better?” “What about now?”

I have had aluminum foil enriched rabbit ears. Now, I get upset when I can’t find the remote control.

When I was a kid, the most hilarious man on television was Red Skeleton. He was the Robin Williams of that era. His mind worked at a breakneck speed. His show was pure theatre. It was live. Though later it was taped, there were no retakes. All the mistakes were broadcast. He would laugh at his own jokes, crack up his guest stars, talk to the audience in the middle of a sketch, and sometimes say things that were not acceptable for 1950’s television. He was a clown by trade and though I despise and fear clowns, he was endearing. He transformed himself into many wonderful characters including: a Hobo Freddie the Freeloader, Junior the Mean Widdle Kid, country bumpkin Clem Kadiddlehopper, Sheriff Deadeye, boxer Cauliflower McPugg, drunkard Willy Lump-Lump, and con man San Fernando Red. Johnny Carson got his start as a writer for the show. The Rolling Stones made their first American appearance on the Red Skeleton show in 1965. Red was so funny that his audience was recorded and turned into the laugh tracks that are still heard on sitcoms.

One of Red’s many talents was pantomime. He was a master. Sometimes Marcel Marceau, the world’s most famous mime would appear with him. Though I despise and fear mimes, the two of them together was magic.

Like so many talented people, there was nothing funny about Red’s private life. He suffered from alcoholism, several marriages, the death of his son, fights with networks/writers, and political turmoil. Through it all, he was America’s number 1 clown until his death in 1997.

He always ended each broadcast in much the same way. I will end this blog by letting Red speak for both of us:


“I personally believe that we were put here to build and not to destroy. So if by chance some day you’re not feeling well and you should remember some silly little thing I’ve said or done and it brings back a smile to your face or a chuckle to your heart – then my purpose has been fulfilled. Goodnight and may God bless.” Red Skelton

What the Hell is This?

I know many of you enjoy baking. Have you ever seen so many ingredients in a simple 3.5 OZ dessert? Can you tell what it is by this list?

Sunday Scribblings - The Photograph - 4/6/08

This photo is one that I have never shared with anyone before. I took it of an extraterrestrial being that landed near my home some time ago. I am thinking that the reason the photo seems so abstract is that the creature was not a solid form like we are. He appeared to be composed of an ever-changing almost molten material. His extremities expanded somewhat like Inspector Gadget. He communicated with me by a series of clicking sounds, groans, and something close to flatulence. We used hand signals to communicate and I taught him that the middle finger was a sign of respect and should be used whenever encountering one of our politicians. “Take me to your leader” indeed. He did not appear hostile but I did not turn my back to him, fearing the obligatory anal probe these guys are so famous for. His odor was roughly that of a freshly washed dog being dried by a kerosene lamp. In contrast to other accounts of ETs being green or gray in color, he was almost colorless, leading me to believe that the climate on his home planet is somewhat like that of England. He wore no clothing and did not seem ashamed of his extremely small genitalia, much like the pants less Donald Duck. His fingers were extremely long and his feet huge, exposing that myth. His ridiculously long neck and huge head revealed that his world had very little gravity. The gravitational pull of earth caused him to continuously fall down resulting in uproarious laughter from me. I thought out loud that his God must have a lot better sense of humor than ours. If he took offense to my ridicule, he could do nothing about it as it took his full concentration to remain balanced and upright. He looked to be hungry and thirsty. Through hand signals I determined that to be the case. I held up a finger (not the middle one) in the universal symbol for “wait just a second” and went inside and produced a liter bottle of Patron Tequila and a jar of Habanera Peppers. He poured the contents of both into the toothless hole that served as his mouth. He immediately turned bright red and his eyes doubled in size and intensity. He failed in his ongoing battle to remain ambulatory and after spewing the contents of his stomach, including some curious matter other than Agava and peppers, he crawled back to his craft and made a very hasty and awkward departure. I don’t think he will be back. I did not report the incident until now. I am sure I can trust you all to not be skeptical.

OK, the few of you that read this far will be rewarded with the actual subject of this picture. Recently, we had a total lunar eclipse. I stood on my balcony and attempted to photograph the event. I used the night setting and did not have a tripod, so this is one of the early shots that my unsteady hands produced. Some of the subsequent photos came out better as I found a way to brace myself against the railing.

Thursday 13 - T-Shirt Slogans - 4/3/08

These are 13 T-Shirt slogans that make me smile.

3 Word Wednesday - Bounce - Mysterious - Parallel - 4/2/08

He woke up and had no idea where he was. This was not an uncommon condition for him ever since he had arrived in Mexico and discovered the glorious numbing effects of the genuine local tequila. The kind with no label and no FDA approval Hell, he doubted Mexico even had an FDA.

The euphoria he enjoyed while imbibing the pungent golden nectar was greatly offset by the inevitable repercussions of the morn. He had gotten used to the aftertaste of what he imagined nuclear fallout would feel like on his tongue. He could also deal with the crippling headache that caused any movement or sound to make him dizzy, nauseous, and embracing suicide.

What he could never get used to is being bounced to a parallel universe where a mysterious and very unattractive senorita appeared next to him in a strange bed.

In the same way that a hiker would avoid disturbing a hibernating bear, he contemplated retrieving his clothes and dignity and making his way out of her lair. He promised himself and God, he would never drink again……..until next time.

Wordless Wednesday - 4/2/08