Cops

We have a drunk in our workplace and today, that drunk was causing a problem. The kid's a drunk. Not an alcoholic, a drunk. (Alcoholics have to attend those damn meetings!)

Just after I broke for lunch, our drunk came in babbling something over and over again. I don't recall what it was that he was babbling. I tuned it out as I had done so many times before. Habit, you know. People came, people went. My lunch disappeared while I was reading an article about Dallas' bicycle coordinator. At some point, I became aware that there was a discussion brewing between our drunk and another kid about the Allen Police Department.

Part of the discussion revolved around how unfair these kids felt that our Police Department was to other people of their age group and how they felt about being "picked on". Our drunk then decided to announce to the room that "all cops should be shot".

And he kept repeating his announcement.

Not once, not twice, but three times he was asked not to repeat his announcement by another of my co-workers and that co-worker was roundly ignored. That co-worker finally had enough, told the drunk off, dropped the F-bomb and stormed out.

After that worker left, it was revealed that that worker's father is a policeman. Not only were the drunk's comments rudely disrespectful in general, but apparently he was aware of the other employee's father's occupation. He had made his comment personal. He was strictly out of line and deserved to be sacked right then and there.

When I came home from work and cruised the news on the internet, the comments from earlier in the day became even more inappropriate. Apparently four policemen were killed in an ambush in a Parkland, Washington coffee shop at some point in the day.

I've known more than a few cops in my time. "Ray", who lived four doors down from us in suburban Cleveland was a young cop with a small neighborhood following. He and his partner were on patrol one night in the rough part of Cleveland when a bullet came crashing through the windshield, killing Ray's partner. I'm not sure whether or not he returned to work, being too young to fully understand what might have gone through Ray's mind at the time. Hadn't thought of Ray for over 40 years... closer to 45, I guess. There were more than a few policemen who went to Ohio University-Chillicothe's law enforcement technology program, and more than a few with whom I had as friends. I remember being pulled over into parking lots at least a couple of times by these cops... just taking a moment or two out of their days on patrol to politeley harass me and exchange a joke or two. There was "Marvin", who more often than not would wave back at me when I waved back at him while he was on a traffic stop. "Doug", who followed in his father's footsteps as a respected member of the local city police. And there was "Mike", a Sheriff's deputy who became crippled by an accidental fall in his own home. Mike at last check is still a deputy, as a dispatcher.

One of the radio stations I worked for had a side door facing the Pike County Sheriff's department. There was a period of time when I had to "bend" the speed limit along a section of the Appalachian Highway in order to make it to work in Waverly, Ohio after a day's worth of classes in Athens. One evening, one of the deputies from the Pike County Sheriff's office came over, smiled at me and said "We clocked you at 85 on your way in this afternoon. Better watch yourself, the State Patrol plans to be in the area next week..." Both of us had a good laugh, I got the message and slowed down, and one policeman proved that gentle persuasion can usually beat strong-arm tactics.

I have every respect for those who keep the rule of law. They're just like us in many ways, but vulnerable in ways that most of us don't realize... and when one is hurt or killed, we are all hurt in one way or another.

An inconsiderant drunk mouthed off this afternoon. His remarks were unkind at the least, hateful at worst. To a degree I am a bit ashamed for not paying attention to what was going on around me and addressing that worm in a way that he needed to be addressed. He was later called on the carpet in the store manager's office... hopefully given what-for. If that young man is still working next weekend, he has been shown much more mercy than he deserves.

Be Seeing You!

Nightcap - Old style

Well, Black Friday is over. We didn't fare too badly, the Christmas music wasn't too intrusive and not one note of certain Christmas songs were heard.

The lovely Miss Carol and I capped off our Black Friday by running up to McKinney for their Dickens of a Christmas celebration. It was nice, but not entirely Dickensian. The live band with their drum sets and electric guitars sort of gave it away. For that matter, so did the booths around the old-old Courthouse selling fried you name it.

On the other hand, maybe the old boy would be entranced by the fact that one can buy a heart attack on a stick.

Yes, there were people dressed like characters out of "A Christmas Carol", but that was about it as far as I was able to see. To be fair, though, we arrived after dark. Perhaps there were more than just the handful of people dressed in the appropriate manner. One shopkeeper dressed at least semi-appropriately had a nametag declaring himself to be "Scrooge". A woman in the same establishment was labeled "Marley".

Downtown McKinney is a melange of antique shops, specialty shops, restraunts, art galleries and lawyer's offices. Until little over a year ago they had an honest-to-God pharmacy which at one point compounded their own medicines. We enjoyed cruising through a few of the shops (or, if you prefer, shoppes), some old friends, a couple of them quite new, indeed. The new Salza shop was particularly interesting. We found a great variety of salzas, jams, jellies and other things to spice up one'e life. I was particularly interested in the pies in a jar. Someone had the bright idea to package all of the ingredients of a pie into a jar. All one needed to do was to fill a pie crust with the contents of the jar and presto! Almost instant pie.

Pie in a jar still doesn't have the panache of the home-made pecan pie made by the lovely Miss Carol using pecans from our own back yard.

We avoided the specialty popcorn and candy store. Too many calories the day after Thanksgiving for one thing, and the statue holding the sign for that particular store seemed a little bit too realistic in the bust. In other words, it wasn't Dickensian enough.

We tarried here and there against an 8pm closing time, entering one of our favorite antique shops just as the proprietress was announcing (without the benefit of a public address system) that her shop would be closing in 20 minutes. We did a quick twirl of the premesis soaking up 15 of those 20 minutes, then left to head back home.

All in all it was a nice evening. A "date" if you will to a familiar place pretending to be a piece of Merry Olde England roughly 150 years ago... complete with electric lights, electric guitars and a parking problem about 2 blocks over. Will I go again? Certainly. Someone in McKinney has done something right. Downtown McKinney is vibrant and alive like downtown anywhere should be. And this is despite at least 2 Walley Worlds, a Sam's Club, Lowe's, Home Depot and every other big box option you've ever laid eyes on within a 10-15 minute drive. Certainly the ideal of free enterprise is alive and living and here's the proof.

Neither of us went to the Dickens-themed event with any "Great Expectations" that we would be recipients of visits from spirits of Christmas past, present and future, but we were quite pleased with the fare offered, indeed.

Just a little bit more, please?


Be Seeing You!

Twenty Eight Days

It's Thanksgiving.
That means that Christmas music starts tomorrow.
Run! Hide! Save the Children... or not.
I've had sort of a love/hate relationship with Christmas music for most of my adult life. Having been on the radio tends to do that. Every Christmas brings out at least one really bad Christmas song for every couple of dozen good Christmas songs.
There are the obvious bad Christmas songs -"Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" immediately pops into mind, as does the song about something being stuck in the chimney (presumably, old Kris Kringle). And there are the not so obvious, like the dueling Lennon and McCartney tunes "Happy Christmas (War is Over)"(Lennon) and "Wonderful Christmastime" (Paul McCartney's overly cheery little Christmas ditty). Both are good to hear every Christmas season. Once, twice, three times, tops! After that, I tend to cringe.
Amazingly enough, most pop stars seem to do quite well with Christmas songs. Sort of like they have to live up to Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" (a favourite). Sting's version of "The Angel Gabriel" sends shivers up my spine every time I hear it. The Beach Boys' "Little Saint Nick" pops into mind, as does the Bruce Springsteen version of "Santa Clause is Coming to Town" as lovable Christmas tunes.
Christmas performances by the Trans Siberian Orchestra and Chip Davis are usually in the cards as well. Oh, I'm sorry. Chip Davis is better known as C.W. McCall or Mannheim Steamroller depending on your familiarity with his work.
And as far as I am concerned, Christmas just wouldn't be Christmas without Spike Jones' "All I Want for Christmas..." and "Weird" Al Yankovic's "Christmas at Ground Zero", a favourite of mine, a favourite of my children and hated by the previous regime.
Most of all, I am looking forward to just one Christmas song, sung at Church at midnight on Christmas. "Silent Night". The rest of the noise is just that to me from time to time in this coming month. It's a summation and a blessing rolled into one.
Twenty eight days left...

The problem on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator

The turkey is in the refrigerator thawing, most of the other food is staged and we're less than 48 hours away from the big event.
So what do we eat in the meantime?
I'm serious. We have been so involved with getting ready for the big day that we have almost forgotten that we need to eat other things on the first three days of the week.
Breakfast sort of takes care of itself in this house. The step-son usually doesn't like to eat it unless he's on his way to school, then it's either Pop Tarts or Apple Jacks. He's off this week, so it's neither. He'll munch on some chips, perhaps steal a brownie (we always have brownies) or down a Dr. Pepper, but that's about it until lunch... that is, if he deems it necessary to eat lunch. The lovely Miss Carol and I always do some sort of breakfast-she'll eat something involving oats (Cheerios or Oatmeal), I take after my father and will opt for just about anything including the occasional leftover.
Lunch is catch as catch can. I have it on good authority that Warren regularly eats chicken sandwiches at school. Carol varies, depending on where she is and whether or not she plans ahead. I plan to eat lunch, again with leftovers packed the night before, or with a sandwich. Ham and swiss or peanut butter are the best. One of my co-workers noted that I would eat peanut butter sandwiches and a bag of microwave popcorn on a really regular basis (along with a good sized bottle of iced tea and a brownie) and started to comment on it every time I showed up for lunch with peanut butter and popcorn. I finally started to announce to Bill (that was his name, Bill) that I had peanut butter and popcorn every time I showed up with peanut butter and popcorn. Wonder what his reaction would have been had I showed up eating Nutella or Vegemite?
That leaves dinner.
I usually mix things up for dinners, usually keeping several choices on hand. Beef is seldom. Can't handle it as well as I used to. Pork, chicken, both good. But this week, chicken is being avoided due to the anticipated Turkey. Had chicken stir-fry earlier in the week and I was able to put aside two servings for lunch (having one tomorrow). Last night, I broke down and took people to Arbys as the lovely Miss Carol had said that a Rueben would be good earlier in the week and Warren just devours the things. (Took Warren with us to Chillicothe last Summer and went down to the Cross Keys Tavern for their Rueben... it wasn't until three days later that he finally admitted that it was the best one he's ever had!) Tuesday, huevos rancheros...and that leaves Wednesday. I have no idea what to do for supper on Wednesday except for maybe a frozen pizza.
This is really the worst time of the year for figuring out the dinner menu... just these three days before Thanksgiving. No problem for the week following... just follow that bird!
And the cows heave a sigh of relief.

Be Seeing You!

If I only had the....

I heard this story about Winston Churchill:

At some point between the wars, someone approached Mr. Churchill (this is before he became Lord Churchill) and informed the future Prime Minister that his son had joined the Communist Party.

Churchill told the man that if his son had not joined the Communist Party at that point in his life, he would have no heart. Churchill then pointed out that if his son still belonged to the Communist Party when he had reached the age of 30, he would have no brain.

To a degree, there is a certain shift of attitude all of us have politically as we get older. Certainly we have seen this happen to some degree in the past 30-40 years. It seems as if some of the old "hippies" have sold out and have become part of "the system".

Admittedly, I have shifted some of my own ideas in the past couple of decades. At this point I am puzzled as to how Texas Republicans/conservatives are able to justify their own opposing viewpoints within their political dogma.

For instance, I wonder how conservatives who holler about reducing the size, reach and scope of government (to the point of having a blue stinking fit about such things) can rationalize neighborhood associations. Move into many subdivisions here in the DFW area and one of the first things you are asked to do - nay - required to do is to join the neighborhood association. You pay dues (taxes) for the privelege of having someone troll around to see you if you have broken one of the many rules (laws) imposed by the association. If you are in violation of one of the rules (at times capricious), you can be fined, or even have your house taken away from you. Some poor schmuck in a neighboring community found himself about to kicked out of his neighborhood last Spring for having the gall to park his relatively new Ford F-150 pickemup truck in his driveway! Honest! The neighborhood associations have that much power. All it boils down to is another level of government, more taxes and less freedom. The Republican (conservative) legislature and the Republican Governor have had ample opportunity to shut this practice down, but instead, whine about Washington and make noises about seceding from the Union.

While the secession talk was being bantered about this round, our Governor was soundly rejecting funds allocated this past Summer for jobs creation. Then, while no one was looking, he applied for a Grant to help build the burned out Governor's Mansion.

I can point to any number of policies which cause me to puzzle my puzzler, including support of Capital Punishment while guarding the sanctity of life by attempting to ban abortion, which would in turn drive that barbaric practice underground causing further problems which would require more policing. Want an example of what happens when a nasty activity goes underground? Try the Volstead Act, or look at what's happening just south of our border in Mexico. (Not to suggest that an abortion ban would cause machine gun fights, but the criminal element would become involved none the less.)

Which brings me to health care. Common sense tells me that if a wage earner is healthy, that wage earner will be happy and productive and would be putting tax money in the public pot to pay for things like schools, libraries and wars. Were I an employer, a conservative employer, I would want the people working for me to be happy and productive. To be happy and productive, I would insist on preventative care for my drones. I would know that if my drones work until they are no longer able to do so due to an urgent health situation which could have been prevented in the first place, it would cost me much more in lost productivity - and the drones would not be putting as much tax money into the public pot to pay for things like schools, libraries and wars.

Mind you, we are already paying through the nose for health care in the form of increasing fees and insurance premiums for those of us who are fortunate enough to have insurance. The increasing fees and insurance premiums are partly because the aforementioned drones descend on our hospital emergency rooms needing immediate care for ailments which could have been treated for much less $$$ had they had access to preventative care in the first place. We could be saving billions without Doctors losing their lifestyles if only there were affordable preventable health care available to everyone. Call it Communism, call it Socialism, call it whatever you like, but all in all, a true Capitalist would see a health care overhaul (including a public option) as a boon to his business and to this country.

At least that's the way I see it. A bit simplistic, perhaps, but it would make sense. And that's what being a conservative is about. Making sense. At least that's the way I think being a conservative is about. Maybe, instead, I should label myself as having become pragmatic at this stage in my life. Yeah. That's the ticket! Pragmatic. Not so much of a political view as it is an outlook on life. I have the brains to know that a little invested now will pay dividends down the road, and the heart to be able to know that this expense will show that we have the capacity to demonstrate a vast amount of compassion to drones looking for a better life.

Well, time to get off of my soap box. Guess I'm going to be branded a lllllliiiiibbbberrrrallll by some. So be it. At least I know that I still have both the brain.... and the heart. (Already have the nerve!)

Be Seeing You!

Red Heads

There are times when I don't like to open my newspaper because someone, somewhere has done something stupid. (I was going to add "...that makes no sense", but if it made sense it wouldn't be stupid, now would it?) This morning I read about a kid being assulted at school for the crime of being a red-head. To be precise, he was what has been called a "Ginger", with the provocation being some on-line dweeb who decided that there should be a "Kick a Ginger" day.
Speculation centered around an episode of "South Park" where Cartman gives a hate speech about "Gingers", then finds himself turned into a "Ginger" by the other boys in an effort to teach him a lesson.
"South Park" can be, and many times is an effective satire on the way we think and act. Cartman's hate speech and the ensuing story are uproariously funny in much the same way that the Mel Brooks film "Blazing Saddles" is uproariously funny. Both skewer racism in the way that racism needs to be skewered. Racism is downright stupid and racists generally need to be knocked down a peg or three. Or five or six.
This "Gingers" thing is mostly British, anyway. Apparently it's been done as a way to be critical of the Royal Family, with any unfortunate soul with red hair and light complexion ending up as a secondary victim. I've known a few red-heads in my time and honestly, I fail to see what the fuss is about.
My first kiss was courtesy of a red-headed girl named Dorian Griswold. I've dated a few red-heads in my time and as I am writing this, my favourite red-head, the lovely Miss Carol, is puttering about in the back yard gathering pecans from our pecan tree. This morning, I gave a farewell to our red-headed Deacon, Janice Auch, and told her about a red-headed co-worker and friend who had just completed a "Walk to Emmaus" (Yes, that's you, Suzanne). One girl I dated in college was not only a red-head, but so was her father.
The red-heads in my life are not limited to those of the fairer gender. My favourite red-head, aside from my spouse, is my son, Stuart. When his hair gets to be the right length, Stuart is as red-headed as they come, without having the light complexion of a "Ginger". In "South Park" terms, that makes him a "Daywalker".
Bets that there are more than a few red-heads in your lives, too. They may not be carrot tops, but they are red-heads none the less. Truth be known, I'm a red-head. Yes, it appears black, but, it's really an extremely dark red. Honest.
So you see, I sort of take the persecution of my fellow red-heads rather seriously. We're a unique breed and I'm one of them... with the exception of that little shock of gray sneaking up on my temple!

Be Seeing You!

Hokey Smoke!

Well, it's official. Rocket J. Squirrel and Bullwinkle J. Moose are now eligible to join AARP.

The puntastic pair turned 50 last week. On the same day, Ford announced the end of the Edsel.

Sort of makes one think a bit.

I'm a fan.

Yes, of both. This time I'm going to concentrate on Moose and Squirrel.

My appreciation of Rocky and Bullwinkle goes far beyond just their serialized capers and the filler cartoons like the Fractured Fairy Tales and Aesop and Son. My appreciation extends to some of cartoonist Jay Ward's other creations, chief among them George of the Jungle.
Too, there was/is Cap'n Crunch. Jay Ward coming up with the character, Dawes Butler with the voice.
Jay Ward's minimalist cartoons worked on several levels as many good productions, live and otherwise, should. It was all in the puns and the wordplay. To this day, if I were to sit down in front of any random episode of the Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle, I'd find myself tickled by some element which I had not seen or noticed previously.
What's even better was that two of Ward's creations were converted into live action movies. Pretty darn good live action movies at that.
Brendon Frazier's portrayal of George of the Jungle was almost perfect. He was just as clueless in live action as he was as a cartoon.
Then came the Rocky and Bullwinkle movie. I was not disappointed. Between the cameos (John Goodman, Whoopie Goldberg and Jonathan Winters just to start with) the mixture of live action and cartoon, over the top villains including Renee Russo and Robert DeNiro, and a sympathetic Karen Sympathy (played by Ohio University alumnus Piper Perabo), it was hard to stop laughing. I still pull out the DVD and play it as a guilty pleasure.
My crazy old red head knows and appreciates it... good thing 'cause she lives with me.
At any rate, 50 seems to be a good age for timeless characters like Moose and Squirrel.
Perhaps I should consider taking some continuing education at Whatzzamatta U.

Be Seeing You!

Sinister Plots

Tomorrow marks the 46th anniversary of JFK's assasination on the streets of Dallas. It was all a sinister plot, you know... and on any given day, one can go to Dealy Plaza and, for a small contribution, be regaled by any number of conspiracy theorists presenting any number of conspiracy theories about what happened on that fateful day. Bring money.
One can visit the Sixth Floor Museum in the old Texas Schoolbox Depository building, take a tour, see the sniper's perch and be regaled with multimedia presentations lamenting the loss of so young a leader.
Or, one can go to another building which houses the Conspiracy Museum, where one can get one's own little tin-foil hat and be as paranoid as one wants. For a small donation.
I've thought of coming up with a series of radio vignettes as a run-up to the anniversary of the Kennedy assasination, something like 22 theories in 22 days. All tongue-in-cheek, you know. Problem being that there are too darn many people with too darn many conspiracy theories who take themselves too darn seriously to see the humor in there being too many people with too many conspiracy theories.
It was bad enough before, but these days, the internet is proving to be an extremely fertile petrie dish for growing conspiracy theories almost as fast as they can be developed... hopping from computer to computer just like the Swine Flu.
Wait a minute, isn't the Swine Flu a conspiracy?
What about our inability to fight the Swine Flu because of a "shortage" of vaccine?
Just this morning, I recieved (for the second time) a reminder that the criminal element were all supporters of Obama. After all, as proof, here's a gallery of criminals wearing Obama gear as their mug shots were taken. Never mind the fact that the usual height indicators were missing from the photos, they were wearing Obama gear!
There was a conspiracy to put Obama in the White House.
There was a conspiracy to make Sarah Palin look like a fool (hatched by none other than David Letterman, no less).
There was a conspiracy to spirit John McCain to North Vietnam just so that he could be a prisoner and run as a Manchurian Candidate in the '08 election (all part of the larger Obama plot, you know!).
Oh, how those sinister plots keep going on and on and on...
The best take on all of the conspiracies has been unfolding in the syndicated cartoon "Non Sequiter" in the past couple of days. Seems that the geeks have put the internet to some sinister use to enslave us and rule the world! Jolly good fun and worth following just for the laugh.
Or even better, there were the antics of Pinky and The Brain which included robots, giant clothes dryers, electric football games, Chia Earth, free T-shirts, a power-mad hamster named Snowball and an abandoned theme park in the middle of the jungle. It made just as much sense as the garbage being shoveled on us since November of 1963.
"It's time to go back to the lab to prepare for tomorrow night!"
"Why? What are we doing tomorrow night?"
"The same thing we do every night, Pinky... try and take over the world!!"

Be Seeing You!

Blonder than Blonde

The other day I encountered a Blonde Blonde on the sales floor. I mean, seriously. The woman was so Blonde, it hurt.
The bad thing about stereotypes is that when one actually meets with a stereotypical person it really can become painful. We all make fun of the stereotypicals of one form or another, no matter who we are. One of my most memorable evenings ever started out when a good African-American friend of mine asked me "Why do white people smell so funny?", resulting in an evening of ripping each other's racial stereotypes. The only thing that would have made the evening better would have been to have been drinking at the same time.
So, anyway, this Blonde woman comes walking onto my sales floor and all of a sudden I'm finding it hard to keep a straight face... just having the Blonde jokes flashing through my mind. Shame on me!
I had come to the conclusion some time ago that we all have our Blonde moments.
Something else I've noticed is that more often than not, it's us men who have more Blonde moments than the stereotypical empty-headed female Blonde. One would think that working in the proverbial hardware store on steroids that just the opposite would be the case. Think again. I have spent hours instructing grown men how to calculate area in a room, how to actually swing a hammer or how 1+3 actually equal 4.
I'm starting to think that some men are Blonder than Blonde.
Hate to admit it, but I have those moments, too. The difference with me is that I have those moments (mostly) at home and have the good sense (most of the time) to know when I'm having one of my Blonde moments... like the other day when dinner was held up for half an hour while I was searching for the griddle control which I had hidden right in front of me. Thank goodness for the resident red-head who keeps me in line!
Come to think of it, two of the smartest women I've known are Blondes; One when last seen was attending Harvard, the other is, as I understand it, a University Professor. So much for the stereotype.
Encounters with stereotypical people can be taxing, especially when we let it be so. I'm usually mindful of my own faults and try not to let someone else's confirmation of some joke bother me.
Oh, and the answer is - "It's so the blind can hate us, too!"

Be Seeing You!

Multiple Me

As I was getting ready to write my blog entry last night, I noted that I have a new follower.
Me.
Well, someone with the same name as me. I know, I've Googled myself. I'm everywhere, so it seems.
The first time I Googled myself, I found that I was a murder victim in Colorado and that a reward was being offered for information which would lead to my killer. Hope he's been found. Hate to think that I've gone unavenged.
I've found that I sell real estate in Austin, Texas. Maybe I can get me a good deal on a house.
I've also been contacted by someone from North Carolina asking if I had once lived in North Carolina. I've known people from and have a niece in that state, but, sorry, never lived there.
I got an e-mail from me at work. Called me and found out that I was a native Texan living and working just outside of Columbus, Ohio. We had a good laugh and pondered about perhaps swapping places.
A couple of years ago, a co-worker asked how I spelled my name, then, surprised me with a campaign yard sign for my run to gain a seat on City Council in Seattle. I didn't vote for me nor did I give any money to my campaign, but I won, none the less. I was quite pleased and I hope that I run for re-election. Could mayor or governor be far behind?
This morning I recieved one of those incessant e-mails from another co-worker (and friend) of mine indicating that someone named Nidal Hasan was part of the transition team ushering in the Obama Presidency. One... two... three... OMG!!! Isn't Nidal Hasan that crazy guy who shot and killed all those brave, unarmed soldiers the other week at Fort Hood??? OMG!!! That means that the President pulled the trigger and shot 'em himself!!! It's a plot, I tell ya!
Yeah. Right.
I essentially told my correspondent that he should take off that tin-foil hat and quit listening to people who are a few french fries short of a Happy Meal.
I also suggested a new rumor to the effect that Hasan was in charge of spurious birth certificates for the then incoming administration. Now, I'm wondering how soon that rumor is going to hit the fan.
I pity any poor schmuck named Nidal Hasan at this point in time. Must be as hard, or even harder than living on Hitler Road in southern Pickaway County, Ohio. Or even being me, wherever they are in the United States or abroad.
By the way, I mentioned my new follower to the lovely Miss Carol after posting last night's blog. Seems she is that follower and had mistakenly put my name in the wrong space.

Be Seeing You!

I'm happy where I am, thank-you!

Well, I had the weekend off and with the weekend off, I was able to go to church. In my case, church is St. Peter's Episcopal in McKinney. I am one of those creatures known as a "Cradle Episcopalian", having been baptised when I was extremely young at St. Paul's in Richmond, Virginia. For those of you (or us) in the South, St. Paul's is the church in which Bobby Lee and Jeff Davis recieved word that the Yankees had broken through the lines in Petersburg.
Alas, I have started to stray a bit. Let me re-set.
I had the weekend off and I was able to go to church at St. Peter's. I was actually expected because I had the job of reading the lessons at the 8am service. Went wonderfully. Did the service, and as I was walking out of the church proper into the parish hall, I was approached by one of the other parishoners who made wonderful noises about how well I did and how I should be on the radio.
I've gotten that line for 40 years, now. I had been on the radio for 20 of those years and I'm pleased that I am off, now, thank-you very much.
Now, I didn't open my mouth, nor did I complain at all about the innocent comment. I rather thanked the person for the comment, mentioned that I had been on the radio and left it at that. At least, that is, until now.
I have been gifted in that I have a wonderful speaking voice. It was my dad's voice, it is my brother Kevin's voice and it's sounding more and more like it will be my son, Stuart's voice as well. What's more, I have learned how to project my voice so that it can be heard in various and sundry places. I've used my talent to great effect both at St. Peter's and at the other St. Paul's Episcopal church in Chillicothe, Ohio.
After being told by Mrs. Colonel Fair, my ninth grade English teacher, that she expected to retire and listen to me on the radio, I have been getting the same compliments, even taking the same compliments to heart and finding myself on the radio. As an aside, Mrs. Colonel Fair retired as a teacher in the same year as I started a job on the radio.
But boy, I was hot stuff in those days. A legend in my own mind, so to speak. I was going to be unique, different and was going to do things on the air which had never been done before. I adopted the personna of Uncle Bruco - part in homage to "Cousin" Bruce Morrow, and borrowing a name given to me in one of my High School yearbooks. And between running incessant sports broadcasts and sitting on my tail listening to every preacher and his brother telling me what a fool sinner I was, I did manage to do some of my own thing and get a little bit of notice here and there.
Might do a book on it some day, may not. Too much to post at one time on a single internet blog post.
Suffice to say over a 25 year period (including interruptions to explore other possibilities), I came to the conclusion that radio was getting me nowhere. I got sort of tired of being paid minimum wage and all the records I could eat. Seriously. And the medium was changing. My boss at the time gave me a way out and I somewhat reluctantly took it... although it took me a good year to figure out that I had been the recipient of some pretty good fortune. I found that I indeed have a niche which didn't involve having to keep up with the latest hits and that that niche actually lets me make some real money for a change. I am happy and contented where I am and aside from being a lay reader at church (and maybe doing some voice-over work for small change), I am quite happy where I am, thank-you very much.
On the other hand, should the opportunity arise, next time it will be Uncle Radio's Bruco Show, keeping the world safe for democracy...

Better quit while I'm ahead.

Be Seeing You!

Caught Phrases

I've been rattling catch phrases around in my head for the past couple of days. Perhaps it has to do with Oprah's guest on her show this coming monday (S. Palin, AKA Caribou Barbie), or the fact that American Movie Classics will be presenting a revised version of "The Prisoner" on Sunday night. The Prisoner marked the departure of characters with the enigmatic phrase "Be seeing you!", which I have adopted after a fashion as my identification moniker whenever I'm Geocaching. Too, I have used the catch phrase made popular by the former Governor of Alaska - but way before that person was even in High School.
Way back in '71 (using the Grizzled Old Prospector voice), I landed a part time job running cameras for the local cable TV channel. For some reason I got into the habit of replying "You Betcha!" every time the supervisor asked me to do something. Didn't take long for the phrase to wear itself thin with the man and being a High School kid at the time it became a bit of a game. So when the phrase came up during last year's Presidential campaign, I was highly amused.
I was just as amused by John McCain's use of the term "My Friend".
Fast forward from High School to the winter of 1978/79. I'm working at a radio station in Parkersburg, West Virginia and the consultant/program manager constantly talked down to most of the rest of us by using the term "My Friend". We were real quick to realize that when that particular dip used that phrase, we were about to get short-changed in one way or another. Almost guaranteed. Over the years I had come to the conclusion that any time anyone used that phrase, they were assuredly not my friend, nor were they likely to be.
What was worse was that "consultant's" stooge's patronizing use of the phrase "Big Boy". I loathed the phrase and I wasn't alone. One of my fellow inmates rigged up a comic book from one of the "Big Boy" restraunts to read "The Adventures of W***'s Big Boy" and posted it for everyone to see. I don't believe he ever caught on.
Then there was the phrase picked up by one of the guys I knew while I was attending Ohio University. He and several other of his colleagues had found part-time radio employment at a radio station in the Ohio River town of Pomeroy. They noted that the locals in Pomeroy would add the phrase "There, beddy" at the end of just about every sentenced they spoke.
"How's the weather, there, beddy!"
"Going across the street, there, beddy?"
"I just murdered my children, there, beddy!" And so on.
Anyhoo, this person had a bit of a creative streak in him and used some free time and the facilities of the Ohio University radio stations to create a "Jingle Package" called, appropriately enough, "There Beddy!", crediting his creation to "Pay Less Productions of Fort Worth". The package was a great send-up of jingles, of some Southern Ohioans, of Country music and of the radio station which employed some of the people involved in making the package. I still have a copy of the package on a cassette tape somewhere, and every once in a great while, I will hear the lyrics:
"Who is the friend of the pig-******* man? W***, There Beddy!"
And then, there was the ultimate melange of catch phrases which occured together when a friend and I who had been both at Ohio University at the time the jingle package was created and at that radio station in Parkersburg (borrowing a couple of other catch phrases on the way) to create the sentence:
"As I say, there big boy, this overhead's about to eat me a new a******, there, beddy!"
Funny? You betcha!

Be Seeing You!

With Thanks - Just a couple of weeks early.

Thanksgiving came just a couple of weeks early this year to the Harrell household. As I was wading through the junk mail box (22 new items since last night... sheesh!), Carol called and relayed the information that the needle biopsy she had on Tuesday had come back benign. Good news. Very good. That's just one less side to worry about when she goes into consultation with her Oncologist here in the next couple of days.
Good news, indeed, and news to be thankful for.
To be certain she is still a bit sore and bruised from the experience (from being prodded on both sides), but we are optimistic about the preliminary diagnosis on the cancer in her right breast. It has probably been caught in time for treatment to be effective.
Some years ago I had been persuaded to join a group of Episcopalians in a weekend retreat called Cursillo. Nearly died on the way there because the driver of the automobile got fed up with my constant nervous opening and closing of my window and was willing to kill me. On the other hand, Cursillo was a Godsend. It helped me quit smoking once and for all and it gave me a way to be able to cope with some of the major and minor crisies I encountered in the years since.
Since meeting Carol, I had been nudging her in the same direction, partly in order to gain a new prayer partner, and partly to help her cope with the crisies which will inevitably befall her. We finally got her schedule cleared and sent her to Cursillo just this past September.
Now Cursillo is a Godsend to Carol.
She has lots of people praying for her who have known her for a very short time, in addition to the people she has known already. Just as importantly, she had become aware of the importance of taking care of her own health which led to the mammogram, which led to the couple of biopsys (biopsies?) which are leading to treatment and wellness.
This is not to suggest to my friends of other faiths that Episcopal Cursillo is the only road to salvation and wellness. In our case, we have seen some definite benefits from belonging. Works for us. The one thing I will suggest, at least to my female friends, is that the occasional mammogram shouldn't hurt... at the very least it can help alert you to a potential problem well before it can become a bigger problem. As much as us men find ourselves attracted to a woman based on her bra size, none of us who really care about the women we live with really give the rat's patoot to that particular set of attributes. I love Carol as she is and will continue to love her no matter what happens in regards to her left breast. She knows this, even as she worries about the possibility of "being mutilated".
At this point, Carol and I are both thankful for the skills of the diagnosticians in helping to avoid what could have been a major catastrophe.
Thanksgiving has come a couple of weeks early this year.
For Christmas... would it be too much to ask for a "D" cup? ;-)

Be Seeing You!

Yesterday afternoon whilst I was tangling with the overgrown kitty cat, the lovely Miss Carol had tangled with the existing health care system.
Seemingly we have come to the point where if we are going in to have a procedure, we have to pay the deductable prior to having the procedure done. Not after, before.
It begs the question - if one does not have the money to pay up front, what happens? In the case of my wife's breast cancer, do we just sit and wait and let it become more of a problem until we can scare up the money, or do we treat now and make payments later?
Yes, we understand what needs to be done to comply with the requirements of our insurance provider. At the same time we need to know what's coming so that we can make plans. Until about 1:00 yesterday afternoon, payment was customarily made after a procedure and after the insurance company responded with their payment.
Looks as if we may have to subsist on beans for the next week and a half. Best not to stand too close...

Be Seeing You!

More than bargained for this afternoon.

One of my favorite pastimes has been going out on my days off to take a hike somewhere. Somewhere is usually the Trinity Trail about 5 miles to the east on the shores of Lake Lavon. Haven't had the opportunity lately for a couple of reasons, mostly because of the seemingly incessant rain we had here in September and October.
Anyhoo, the rains had stopped, the weather has been absolutely gorgeous, I had the day to myself and there were some geocaches on the Trinity Trail which I needed to investigate. So I loaded up the GPSr, threw on some old shoes and my walking stick and headed east. Couldn't have asked for a better day. The dog had been emptied and was back to his pastime of sleeping, the cat was pouting and I hadn't a care in the world.
At least that's what I thought.
After getting myself there and on the trail, I immediately noted that the trail had not had as much time to dry as it needed. No problem. Sidestepped the goop I encountered keeping my shoes and my feet relatively dry. Take the time. No problem. There were animal tracks visible on parts of the trail belonging to the occasional raccoon (drat their times, anyway) and a few others I could not immediately recognize. The trail was blocked by the occasional spider who had managed to spin its web across the trail. Took the time to bypass the spider webs. Had no luck in finding the first couple of caches and finally decided that I would try to catch them on the return trip. Did a small string of caches on the way to what was promised to be one huge Sycamore tree out in the virtual middle of nowhere. Got to the tree skirting a small lake which had appeared on about 300 feet of the trail, completed the Sycamore Loop and was on my way back to try and pick up the other two caches which I had previously missed.
I was about .22 miles from the first of the missed caches when I noted something on the trail about 20 yards ahead. IT WAS A FREAKIN' MOUNTAIN LION!!! Seriously. It bounded on, then off the trail at a pretty good clip, appearing for no more than, say 2 seconds before disappearing.
Drop the idea of looking for the caches I had missed. Drop the idea of preserving some spiders' dinner. Drop the idea of having clean shoes, I was out of there. Pronto. A little over 2 miles from the trail head done in about 20 minutes. I wasted no time getting out of Dodge.
The lovely Miss Carol and I spotted a Bobcat in front of the Allen Senior Center this past spring while we were on the way home from Church - And I later spotted the same Bobcat in the same vicinity back in August. Out in broad daylight watching traffic in Station Park. I've spotted Coyotes, Road-Runners (no crates containing Acme products, though), Armadillos, Skunks, Raccoons, Opossums (Stuart, never having seen one before let out a loud "What is THAT?" the first time he saw one), rabbits and squirrels in Allen city limits and there were rumours of a Mountain Lion here some months ago (prompting my own Top 10 List), but until today, I haven't seen a Mountain Lion in the flesh and in the wild.
I'll keep the idiot cat. I'll tolerate the stupid dog (who I call to walk using the McKenzie Brothers theme - Great White North). But from this point forward, I'm going to be very wary of hiking in Collin County knowing that there's at least one Mountain Lion out there.
Sure. Tell me that he's only after the small stuff. And you have some oceanfront land in Arizona you want to sell me, too.

Be Seeing You!

Chapter the First: Why am I doing this?

This is one screwy internet.
One minute, you're reading an "R" rated joke from some guy you used to work with, the next, you're reading inspirational material from someone who lives a couple of towns over who you've not seen for 30 years.
My e-mail list includes my mother, my siblings, my wife, my ex, my children, a couple of co-workers, my lawyer, my son's teachers... could be here for most of the night just naming them all and trying to make sense out of the friends I have just on e-mail.
Then there's Facebook.
Just in the last month I have renewed acquaintances with people I worked with on Yearbook staff, most of my nieces and nephews, my Aunt Sara's grandchildren, and that list goes on and on and on.
Each and every person I deal with have been a part of my life in one way or another. Like George Bailey in "It's a Wonderful Life", I'm rich with friends and acquaintances. It works and so far, life has seemed to work out pretty darn well, thank-you very much.
So, why take the time and the effort to learn a new art form - infecting the internet with my rants and raves? Why not? I've been a frustrated writer for a number of years, I may as well take advantage of this opportunity and bore a number of people all at once instead of doing it one person at a time on the aforementioned e-mail and Facebook.
I may share some of what I see elsewhere or may suggest another person's point of view worth taking the time to look into. Just this past week, I suggested to a niece that she might be interested in a microfarm being run by a brother-in-law I have yet to meet in person. I'm also rolling around the idea as to how to run an on-line reunion of those folks who were part of my High School Yearbook.
Anyhoo, this is just the first stab at this blogging thing. Hope you stick around!

Be Seeing You!