Christmas Greetings

I saw this on Bane's site and I liked it. So, I'm putting it on mine...

WM2007

As a traveling man, I've traveled from west to east and from east to west. As of tonight, I will be spending the next year in the east. Wish me luck and Godspeed. The seat has been known to get warm.

A Pile of Rags

Last night I felt like a pile of rags. I fell into bed about ten o'clock, and lay in the arms of Morpheus until this morning. As I arose, refreshed, the little bride murmered through sleepy eyes, "We worked pretty well as a team yesterday, didn't we?"

Yes, we did darlin', yes we did.

Thank God It's Friday

Just another thing to be grateful for.

My parents moved to a retirement home this year. A small apartment. So mom informed me that Thanksgiving would be at my house this year. I knew this would entail a lot of work, but I really had no idea. But, let's look at facts:

I've never cooked a turkey before. I'm not sure what's in dressing other than cornbread and sage. Alton Brown says it's a sin to serve canned cranberry sauce.

Things I learned:

A fourteen pound turkey won't thaw out in the refrigerator in two days. There's only so much room in an oven. You can get green bean casserole in a kit. The little bride finds this a useful excuse to spend thousands of dollars on decorating and serving items.

The lady next door asked me how many people we were expecting. I went through the fingers on both hands and was about to unzip my pants when I told her, "somewhere between 12 and 20, as near as I can figure."

"There's a helluva difference between 12 and 20!" she exclaimed. Something else that just hadn't occurred to me. I determined that I would make food for 20 and if it turned out to be just me and the little bride, we'd have leftovers to eat for days to come.

When I got up Thursday morning, I realized my turkey was still pretty much frozen. Not a good thing just before show call.

I dumped him in a sink of cool water and started reading the instructions that came with him. "Thaw turkey in refrigerator for 24 hours for each four pounds." Hmmm. Guess I should have bought him before Tuesday. Crap. Oh well, there's always the suck factor.

My daughter, being the impoverished college student, had to work Thanksgiving night, so she stopped by to say hello about mid afternoon. The turkey was in the oven and I was taking a shower when she got there. I came out with wet hair and wearing my Texas Longhorns tee shirt. I bought the shirt, by the way, to impress my relations from Oklahoma. I know just how much they think about Texas and wanted them to be happy. Actually, it's like I told my niece, "if it sucks bad enough, ya'll won't want to come back next year." The suck factor.

I had no idea it would have such an adverse effect on my prissy college student. "Oh, no, Dad." she said. "Why are you wearing that thing?"

I tried to explain about the suck factor and all that, but she was buying none of it. "We can't even be friends anymore," she said, "much less give you a hug."

I changed shirts, got my hug, visited for a bit and then she left and we went back to furiously preparing supper for a crowd of from 12 to 20. By this time the little bride was ready to start putting her (not) famous dressing together. Neither of us had any experience in that department. I had, however, made her a big pan of cornbread the day before.

We put the dressing and the (kit) green bean casserole in the next door lady's oven and started putting together all of the salads and other assorted sundries. Sorry Alton, I glopped a can of cranberry sauce into a bowl and called it good. I fixed a pan of sweet corn for my niece who says mashed potatoes and gravy aren't complete without corn to squish in it.

I also sliced up some sweet potatoes and sauteed them in butter and covered them with a sauce of butter, brown sugar and cayenne pepper. Some of the relations that never eat sweet potatoes said they were good.

I peeled about ten pounds of regular taters for the bride and she made mashed potatoes in mass quantities. Meanwhile, the rolls were rising in their little compartmentalized muffin tins.

I retrieved the dressing and green beans just before the first arrivals and things went to def-com five as I furiously tried to tie up all the loose ends and seat sixteen people for the meal. I watched impatiently as the meat thermometer rose slowly degree by degree to the required 180 degrees the instructions said to get in the thigh. And as the grand bird rested next to the stove, I peeled the saran wrap off of the rolls to put them in the oven. They all popped and went puddly over the top of the pan. Suck factor, I grinned through clinched teeth.

One of the brothers-in-law was kind enough to carve up the bird and I started gathering the flock from various parts of the house to assemble for the long awaited moment. I was so relieved that everything had come together (except the rolls) that I fervently prayed, "Lord, I am so grateful for this big family. I am so grateful for all we have. This past year has been so wonderful, I can't wait to see what the next year brings, Amen!"

My children love me.

Ever notice that your kids never invite you out to lunch when they have money? But two days before payday, you're likely to get a call, "Whatcha doin' for lunch, dad?"

I guess I'm having lunch with son1 today...

I for one, am happy...

"The most savage controversies are those about matters as to which there is no good evidence either way."

Bertrand Russell (1872 - 1970)

For nearly seven years now, I have heard nothing but criticism and hatred when it comes to the operation of our government. I have not heard any constructive ideas on how to change the status quo. I mean other than a "lockbox."

The American people have been growing more and more disillusioned with some of the policies of our current administration.

The trampling of our constitutional rights in the name of inteligence gathering and warfare. Pretty much happens in every war. Even the revered Lincoln suspended the writ of habeas corpus during our Civil War. But, that doesn't make it right.

The growing unease with the way the war in Iraq and Afghanistan is being prosecuted. I admit, I'm pretty much uneasy with that myself. Though, I support our president in what I believe are his goals in that regard. How many times were we attacked by terrorists during our eight years of appeasement and diplomacy with the world? How many times have we been attacked since the world now hates us?

Can we do things better than we have so far? You bet. Will a new Democratic controlled congress come up with the ideas and leadership to do that? I sure hope so.

For nearly seven years now, I have heard nothing but criticism and hatred when it comes to the operation of our government. I have not heard any constructive ideas on how to change the status quo. I'm ready. Let's see what you've got.

Let the new leadership guide us to unparalleled success and prosperity, protect us from harm, and may God's hand lead them in the path of right and integrity.

Amen.

Vote for who???

This sign is in my next door neighbor's yard. Gravy For Group Leader. I'm not really sure what it's all about... (feel free to contact me if you know... greg at circabellum dot com)

Half a century and counting...

I Got Tricked By Sonic. Again.

I haven't been so much of a fan of Sonic since they quit fixing the food fresh and started nuking everything to a hot, but not very wholesome looking blob. But every once in a while, they get me with one of their ads. And the concepts are always appealing. The "creampie shake" is an example of something that looks a whole helluva lot better than it tastes. No thanks, I'll just pick up a cream pie at the bakery on the way home. And eat the whole thing. Yes.

Have you seen the latest ad with the two gay guys? An extra long philly cheese steak. And other than the fact that gayguy1 seems to be comparing the sandwich to the length of his penis, I'm liking me some cheesesteak sandwiches and they have my attention.

(Reverie portion of this posting...)I remember standing, drunk and silly, in the cement footprints of Rocky, ordering a philly cheesesteak sandwich at two in the morning, in Philadelphia. And, I don't know, maybe it's a combination of having drink after drink in a kick-ass jazz bar on the Southside of Philly, or just the fact that food tastes better at two a.m. on a drinking binge, but that was a hella experience. Pat's, I think. And the hot pepper sauce that they serve up with it - yesssss!

(We return now to the regularly scheduled portion of the blog...)So I'm thinking that philly cheesesteak = good. Extra long = better. And, I got me one.

Here's the part they don't tell you in the ad: extra long only refers to the fact that it is served on a foot-long hot dog bun. Extra skinny. Yikes. Oh, and then they nuke it in the microwave until it reaches that ooey-gooey, soggy, sorry, limp and tasteless glob of quivering, glowing nuclear fissionable material that would make Kim Il Jong slaver like a rabid dog. Extra nasty, they should have said.

But, that descriptive, while accurate, doesn't sell sandwiches. Maybe they ought to look at trying to sell sandwiches to people on a repeat basis. But that would involve improving the quality. So, with 200 million people in this country, I suppose they can do well tricking them all once.

Huh?

Free Beer!

Sandy talks about not really wanting to go to a shindig tonight, but is kind of obligated to. And her husband told her to look on the bright side, "free beer!"

Well, I just can't hear the words "free beer" without thinking back to the only time in my life that I ever ran away from free beer. And I mean literally ran away.

It was back in the eighties, and I was working in a lettershop over in the industrial district of Little Rock. This was pre-kids days, but my first wife was really jealous. I couldn't go anywhere without her giving me the third degree. I swear she had a stopwatch so she could time exactly how long it took me to do what I told her I was doing and then she would calculate if there was any time left over for dalliances. Bless her heart, she has another man to fuss over now.

I had a young fellow that worked for me named Chip. God rest his soul, Chip's dead now. But at this time, Chip's wife was pregnant. Chip asked me, since I had a pick-up truck, if I would take him to pick up a baby bed he had bought out of the paper after work. (This is precisely the type of reason that I don't own a pick-up truck anymore) So yeah, hell yeah, let's go get your bed, boy!

Well, we're driving along after work, on our way to pick up the bed, and Chip suggests that maybe we could stop in at the Whitewater Tavern and have a quick beer. I checked my watch, did some calculations, and determined that I could probably squeeze one beer in if I drove a little faster the rest of the trip. Having made the obligatory calls to the wife, the clock had already started.

So we duck in from the blazing Arkansas summer sun into the cool darkness of the Whitewater Tavern ("come on down, it's at seventh and thayer...") and order a couple of beers. Chip's buying so he brings two bottles of his brand, Busch, over to the table.

About halfway through the beer, a guy in a Miller jacket sidles over to the table and asks, "Ever try Miller Lite?" Well, I may be crazy, but I ain't stupid, so I said, "Nooooo, what's that?"

"Well, I'll get you one," he says as he runs up to the bar and grabs a couple of bottles of Miller Lite, plopping one in front of each of us. This dude is some kind of rep for the Miller company and he's buying everyone in the place beer. Chip and I grinned at each other unable to believe our luck.

We were nearly finished and I was telling Chip that we really needed to go, when the Miller guy comes back over to see how we liked his beer. I told him that we didn't really care for light beer, but thanks anyway. Immediately, without a word, he spun on his heel and ran to the bar and grabbed us two regular Miller Highlife bottles.

I told Chip that this was pretty cool, but we're just going to have to chug these down and get on out. He nodded agreement and turned his bottle up.

Dude comes back. "How's the Miller?"

Chip tells him that while we appreciate his generosity, we really gotta go. Dude says no way, you've got time for another beer and goes and gets us two more. Shit, I ain't smiling no more. Chip and I look at each other and start chugging beer. I'm beginning to feel a bit bloated.

"Surely one more," grins dude as Chip grimly shakes his head and says, "No man, we don't like Miller beer. Sorry." Inwardly I smile thinking that will be the end of that.

"No problem," dude says as he whips over to the bar and grabs us each a bottle of Busch.

I know you're asking, "why didn't you just leave the beer on the table and go?" Well, my momma instilled in me that "eat everything on your plate" kind of don't waste nothing mentality. And to this day it really hurts my Scotch soul to leave anything un-consumed. Maybe that's why I'm getting so fat.

"What the hell are we going to do?" I asked Chip in a low breath.

"Get your beer and follow me," he said.

We took our beers into the bathroom, turned them up and drank them down, tossed the empties in the trash and Chip peeked out of the doorway.

"Come on, let's go!" he said as we bee-lined from the bathroom, out the door and into the scorching summer sun. We laughed like school boys as I gunned it down the freeway. "Hell, that's the only time I ever ran away from free beer in my life!" chip bellowed.

"Me too, my man, me too," I said.

Sounds So Sweet

There are some young single girls in our office, and you hear a lot of different songs coming from the computers as you make your way here and there. And I noticed a few weeks ago that a song by a band named Hinder has been playing quite a bit. Several times I’d be walking by and hear one young lady or another singing along with the song. And it was obvious that there was some fantasy going on of being the girl on the phone in the song.

Honey why you calling me so late
It's kinda hard to talk right now
Honey why you crying is everything okay

And while I suppose it’s a romantic notion to think of some guy cooing these sorts of things into the phone to you, the song makes it very clear that he’s already taken by another woman.

I gotta whisper cause I can't be too loud
Well, my girl's in the next room
Sometimes I wish she was you

These are the same girls you hear raging and sobbing to each other about whatever girl their “bastard” boyfriend talked to or looked at last night. The same girls that would tell you that only scum would cheat on their wife or girlfriend.

But, I guess in today’s moral climate, it’s okay to have someone else’s lover attracted to you. As long as it’s you.

But you know? I figure if the girl asleep in the next room wakes up and overhears part of this conversation, she’ll be calling all her girlfriends about that son-of-a-bitch boyfriend of hers. She probably won’t understand how romantic it is to be told you have lips of an angel…

One Stop Shopping

Guns-n-Puppies

Got mine, j'get yours?

The insidious manner in which the address is written in blue ink, completely different from the black ink the message is written in, leads me to believe that this card was not done specifically for me.

And, as much as I appreciate that I got one at all, it hurts. I've gone through life expecting special treatment and normally get it. One certainly doesn't usually get more than they ask for, so I ask for it all up front. Take the proverbial table with me to keep from leaving anything lying on it.

There's only one woman in this world that would tempt me to leave the little bride and that's Tracy. There now, I've said it. It can't be taken back. You've read it and it's out there for the world to see.

And, all I got was this generic card...

UPDATE
Just so I don't seem completely ungrateful, here's a link to last year's card...
Hamster Stan.

Big Mistakes

I got this from a dear friend as a sort of "office warming" gift.

Last week, a client pointed out to me that this says it's for "big mistakes made in China," and that it might not work here.

drunk with my newfound power

I'll even upload pictures of my wife's stupid cat...

Technologically Challenged

You know, learning how to do things on my computer comes at a dear price, both in time invested and in frustration. And sometimes a little humiliation thrown in for good measure.

For instance, some time back I was led down the primrose path of the "hello" photo uploading and sharing program. It was touted as being the thing for putting your photos on blogger. And I even downloaded the software to my computer to do it.

The trouble with hello is that it's very cumbersome and aggravating to do. See, in order to put more than one photo on a single posting, I would have to upload them individually, and then cut and paste the code from each posting to a single posting and then delete the other posts. At this point in the narrative, feel free to chip in with your, "but you can upload multiple pictures in hello by ..."

Well, it's too late.

This morning, I'm looking at the pics on Sandy's blog, and I notice that she has more than one photo on several of her postings. And, knowing that gal is all about economy, I figure she ain't wasting no keystrokes unneccessarily on this photo stuff. So, I email her with a "what's up?"

Miss Sandy says that she just clicks on the blue thingy, but that's about all she can tell me about that.

A quick search of the blogger pages for blue thingies reveals that in the toolbar of the create post page (a place I would never look) there is indeed a blue thingy that resembles a picture. And, what do you know? When you click on it, it let's you insert as many pictures as you want.

So, to celebrate my new wealth of knowledge, I'm inserting a "watzit." Put on your thinking cap and see if you can figure out what this object is in the photo below:

The world is a changin'

Now I'm not a tennis fan, so I'm talking about something I know nothing about. And that's not unusual for me. Not that you'd know.

But I'll be danged if they didn't have the Wimbledon match on the televisions at the restaurant where I had lunch today.

And there was a man dressed up like a woman playing against a pretty girl.

This is a man, right?


I think it's sad that this beautiful little waif had to face the humiliation of being beaten by a shemale.

Even as little as I know about it, I'm pretty sure that men aren't allowed to play against women in this tournament. Even ones that dress up like women. Even if they have nice tits. This might be what they call on the internet, a "she-male."

Then, I find out later they let the cross-dresser win. I think they must have French judges at this event.

This, by the way, is my favorite photo of the little darlin'...

mmmmm...

Thank You For Your Sacrifice

"The willingness with which our young people are likely to serve in any war, no matter how justified, shall be directly proportional as to how they perceive the Veterans of earlier wars were treated and appreciated by their country."

George Washington

(have a safe and happy fourth of July, wherever you are. And know that we appreciate you.)

Smokin'

My friend, Sandy posted about smoking and how you should mind your own business when it comes to that subject. And she's right.

I smoked cigarettes for more than 37 years of my life. They were my best friends. They were there for me when I was hungry. They were there for me when I was tired. They helped me out when I was angry, depressed, abused, amused, bored and even elated. They never let me down.

When my son got suspended from school in the seventh grade for having a cigarette lighter, I asked him why the hell he had to take a lighter to school. And he told me that there was no way he could go all day without smoking a cigarette. That he would not and could not make it.

He told me that for years he had begged me not to smoke. And for years he smelled it and choked on it. And that now he was smoking himself, I didn't have much room to talk about it. In a way, he was right.

I quit smoking that day. And, I did it the hard way. I had half a pack in my pocket and half a carton on top of the refrigerator. After two days, I gave the half pack to a fellow smoker. Two weeks later I gave him the rest of the carton.

After all those years, there's still probably a price I'll have to pay, but I hope not.

One of my co-workers was diagnosed last week with acute lung disease. At least 40% loss of lung capacity. They want to put her on oxygen. She's refusing the treatment. "Pray for me," she says. And she keeps smoking.

My little bride still smokes. The smell doesn't bother me, but when she laughs, she's starting to get that smoker's edge. That little old lady that smoked for 50 years sound. And my wife's voice has always been so pretty. So melodic. It's beginning to change. I can hear it in the laugh.

God, that's going to be the one thing I'll really miss. Her beautiful voice. Her beautiful voice...

Nacho Libre

I like Jack Black. I like pretty much everything I've seen him do. And I intend to watch his new movie, Nacho Libre.

I mentioned this to a friend of mine the other day and he started Laughing. Seems that he was at lunch with a client at a local Mexican restaurant, and they were talking about the movie and how it's supposedly based on a true story about a Lucha Libre wrestler who was actually a priest. I'm told that he became extremely popular in Mexico.

So, when the waitress came to take their orders, he asked her if she had been a fan of Nacho Libre in Mexico. She looked kind of funny and walked back into the kitchen. A few minutes later, another waitress came over to the table and said, "She's married. But she's separated. So, I guess it's okay to ask her out."

I'm not sure what she thought he said, unless it was something similar to noches libre, thinking maybe he wanted to know if she was free that night. But he had a hard time between laughs trying to explain that he didn't want to ask her out.

Quote of the day...

Dreaming frees the soul, energizes the spirit and allows you to do things that would get your ass thrown in jail if you really tried them.

Unknown

Everything Old Is New Again...

...sooner or later.

Son1 apparently realized that it's kind of hip to wear old rock and roll t-shirts. I guess I kind of saw that coming since you see kids wearing reproductions of Pink Floyd and Led Zepplin stuff all the time now.

So, he comes to me this afternoon and says, "dad, don't you still have some of those old shirts from when you used to work for rock bands?" To which I replied "probably not any that you'd be interested in wearing."

But, underestimating the persistence of youth, I tossed him down three storage boxes of old shirts from the attic to go through. It's unfortunate that I was a skinny little banty rooster in those days, and most of them don't fit him. But after some deliberation, he chose this...


Pyromania Tour, 1983

Whatcha think? Does it make his ass look too big?

Talk to me...

I don't know who all the little bride has been talking to, but I get at least thirty or forty emails a day from people with strange names like Cialis, saying, "she wants better sex." If it's such a problem, why doesn't she just come to me about it? Dang it, this is embarassing.

Lost Souls

See, after about twelve or thirty beers, I start feeling all maudlin and shit and wonderin' whats up with my internet friends. Well, I say friends like I've met them and stuff, but we all know that ain't the case so I'm not really sure what you're supposed to actually call this. Maybe folks that I would like for friends if I actually knew them in real life? Okay, we'll stick with that.

Well, I've kind of corresponded and commented with, listened to his music Bitterman for some time and now he's fallen off the face of the earth. Well, now I know why. He's been too busy building this awesome racing bike.

cafe racer

But, now that it's done, he could write something occasionally...

Then, there's Sandy who turns her blog on and off like a damned string of Christmas lights. Little did I know that she has been busy grilling for the whole neighborhood. I guess whatever it takes to keep busy whilst the hubby is deployed...

chillin' and grillin'

I enjoy reading Tracy, and feel really honored when she stoops to comment on my pathetic little blog. Wondered what could have happened to her and, well, it seems she hit the powerball for some big bucks.

powerball winner, Tracy xTx

So, along with her spiffy new hairdo, she's got sweaty, meaty, construction workers at her house putting in her new guest bedrooms. Looks like they're just about finished:

Tracy's guest bedrooms

Heart

I have a tendency to have a crush on whatever woman I'm around at the moment, and it's much the same with the music I listen to. I may tell you that the female vocalist playing on the sound system at any given moment is the best ever...

But nobody and I mean nobody, sings like Ann Wilson.

This series on VH1 has had some great acts on it, but so far none has approached Heart and Friends. I say this only halfway through the show. If this post begins to seem disjointed, it's because I am distracted.

Good Lord. For women in their fifties these girls are still knockouts. Ann is what Greg Beck would call a "hug and chalk," but she still looks great and her performance absolutely knocks my socks off. Thirty years later I still get chills listening to her.

I first heard Heart in seventy-six, before the band became famous. I was hanging with a friend from work and he was playing Dreamboat Annie on the turntable. I remember it was an odd evening because he, for some reason, decided he wanted to "come out" to me that night. One minute he would tell me that he was gay, I would say that's cool, and then he would back up and say he was just kidding. This went on for a couple of hours until I finally told him that I didn't care if he was gay or not, in fact I preferred that he was because then I would know he wasn't competing with me for the girls. And, he was better looking than me.

But I was hooked on the music and bought a copy of the album.

I remember working for Heart in the early eighties and by eighty-three Ann was starting to approach maximum density. I saw her split her black leather pants on stage one night and back-up, up stage, to let a stagehand tape her crotch with black gaffer's tape. She completed that segment of the set and then went backstage to change clothes.

Other than the "classic rock" stations, Heart pretty much fell off the face of the earth in the nineties. But I can't recommend this VH1 special enough. The only thing that would make it better would be to keep the camera plastered on Nancy. 'Specially if she was nekkid...

Bird Flu Hits United States

My good friend, Sandy sent me a photo of the havoc being wreaked in Florida by the bird flu. I didn't know it had reached our shores already, but was horrified at the image. Warning: not for the squeamish...


Florida Devastation

Lost Dog

Son1 pointed out this light pole at lunch today.


"Dang, Dad," he said, "that's sure a lot of lost dogs!"

Backwards Masking

The little bride tells me that I'm crazy.

While I won't argue that point, I will insist that something just ain't right with the folks that do the closed captions for Christopher Lowell.

The bride likes to watch his show for "decorating tips" but I think she really has fantasies about "converting" him. Just a theory. But back to the point at hand.

If you turn the sound down and start the closed captions, it really seems like some kind of backwards masking is going on. Or something. Something evil. Here's an example of what I'm talking about, you tell me if I'm wrong. If you need a better look, click on the picture and it will get scary big.


ackbards smakcign

Not convinced? Okay, here's another example. What the hell is he saying? Whatever it is, he seems pretty confident about it.


smo asking bamarks

There's something evil afoot. I don't know exactly what. But I don't like it...

Self Taser

via email this morning...

Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 22nd anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife Toni. What I came across was a 100 000-volt, pocket/purse-sized taser.

The effects of the taser were suppose to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety.... WAY TOO COOL!

Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two triple-a batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button.

Nothing! I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button AND pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I'd get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs.

Awesome!!! Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Toni what that burned spot is on the face of her microwave.

Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries,. right?!!!

There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a second) and thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong?

So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, taser in another. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water.

Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries.

All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference; pretty cute really and loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-a batteries) thinking to myself, "no possible way!"

What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best.....

I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, "don't do it master," reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny little ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad.. I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY MOTHER OF WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION@!@$$!%!@*!!!

I'm pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs. The cat was standing over me making meowing sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, "do it again, do it again!"

Note: If you ever feel compelled to "mug" yourself with a taser, one note of caution: there is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. A three second burst would be considered conservative.

SON-OF-A-.. that hurt like hell!!! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they up get there??? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs.

I'm still looking for my testicles. I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return.

Still in shock,

Tommy

Blog tribute

Waiter Rant
The young couple seemed innocent enough when they stepped into the Bistro around 4:30. Certainly no reason not to seat them in the prime window table they requested. After all, it wasn’t reserved until 7:00.

But now they’ve been cooing and making goo-goo eyes for over two hours and I desperately need to free that table up for Mr. Big’s party that is soon to arrive.

“Looks like they’re moving in,” whispers Saroya as she glides into the kitchen. Her section is turning like a clock and I can see her mentally tallying the tips in her head as she chuckles about my misfortune.

I mention to Fluvio that I’ve really got a problem.

“No problem,” he says.

“What do you mean, no problem, Mr. Big will be here any time now.”

I saw a flash in Fluvio’s eye as he reiterated, “no problem.”

My hopes for help were dashed as Fluvio got on the phone and started having what appeared to be an animated conversation.

But, it wasn’t long until Mr. Goo-goo-eyes’ attention was drawn to something on the street through his coveted window seat.

“Crap!” he yelled as he leapt to his feet.

Outside, I could see the tow-truck pulling up to a yuppie BMW.

“Your check, sir,” I smiled as he ran past me out of the door. Fluvio had come through for me after all.


Tracy X
I loves me my yummy frothy frappacino from Starbucks. I could drink them all day except that it would make my thighs as thick as the Michelin Tire Man. But I’m in line at the Starbucks and I’m thinking about how lovely it would be, exciting really, if the Korean Mafia were here and they were reciting haiku to me. And the homeless lady at the back table chimed in and it was like one of those Coke commercials where they teach the world to sing in perfect harmony and everything and then, well, except it’s in haiku and not harmony and then they all take me out for shots. And they’re like putting salt on my cleavage and licking it off and doing tequila shots, even the homeless lady, which is really cool except that my boss who is like the head of the Korean Mafia and all is getting jealous and he fires everybody except me, even the homeless lady, and now I’m in charge of the company but there’s nobody to do the work and everything gets all out of control, you know, and I feel like maybe I don’t really know what I’m doing and then I wake up and it was really a dream and my dog is licking me. He slobbers a lot. But I vaguely smell frappacino and I’m thinking, “WTF?”

Sandy
Me and Francis had been sitting on the porch, her in her swing, me on the other side of the porch in mine, both of us puffing on Virginia Slims cigarettes. I couldn’t see her face, but she let out a big old puff of smoke and said, “Sandy, what in the hell were you thinking when you set that pan of burning grease on my kitchen table? You done ruined it for good now!”

I knew she wouldn’t still be mad at me the next day, but it sure made me feel lower than a toadstool that night. And ever since that day I have known that when the grease catches on fire, you throw that pan out the window. You don’t set it down nowhere. And, if Ailey doesn’t learn another thing from me, I hope that she remembers that lesson for the rest of her life.

Bane
You all know that I am not one to embellish my stories. Everything you read here is the truth. I know that many of you are calling “bullshit” right now, and you’re welcome to go read a safer blog somewhere else. Maybe over at Instapundit or Disney dot com. For all I care you can just chuck your computer and give up on the whole web surfing thing all together. That’s not my problem.

I just know that when I pulled the sixteen inches of cold steel from his throat, the same sixteen inches of steel I had just plunged in to the hilt, the man transformed before my eyes into a crow and flew away.

I resolved that moment never to confront the invisible forces of evil in that manner again. Next time I would go for one of the sixteen pistols I have secreted about my body…

Why?

How could I stand the idea of a girl with only half a face?

This, this, my friends, is why I answered the ad in Craigslist...

Lance Armstrong Frightens Children and Wildlife

Well, I don't really have any proof about children, but...

I suppose it's just that time of year. It started several weeks ago when I noticed a thumping noise coming from the kitchen. Investigating, I found a young robin slamming himself into the back door, over and over and over again. Which is kind of funny to watch.

He apparently sees his reflection and considers it to be viable competition for the ladies.

And I don't mind birds and animals kind of doing their thing around here as long as it doesn't interfere with my lifestyle too much, so I figured I could wait him out until he tired of it and finally got him some sweet bird loving to calm him down.

I didn't even mind the streaky marks he's leaving all over the windows so much.



But the problem I've got now, since it's going on for weeks on end is that he sits on the railing and poops in between bouts with the phantom rival.


Which we just can't continue to abide.

He's even taken to bringing a friend along to watch him slam into the window. I don't know if the friend poops on the railing or not, but I'm ready to put a stop to it.

I noticed that when I walk up to the window, they fly away and the thumping stops for a while. Then it starts back up in a bit and continues until I walk in again. This goes on pretty much all day.

So this morning, I see this ad in Newsweek Magazine, "Put on Your Lance Face." It has a big ole, nearly lifesize head of Lance Armstrong.

I tore out the page, taped it to the inside of the window, looking out, and voila!


No more bird headbangers...

At least for now.

UPDATE!
It appears that not only are birds not frightened of Lance Armstrong,



but now it seems to only infuriate the little guy more...



I've got to find myself some pictures of Chuck Norris...

Attractive Customers

Not in the usual sense, no.

But, I frequently go to lunch with one of my co-workers. And, both of us having adventurous palates, we like to try new and/or exotic restaurants. Today, we tried out a fairly new sushi bar here downtown, and when we got there the place was empty. In fact, two of the wait staff were standing in the doorway as if to try and flag down passing pedestrians.

So, as we're eating our bento, I notice the place is starting to fill up.

I casually mention that this seems to happen everywhere we go. It seems when we start eating somewhere new, it attracts more customers. As a matter of fact, I told him, restaurants should be willing to feed us for free just to get us to come there and increase their business. He, of course, thought that was a capital idea and I could see that he was thinking about how we could market such a concept.

When it came time to pay, he asked the hostess, "Is it always this busy?"

"No," she said, "today is a lot busier than normal."

I gave my friend a knowing look.

"You should feed us for free," he said.

The hostess looked a little confused as she counted out my change. "Well, I guess people are starting to find out about us," she muttered.

So. If you are in the greater Little Rock area, have a restaurant and would like to see your business grow, leave particulars in the comments section of this post about when and where you will feed us for free.

Our guarantee: you must be completely satisfied with the results of feeding us for free and increasing your business, or we won't eat for free in your restaurant ever again!

Do I know you?

From time to time I notice folks here in Little Rock that have been by to read my drivel, and from Conway and other towns about Arkansas. If you're a local reader, would you drop me a line and let me know how you found me and maybe a little about yourself?

Okay, I'm really curious, who is with GHB&W? Come on, you can tell me...

Ebay Advice

I have a soft spot in my heart for early glass. I like blown and pressed glass and particularly the Ashburton pattern. There's something about a hundred and fifty year old glass that just feels good. Something that fragile that has survived all those years and I'm drinking wine in it. Or whiskey, or beer...

And, if you come to my house you can drink out of them too. Just don't toss it in the fireplace when you're finished.

It was a really cool thing when I found five water tumblers on eBay in my Ashburton pattern. I placed a ridiculously low bid on them, approximately as much as you'd normally pay for one, and crossed my fingers.

Well I won, and I was pretty pleased with that.

But let me give you a clue, you wannabe ebay tycoons:

If you sell something fragile, don't wrap it in newspaper and toss it in a box.








There's something really sad about opening your box that just came in the mail and finding little neatly wrapped packages of 150 year old glass shards...

I remember...

Sandy will tell you, I don't do the "me-me" thing very often. And I never pass on those emails that implore you not to break the chain. But I saw this me-me over at Junebug's place and it made me think about all the crap I wrote in people's yearbooks back in high school. If someone asked me to sign their yearbook, I would write a half page or so about all the stuff we had done together. Of course it was stuff like being on the cheerleading squad with them and b.s. designed to make them scratch their heads in future years muttering, "who in the hell was this guy?"

So, without further ado, (and I expect both of the people that read this to respond!) here's the poop:

"If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don't speak often or don't really know each other) please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want - good or bad - BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE. When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you!"

Won't you be my neighbor?

The neighborhood I work in is, for lack of a better term, eccentric. Naw, a better term might be weird.

And, as the fellow once said, it might be easier to just show you than to try and explain it.

First stop on our tour is just behind our building. All I can say is this guy must be a real fan...

Kiss Car

And then, going down to 15th and Main, there's... well,

discount hookers

I've never actually seen anyone there, so I can't vouch for the quality, but if anyone knows, please fill me in...

The Boy's Ride

Okay, some of you remember last summer when son1 bought his dream car. Only trouble was, it didn't have an engine, a transmission, tires, and well, lots of things that most of us take for granted. Yeah, he said he was going to save his money and buy all those things and fix it up.

I wasn't really enthusiastic about this plan, knowing that the boy is a lot like me in the procrastination department. And I advised him at the time that he would be better off buying one that was already mostly there, or at least running. Of course he would hear nothing of it. This was, after all, his dream car. And I believe in letting children fail.

So, here we are, the better part of a year later and the only thing he has done to his dream car is install an inner cooler he bought from a junk yard (wtf???)and taken the lenses off of the primered lights. BUT!!!

He did do the saving part.

And, last night he went and bought another car of his dreams with the cash he had saved.


"mitsi"

At least this one has an...


engine!

Uncommon Sense

I am a huge fan, just can't get enough....

Protector of the Two Party System

Let's face it, whether they know it or not, Republicans are set on preserving the two party system in America. Why else would Republicans tout family values so loudly?

I mean, if we just keep quiet, encourage everyone who wants an abortion to get one and legalize same-sex marriage, within a generation there won't be any Democrats.

Second Amendment Target Tour - Leg 5

The target is looking for a new place to stop off...send in your pics and get your turn.

"You got your peanut butter in my chocolate..."

They've combined two things I like together and made both of them better.

Why wasn't I told about this before?

Zep

Bane posts on one of, if not the greatest rock band of all time. Can't say as I agree with him on the "faggot" part, having been around them back in the mid seventies due to my work, but I agree totally..."but oh, the music."

Rasselin'

In my youth, wrestling was still fairly underground as an entertainment. The days of Gorgeous George. Matches took place in smokey basements of the local auditorium and the folks that went took them very seriously.

I wouldn't of thought about this except for Sandy brought it up.

I had friends that told deathly tales of mayhem and humiliation and made me want to go so bad, but my folks were above such things and we stayed away. As I grew, we would sometimes argue about whether it was fake or not. And it was years before I became convinced that it was.

When son1 was a wee tad of a boy, he was fascinated with wrestling and just would not listen to reason about how fake it was. So I decided to set up a little demonstration.

We were watching wrestling on television one Saturday and one of the wrestlers would jump up on the ropes and leap off onto the other unsuspecting guy and cream him right to the mat. I told son1, "how on earth you think that guy didn't see that coming?"

He wasn't convinced. So I climbed up on the couch until I was standing on the back of it and told him, "Stand right there while I jump on you."

I knew darned well that by the time I launched myself from that sofa, he would run away and I could say, "what makes you think you're faster than those wrestling guys?"

About that time the couch tipped over backwards, flinging me forward in a prone position parallel to the floor, barking my shins and causing me to land painfully across the sofa which was now laying on its back, my face skinned and flattened on the floor.

And, as predicted, son1 moved deftly aside in deference to my landing.

When son1 finally quit laughing he admitted that maybe I had a point. The little bride told me that he was only saying that to make me feel better and then told son1 that wrestling was real no matter what daddy says. I've pretty much stayed out of the discussion ever since.

Free For All

Now where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom
(2 Cor. 3:17).

Still Life

Dr. Livingstone, I presume?

V-man opines that the story of Stanley and Livingstone would have made a great movie. And he's probably right, as usual.

His fear is that, made today, the story would be debauched. But of course, that already happened more than 100 years ago. The whole episode was nothing more than a publicity stunt to begin with.

Stanley, a native of Wales, had come to the United States to seek his fortune, somehow wound up here in Arkansas at the outbreak of our late unpleasantness, and enlisted in Company A, Capitol Guards, 6th Arkansas Infantry.

Captured first time out of the chute, he found it expedient to renounce his loyalty to the noble lost cause and enlisted in the Union Army.

Later, as a reporter for the New York Herald, he endeavored to spend as much of the newspapers fortune as possible, hiring thousands of porters and guides to help him find someone who was not lost and then insinuated himself into the poor man's entourage forcing him to share some of the limelight in his discoveries.

He then became a serial killer in Africa before returning to Europe to marry an Ann Heche type artist and go into politics. He died in 1904 gasping, "St. Peter, I presume?"

Convictions

"To be one's self, and unafraid whether right or wrong, is more admirable than the easy cowardice of surrender to conformity."

Irving Wallace

There is a segment of our society, and a large one, that cares not about convictions or even right and wrong. They just need to be made to feel good. Don't rock the boat and tell me feelgood things.

These people adored Bill Clinton as president because he never did anything out of principle. He will be most noted for his indiscretions than for his statesmanship. His failures to act rather than his accomplishments. He left a lot of people bewildered. And he made a lot of people feel good.

This is why there is such an irrational hatred of President Bush. History will tell if he has been right or wrong, but he has not wavered from the course of his convictions no matter what the criticism. He doesn't tell us meaningless things to make us feel good.

And I am thankful to a just God that we have a man of conviction as our leader and pray that God direct his footsteps as he leads. And, I believe He has.

Do I Know You?

Lately, I've seen on several blogs a reference to pissing people off that you have never met. The internet is good for that.

I found it out shortly after I started buying stuff on eBay. A friend of mine who knew that I used the name"circa bellum" on eBay called me one day. He had been shopping in an antique store here locally.

He told me that some dude came in and was talking with the owner of the store. He said that he was on his way from Ohio to Texas and by the way, did he know of anybody locally that went by the name circa bellum on eBay?

This perked my friends ears up, so he starts listening more carefully.

The store owner shakes his head and says, "no, never heard of him." And, the dude says, "well, that son of a bitch out bids me on everything I bid on!"

When I heard that, I said, "Well, the internet allows me to go beyond just pissing off people on a local scale. It allows you to piss off folks globally!"

And, it does.

Dont Ask How I Know...

"...Just know that I do."

"There's nothing worse than achieving your martyrdom and disappointing 72 virgins at once."

Emotional Currency

For your entertainment, I present a trick that I like to play for the kids. They seem to get a kick out of it and I figured if you haven't seen it before you might want to see it now.

We're going to make George laugh and cry. To do this, use a one dollar bill. It's best if it's one that's not too wrinkled up. The crisper the paper, the better.

Fold the bill right through George's left eye like this:



Then fold the bill right through his other eye and crease them pretty good. Next, bring the two folds together and make a third crease going the other way between them. Like an accordion:



Then, pull them slightly apart, not straightening them out completely, and tilt the bill away and then toward you. Tilting it away makes him laugh:



And tilting it toward you makes him cry:

Remember New Orleans

"How a politician stands on the Second Amendment tells you how he or she views you as an individual... as a trustworthy and productive citizen, or as part of an unruly crowd that needs to be lorded over, controlled, supervised, and taken care of."
Texas State Representative Suzanna Hupp

thanks, and a tip of the ol' Hatlo hat to Dave Nall.

eBay's Back!

I took a couple of years off, basically, from eBay when collectibles kind of tanked after the “panic” of 2000. By 2003 it just got where it wasn’t worth putting anything on for the return on investment.

I started buying on eBay in 1998, and found antique photographs to be severely under-priced. I snapped them up for nearly a year and then it seemed I couldn’t buy them anymore. The prices got too high.

So, I started putting them back out for sale on eBay and ended up turning a tidy profit. There were still lots of bargains out there, you just had to scrounge around odd areas of eBay and look for things that weren’t described right. This turned items like the “pair of brothers in school uniforms” for $50.00 into the Confederate Texas soldier brothers that sold on eBay for $1100.00 in 1999.

If you are industrious, you can root out categories that are still underpriced and buy in them. I’m told by my inside sources that old vinyl records are depressed on eBay right now and a great buy. Unfortunately, I don’t know enough about them to pursue that. But I did go through several categories over the past years like coin silver, glass, pottery, coins, and lamps - buying while the buying was good, and selling when it got too high to buy anymore.

And that’s where we seem to be now. I can’t seem to buy a damned thing on eBay now, so I’m going to start putting it out again. If you have any interest, go have a look at my auctions. Just click this link and I’ll see you there!

I smell coffee...

Velociman pines for an old time percolator. I can't say as I blame him.

It's a taste that can't be duplicated elsewise.

I have an old stovetop percolator (in the South, pronounced: purr' cue lay' tur) that I take camping, and it makes a mean pot of coffee over a campfire. Yes, I know the purists say dump it in the pan and toss in some egg shells, but I'm funny this way.

But pictured above, is our fancy-go-to-meetin' percolator.

The little bride found it at a flea market some time back, and it makes a wonderful pot of coffee that never ceases to amaze visitors.

Of course, most have never seen one of these jewels, but old farts like me and V. remember sitting around with the folks, amorning, and drinking coffee from a percolator. Even the sound it makes is friendlier than that awful drip thing on the kitchen counter.

This one is circa 1940's and is trying to emulate a silver coffee set. Notice the tray, creamer and sugar. I didn't dig out the cord because I assume you assumed there is one. There is. It fits to the two prongs on the base. Just like on grandma's iron.

On second thought, I'm going to get the cord out and make me a pot of coffee.

Paris Hilton Shows Off Her New Shoes...

Asked, "where'd ya get those shoes?!" Paris pulled her skirt back for a better peek and blushed, "Overstock dot com, silly. It's all about the 'OH'..."

See? That's why...

This is why it's a good idea not to ever own a firearm that is registered in your name. Hell, it might even be a good idea to never get a hunting license either. It's why it should never be any business of the government to even know if you own firearms or not.

Finders fee to Bane