New Post on SAPS!
URSULINE CONVENT
New Orleans
Vampires in the Attic?
3/28/10
Stress Relief
1. Picture yourself lying on your belly on a warm rock that hangs out over a crystal clear stream.
2. Picture yourself with both your hands dangling in the cool running water.
3. Birds are sweetly singing in the cool mountain air.
4. No one knows your secret place.
5. You are in total seclusion from that hectic place called the world.
6. The soothing sound of a gentle water fall fills the air with a cascade of serenity.
7. The water is so crystal clear that you can easily make out the face of Nancy Pelosi, the person you are holding underwater.
There!! See? It really does work
2. Picture yourself with both your hands dangling in the cool running water.
3. Birds are sweetly singing in the cool mountain air.
4. No one knows your secret place.
5. You are in total seclusion from that hectic place called the world.
6. The soothing sound of a gentle water fall fills the air with a cascade of serenity.
7. The water is so crystal clear that you can easily make out the face of Nancy Pelosi, the person you are holding underwater.
There!! See? It really does work
The Great Tomato Growing Contest of 2010
It's that time of the year again! Time for the great tomato growing challenge. For a lot of years my brother-in-law and I have competed growing tomatoes. It is sort of a loosely ruled competition for who gets the FIRST RIPE TOMATO from our plants. Not the first on the plant, but the first RIPE one. We used to have a twenty dollar bet but have sort of let that slide. Actually what happen was I lost last year due to my limited space (patio), limited sun (only morning) and I refused to pay him when he won since he had an outdoor REAL garden. It seems to me that I should have some sort of allowance for the handicaps that patio growing has in comparison to outdoor country growing like he has. This competition allows us to show what pros we are by doing things like rushing to Lowe's and getting a plant already sporting a tomato. There is a lot the novice grower can learn from us pros. This years competition is open to any of our children who would like to accept the challenge from both of us professional tomato growers. It think that it is time to pass down the skills of planting, soil preparation, fertilizing, prune or not pruning, and how to attach a store bought tomato to the vine with tape, toothpick, plastic string etc long enough to get a photo to show the other competitors. To enter this competition one must be able to lie, cheat, fake it, bluff, and do all of the fore mentioned with a straight face. But I figure none of those sissies or their pansy husbands or boyfriends will be up to the challenge. They will all have some flimsy excuse like work, a baby, or something cause they are all city slickers who just ain't up to the challenge. After all it takes a real farmer to handle this. So it is on, Rich. Let the lying, cheating, bullshit talking (and a little growing) begin!!!!
Saturday Night in the Complex
AH!! The joys of apartment living. It is four-thirty am and the cops have been called and now everybody is wide awake and a bit pissy about being up this early. Earlier in the evening there was the usual comings and goings, extra traffic, loud talk and slammed doors that reflect Saturday night in the complex. We have 12 families in this building and there are 27 building so there are a lot of people close together. As expected there is a difference in living in a complex and a private dwelling. One difference is the number of times the cops get called. One night there was the third floor group who insisted on playing their boom-boom music at top volume. That would not have been too bad but they opened the patio door so ALL the rest of us could savor the sound too. Somebody call the cops. He told them to shut it down and waited in his car to see if she did. Nope! Back up the stairs he went and that time he had a real attitude. Quiet!!! Then there was the teen who sat in his truck which features straight pipes and listen to HIS boom-boom music. Again not a problem except his truck sounded like a skidder pulling a log out of the woods. He would start it and stop it; all at four am. Again someone called the cops. Then tonight we had the saga of the prom queen. She had on a prom dress and the boy a tux. They walked around and around the area while she cried and made a high pitched whiny sound that only dolphin 20 miles out in the Gulf could hear and evidently all the dogs in the complex heard her too cause they all barked. She told the boy she wanted to leave and would hit his keys and his truck horn would beep; he said no and hit it again which brought a second beep. So it was sort of EEEEEEK! BOO! HOO! BEEP! BEEP! for about two hours outside the bedroom window, until the cops came to this one too. It was a big female cop and she was not happy! Again quiet! The strangest thing of all is that I DIDN'T call the cops. Someone else did it. I have spent a lot of years in apartments and have about seen it all. Thirty years ago when I lived at Brittany Apartments every Saturday night was party time. Cops knew the residents by name. Brittany was an upscale apartment then but come Saturday night and we had fist fights, screaming break-ups (straight and gay), skinny dipping in the pool, squealing tires, broken beer bottles and loud, loud Led Zeppelin. If the cops came there was a reason. All in all I think the new apartment dwellers have lost the ability to really party down. Back then we lived up to the phase, "It ain't a party till the cops break it up!"
3/26/10
Zu the Vampire - Excerpt (No. 2) From Storms
Zu Poydou walked to the mirror over the fireplace and stared at his reflection. He saw a thin dirty face, with high strong cheekbones and full curved lips. His eyes were green and intense with dark bruised looking shadows beneath them. Zu’s hair was dark and long and hung in thick tangles past his shoulders. Monster. That was what his grandfather had called him. Monster. What kind of monster? He stared at himself trying to see the monster that must be there. He reached up and pushed his hair back and then looked at his hands. They were thin with big knuckles and long fingers. His nails were dirty. He should bath, but he didn’t seem to have the energy. And no one cared if he was clean or not. He wondered if Norton would return. He hoped so. He waited for him. He wanted to kill the man when he did return. He felt the tingle in his mouth at the thought of the murder that he longed for and he pulled back his lip and touched the tip of the extended canine tooth with his finger. It was not there all of the time and he wondered why. A monster? He turned from the mirror and walked to the door, stepping over the thick vines that had pushed their way under the door and were now reaching for the interior of the dark house. He stood on the veranda and looked across the swamp. He could leave, but he had never been anywhere but here, he did not know anyone in the world and he had no idea of what to expect if he tried to leave. Was he a monster? Would others see that he was and lock him away again? He did not think he could stand to be beaten again or tormented for reasons he didn’t understand and so he stayed. He turned and walked back inside to the piano that stood dust covered in the center of the room. He sat down and watched a large field rat move inside the opened grand piano; on the wires that connected the keys. He sat very still for a long time, watching the glittering eyes of the rodent as it became bolder and moved nearer to him. He could see the tips of its small yellowed teeth just below the furry jaw and the small whiskers as they twitched near the black nose. The rat watched him and he watched it. Then with a movement so quick that it didn’t allow the rat time to react Zu snatched the rodent up. He sank his fangs into the rat and sucked the blood, swallowing it in big greedy gulps until the creature was sunken and dry. He dropped the body of the rat on the floor, wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, closed his haunted eyes and began to play Rachmaninoff’s Concerto No. 1.
3/25/10
Woolmarket
Woolmarket was the first school that I ever taught. I had a first grade class in 1969. My first principal was Mr. B Hill. Those students would be in their early forties today.
Why I Voted Democrat
I voted Democrat because I love the fact that I can now marry whatever I want. I've decided to marry my horse.
I voted Democrat because I believe oil companies' profits of 4% on a gallon of gas are obscene but the government taxing the same gallon of gas at 15% isn't.
I voted Democrat because I believe the government will do a better job of spending the money I earn than I would.
I voted Democrat because freedom of speech is fine as long as nobody is offended by it.
I voted Democrat because when we pull out of Iraq I trust that the bad guys will stop what they're doing because they now think we're good people.
I voted Democrat because I'm way too irresponsible to own a gun, and I know that my local police are all I need to protect me from murderers and thieves.
I voted Democrat because I believe that people who can't tell us if it will rain on Friday can tell us that the polar ice caps will melt away in ten years if I don't start driving a Prius.
I voted Democrat because I'm not concerned about the Slaughter of millions of babies so long as we keep all death row inmates alive.
I voted Democrat because I believe that business should not be allowed to make profits for themselves. They need to break even and give the rest away to the government for redistribution as THEY see fit.
I voted Democrat because I believe liberal judges need to rewrite the Constitution every few days to suit some fringe kooks who would never get their agendas past the voters.
I voted Democrat because my head is so firmly planted up my ass that it is unlikely that I'll ever have another clear point of view.
I voted Democrat because I believe oil companies' profits of 4% on a gallon of gas are obscene but the government taxing the same gallon of gas at 15% isn't.
I voted Democrat because I believe the government will do a better job of spending the money I earn than I would.
I voted Democrat because freedom of speech is fine as long as nobody is offended by it.
I voted Democrat because when we pull out of Iraq I trust that the bad guys will stop what they're doing because they now think we're good people.
I voted Democrat because I'm way too irresponsible to own a gun, and I know that my local police are all I need to protect me from murderers and thieves.
I voted Democrat because I believe that people who can't tell us if it will rain on Friday can tell us that the polar ice caps will melt away in ten years if I don't start driving a Prius.
I voted Democrat because I'm not concerned about the Slaughter of millions of babies so long as we keep all death row inmates alive.
I voted Democrat because I believe that business should not be allowed to make profits for themselves. They need to break even and give the rest away to the government for redistribution as THEY see fit.
I voted Democrat because I believe liberal judges need to rewrite the Constitution every few days to suit some fringe kooks who would never get their agendas past the voters.
I voted Democrat because my head is so firmly planted up my ass that it is unlikely that I'll ever have another clear point of view.
3/24/10
The Banister Of Life
As You Slide Down the Banister of Life, Remember
1. Jim Baker and Jimmy Swaggert have written An impressive new book. It's called .......... 'Ministers Do More Than Lay People'
2. Transvestite: A guy who likes to eat, drink And be Mary..
1. Jim Baker and Jimmy Swaggert have written An impressive new book. It's called .......... 'Ministers Do More Than Lay People'
2. Transvestite: A guy who likes to eat, drink And be Mary..
3. The difference between the Pope and Your boss, the Pope only expects you To kiss his ring.
4. My mind works like lightning, One brilliant Flash and it is gone.
5. The only time the world beats a path to Your door is if you're in the bathroom.
6. I hate sex in the movies. Tried it once. The seat folded up, the drink spilled and That ice, well, it really chilled the mood.
7. It used to be only death and taxes Now, of course, there's shipping and handling, too.
8. A husband is someone who, after taking the trash out, gives the impression that he just cleaned the whole house. 
9. My next house will have no kitchen - just Vending machines and a large trash can.
10. A blond said, 'I was worried that my Mechanic might try to rip me off. I was relieved when he told me all I needed was turn signal fluid.'
11. Definition of a teenager? God's punishment...for enjoying sex. 
12. As you slide down the banister of life, may The splinters never point the wrong way...
Be who you are and say what you feel...
because those that matter..don't mind... and those that mind... don't matter!3/21/10
Cover
This is one idea for the
cover of the new book.
Of course the title has
not been decided upon as yet.
3/20/10
Good Old Wally World!
WASHINGTON TOWNSHIP, N.J. (AP) -- A Walmart store announcement ordering black people to leave brought chagrin and apologies Wednesday from leaders of the company, which has built a fragile trust among minority communities.
A male voice came over the public-address system Sunday evening at a store in Washington Township, in southern New Jersey, and calmly announced: "Attention, Walmart customers: All black people, leave the store now."
Shoppers in the store at the time said a manager quickly got on the public-address system and apologized for the remark. And while it was unclear whether a rogue patron or an employee was responsible for the comment, many customers expressed their anger to store management.
Well, really I don't see why everyone got their panties in a wad about the above news article and the events a Wally world. It's not just black folks who think that the stores and clerks and managers are all asses. Have you ever tried to return any thing to the store, especially if it is a so called seasonal item? I once tried to return a six dollar set of landscaping lights in December and was told that they were a holiday item. What? A person can't use landscaping lights all year? I created a small scene, by backing up the line, yelling for a manager and insisting that they take the sign down that said, "Customer Satisfaction Guaranteed." I was not a damn bit satisfied! And BEFORE I left they knew it. I did get my dollars back after a zoned out check out girl said, "If we refund your money, Walmart loses money." I could feel the veins standing out in my head. I responded with something like, "I give a flying fuck about Walmart making money?!" That's when I got my refund.
That someone got hold of their speaker is not surprising to me. The stores need to get their act together on a whole lot of fronts.
A male voice came over the public-address system Sunday evening at a store in Washington Township, in southern New Jersey, and calmly announced: "Attention, Walmart customers: All black people, leave the store now."
Shoppers in the store at the time said a manager quickly got on the public-address system and apologized for the remark. And while it was unclear whether a rogue patron or an employee was responsible for the comment, many customers expressed their anger to store management.
Well, really I don't see why everyone got their panties in a wad about the above news article and the events a Wally world. It's not just black folks who think that the stores and clerks and managers are all asses. Have you ever tried to return any thing to the store, especially if it is a so called seasonal item? I once tried to return a six dollar set of landscaping lights in December and was told that they were a holiday item. What? A person can't use landscaping lights all year? I created a small scene, by backing up the line, yelling for a manager and insisting that they take the sign down that said, "Customer Satisfaction Guaranteed." I was not a damn bit satisfied! And BEFORE I left they knew it. I did get my dollars back after a zoned out check out girl said, "If we refund your money, Walmart loses money." I could feel the veins standing out in my head. I responded with something like, "I give a flying fuck about Walmart making money?!" That's when I got my refund.
That someone got hold of their speaker is not surprising to me. The stores need to get their act together on a whole lot of fronts.
Peachtree Road
Southerners sort of fluff up our winter feathers when springs gets here and we turn our collective faces toward the coming of warm weather. Sure there will be the old Easter Snap and we will have to pull out the hoodies one more time, but summer is coming. This morning I was listening to Elton Johns "Peachtree Road" CD. And if you are like one of my ex friends who once told me that 'I don't listen to him cause he's gay' then you might as well stop reading now. That is one of the stupidest statements I have ever heard. The lyrics of Elton Johns songs are written by Bernie Taupin, one of the best poets around today. Anyway back to the subject at hand. One of the songs on the album is called Porch Swing in Tupelo and it about life in the south. All of the phrases brings to mind a slice of the south especially in the summer. He sings of a porch swing on a hot afternoon, the Natchez Trace and the State of Grace in reference to Graceland. All of those have memories if you are a Southerner. So do 'dinner on the grounds, rolling down the Mississippi headin' back in time', and the saying that my grandmother used to use to express surprise, hush your mouth! If some of that doesn't stir your southern roots then you are not a southerner and it's all over your head anyway. The songs speaks of grease monkeys working under the shade trees. Do you know what that is? And of small towns that close on Sunday cause everyone's in church. That's not the case everywhere and is unique in the south. Oh and the 'change a minute' weather that was fair and sunny fifteen minutes ago and is now windy and cloudy. I like spring and the song stirred up memories of past summers and perhaps a past time. I like 'the old south all around me' and hope that we 'please don't change things too much'.
3/19/10
Listing for Story C
I found this listing for my first Book on several sites. It is still out there at a few bookstores. I remember how excited I was to see it for the first itme.
Legend of Story Cazaunoux: A New Orleans Novel by C. J. Murray
BUY THIS ITEM (Contact Author or store)
Limited Time Offer! Everyone receives the Member Price on books.
BUY THIS ITEM (Contact Author or store)
Limited Time Offer! Everyone receives the Member Price on books.
FIVE OF FIVE STARS
Read customer reviews
Legend of Story Cazaunoux: A New Orleans Novel
Reader Rating: See Below-
Great book about a sexy Voodoo Priest and his vampire lover.
Legend of Story Cazaunoux: A New Orleans Novel
Reader Rating: See Below-
Great book about a sexy Voodoo Priest and his vampire lover.
Very factual in representation of N. O.
Author had in-depth knowledge of voodoo and vampire lore.
3/13/10
Excerpt (No.1) from "STORMS"
A friend of mine ask me to publish an excerpt from the book I'm working on. This is a conversation between the woman who raise him and the main character, Story Cazaunoux who is the Voudou (leader) of a sect of voodooism. He is preparing to face an unknown foe to protect his family. The book is fiction but has historic fact through out. Julia Brown was a real voodoo queen who was believed by many to have caused the 1915 hurricane that destroyed Manchac. She was documented in a New Orleans newspaper at the time. I hope you like it.
“You grow stronger.” Lynn said and watched him raise his eyes from the cup to her face. He smiled and nodded.
“So do you.” He said.
“I fear for you Story and then I realize that there is no need; not from paranormal beings or situations anyway.” She said watching him. “When you grow hard and quiet I know you are building your strength and dominance. It is a physical feat that energizes and changes the space around you. I can feel the shift in the pressure of the air.”
He nodded again. Lynn reached out and took his left hand. She could feet the bones and tendons in it. She turned his hand over and studied the palm wondering why there was no mark or sign of what he could do with these hands. But these were merely the instruments that channeled his supreme strength from the hidden dark center that lay deep inside him near the very core of his being and that manifested into acts which she was at a loss to explain. She wondered as she always had what it must be like to be Story; if he realized fully what he was, what he was capable of doing, how he was so different from other people. She supposed that he did for she had watched him struggle with that difference in his youth; trying to control it, to understand it, to accept it, to manage it, trying to conform to please Will, his adoptive father. But even for Will he could not deny what he was. She touched the band that he still wore on his third finger.
“Where is the other ring, Story?” She asked.
“Tia (Story's daughter) has it. She does finding spell to get.” He answered. “The beka use who I love against me and she helps it. It not easy to be me.” He said, still reading her thought from a few seconds ago. “Never was. It not a thing I can compare to other people. I have no experience with any other way to be. I am only me.” He said with his unusual use and placement of his words.
She knew that it was true and that he had no deep understanding of the so called normal existence. For Story the mystic, paranormal, supernatural with its various creatures, it’s realms of time and space was where he was most comfortable. The so called normal was much more difficult. She knew that his hardest struggles had been with human relationships; with understanding human wants, desires, emotions and cruelty. His inability to recognize the wickedness in humans had lead to most of his pain through the years. But what was he to do about the desire for love and acceptance that had always driven him?
Story watched her face and she knew that he was reading her thoughts as clearly as if she had spoken them.
“Perhaps all want what not need or understand.” He said. “I cannot live with only the creatures of other worlds, Lynn. It not enough.”
“I know.” She said.
He picked one of the blue candles that stood on the table and with his fingernail began to carve symbols into the wax. Her mind went to another time when that hand was badly burned while trying to save Sarah. The infection had very nearly killed him. Story had been sixteen years old at the time. For months he had disappeared, lost and sick roaming the swamps of Larosa until Will, who had never given up on finding the boy had returned home with him. He had found Story in the middle of a hurricane, and she wondered if the hurricanes were all related. There was that hurricane, the Great West India of 1915 that destroyed three Manchac communities and was said to be called up by Julia Brown who was Story's great, great, grandmother and a Voodoo queen. There was Hurricane Katrina which had taken Story's wife Sarah. Did the power of the storms affect the future?
“You will be protected, Story. Either by the god you do not know or the ones you serve. Maybe both.” She said. He finished carving on the candle and placed it back into its holder. Lynn stood up and put her cup into the dishwasher, then walked to where he sat, put her arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. Then she turned and left the room. Story sat in the kitchen and watched as the light outside faded and even then he did not rise to turn on a light. He heard Lynn and Will upstairs and was comforted by their presence. He thought of Sarah and Tia and of their part in what was coming, of Donita Di Di and how the distant past had the ability to reach out with cold fingers and touch the present. He thought of the beka and what effect its evil presence would have on the future. He sensed a more immediate future; dark shapes moving in the middle distance between his chair and the wall at the other side of the room. Story could see them gathering forces and the time between the past and the present giving their dark shapes substance in the physical world, driving events that would surprise everyone but him. Unlike others, most of which believe that the supernatural and reality run on two parallel tracks, Story realized that the illusion of convergence in the distance was no optical illusion after all.
Copyright by CJ Murray 2010 All Rights Reserved
“You grow stronger.” Lynn said and watched him raise his eyes from the cup to her face. He smiled and nodded.
“So do you.” He said.
“I fear for you Story and then I realize that there is no need; not from paranormal beings or situations anyway.” She said watching him. “When you grow hard and quiet I know you are building your strength and dominance. It is a physical feat that energizes and changes the space around you. I can feel the shift in the pressure of the air.”
He nodded again. Lynn reached out and took his left hand. She could feet the bones and tendons in it. She turned his hand over and studied the palm wondering why there was no mark or sign of what he could do with these hands. But these were merely the instruments that channeled his supreme strength from the hidden dark center that lay deep inside him near the very core of his being and that manifested into acts which she was at a loss to explain. She wondered as she always had what it must be like to be Story; if he realized fully what he was, what he was capable of doing, how he was so different from other people. She supposed that he did for she had watched him struggle with that difference in his youth; trying to control it, to understand it, to accept it, to manage it, trying to conform to please Will, his adoptive father. But even for Will he could not deny what he was. She touched the band that he still wore on his third finger.
“Where is the other ring, Story?” She asked.
“Tia (Story's daughter) has it. She does finding spell to get.” He answered. “The beka use who I love against me and she helps it. It not easy to be me.” He said, still reading her thought from a few seconds ago. “Never was. It not a thing I can compare to other people. I have no experience with any other way to be. I am only me.” He said with his unusual use and placement of his words.
She knew that it was true and that he had no deep understanding of the so called normal existence. For Story the mystic, paranormal, supernatural with its various creatures, it’s realms of time and space was where he was most comfortable. The so called normal was much more difficult. She knew that his hardest struggles had been with human relationships; with understanding human wants, desires, emotions and cruelty. His inability to recognize the wickedness in humans had lead to most of his pain through the years. But what was he to do about the desire for love and acceptance that had always driven him?
Story watched her face and she knew that he was reading her thoughts as clearly as if she had spoken them.
“Perhaps all want what not need or understand.” He said. “I cannot live with only the creatures of other worlds, Lynn. It not enough.”
“I know.” She said.
He picked one of the blue candles that stood on the table and with his fingernail began to carve symbols into the wax. Her mind went to another time when that hand was badly burned while trying to save Sarah. The infection had very nearly killed him. Story had been sixteen years old at the time. For months he had disappeared, lost and sick roaming the swamps of Larosa until Will, who had never given up on finding the boy had returned home with him. He had found Story in the middle of a hurricane, and she wondered if the hurricanes were all related. There was that hurricane, the Great West India of 1915 that destroyed three Manchac communities and was said to be called up by Julia Brown who was Story's great, great, grandmother and a Voodoo queen. There was Hurricane Katrina which had taken Story's wife Sarah. Did the power of the storms affect the future?
“You will be protected, Story. Either by the god you do not know or the ones you serve. Maybe both.” She said. He finished carving on the candle and placed it back into its holder. Lynn stood up and put her cup into the dishwasher, then walked to where he sat, put her arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. Then she turned and left the room. Story sat in the kitchen and watched as the light outside faded and even then he did not rise to turn on a light. He heard Lynn and Will upstairs and was comforted by their presence. He thought of Sarah and Tia and of their part in what was coming, of Donita Di Di and how the distant past had the ability to reach out with cold fingers and touch the present. He thought of the beka and what effect its evil presence would have on the future. He sensed a more immediate future; dark shapes moving in the middle distance between his chair and the wall at the other side of the room. Story could see them gathering forces and the time between the past and the present giving their dark shapes substance in the physical world, driving events that would surprise everyone but him. Unlike others, most of which believe that the supernatural and reality run on two parallel tracks, Story realized that the illusion of convergence in the distance was no optical illusion after all.
Copyright by CJ Murray 2010 All Rights Reserved
Happy Birthday, Richard or Damn We Gettin Old!
Today is my brother-in-laws birthday and he is standing in the shadow of his 60's. Actually he is so far up against 60 that you can't sick a greased pin between him and it. He didn't make a big impression on me the first few time I was around him way, way back when I first met him. He was such a show off! And there was the little matter of him hitting me in the back of the head with an inter tube while we were at the river. I'm not sure if he has ever admitted to that in all these 40 some odd years. We still have heated discussions about the truth of that matter. Despite the rough beginning I have come to like my one brother a good bit, despite the fact that he still can pull a caper now and then. He does have some pretty good qualities that I seldom mention. He's been a good husband to my sister (she might have a rebuttal to that). and he raise three great daughters and has managed to whip three son-in-laws into some semblance of shape. His nieces and nephews think he's a cool old dude. And I'm pretty sure his little grandson thinks he's the funniest/coolest/smartest/ guy in the world. He's a good hunter, a good Gardener (and hell no I'm not admitting that he can grow a bigger tomato than me), must know a million jokes about any subject and can bake better than Paula Deen. All in all he's been a good brother for a lotta years and I hope he has a great birthday and a whole lot more! Love you, Rich!!!!
3/12/10
3/8/10
Insults with Class
"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire." -- Winston Churchill
"I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure." -- Clarence Darrow
"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary." -- William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway)
"I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it." -- Groucho Marx
"I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it." -- Mark Twain
"He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends." -- Oscar Wilde
"I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend... If you have one." -- George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill...followed by Churchill's response: "Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second, if there is one." -- Winston Churchill
"I feel so miserable without you; it's almost like having you here." -- Stephen Bishop
"He is a self-made man and worships his creator." -- John Bright
"I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing trivial." -- Irvin S. Cobb
"He is not only dull himself; he is the cause of dullness in others." -- Samuel Johnson
"He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up." -- Paul Keating
"I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure." -- Clarence Darrow
"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary." -- William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway)
"I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it." -- Groucho Marx
"I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it." -- Mark Twain
"He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends." -- Oscar Wilde
"I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend... If you have one." -- George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill...followed by Churchill's response: "Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second, if there is one." -- Winston Churchill
"I feel so miserable without you; it's almost like having you here." -- Stephen Bishop
"He is a self-made man and worships his creator." -- John Bright
"I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing trivial." -- Irvin S. Cobb
"He is not only dull himself; he is the cause of dullness in others." -- Samuel Johnson
"He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up." -- Paul Keating
3/7/10
Apolo's Heart in Right Place
A letter writer (Feb. 28) apparently concluded that U.S. speed skater Apolo Ohno was not a “true American” at the recently concluded Olympics. He called Ohno a “disgrace,” and a “shame and an embarrassment” for not placing his hand over his heart when our country’s national anthem was playing at Ohno’s “gold medal” ceremony and suggested that Ohno skate for some other country that “he loves so much more.” 
The only problem with this report is that Ohno didn’t win a gold medal. He won a silver and two bronze medals. No U.S. national anthem was played for Ohno, because Olympic rules provide that only the national anthem of the gold medalist is played as national flags of the three medalists are raised during the medal ceremony.
I read this person’s “patriotic” letter just after I watched Ohno carrying a U.S. flag around the short track after winning a silver medal. I have to say to the writer that it isn’t where your hand is, it’s where your heart is. No one has a window into the soul of another American. Apolo Ohno is a national treasure and his pride and love for America is evident in his face, and in his words. (Article from Yahoo News)
The only problem with this report is that Ohno didn’t win a gold medal. He won a silver and two bronze medals. No U.S. national anthem was played for Ohno, because Olympic rules provide that only the national anthem of the gold medalist is played as national flags of the three medalists are raised during the medal ceremony.
I read this person’s “patriotic” letter just after I watched Ohno carrying a U.S. flag around the short track after winning a silver medal. I have to say to the writer that it isn’t where your hand is, it’s where your heart is. No one has a window into the soul of another American. Apolo Ohno is a national treasure and his pride and love for America is evident in his face, and in his words. (Article from Yahoo News)
3/6/10
Boomers
I watched the Brokaw special "Boomers" on TV Tue. I had read the book and found it pretty good but the show tended to lump the entire 50's and 60's into a few big events and overlook all the smaller things that defined the boomers. It was just some more of the same stuff we have already heard. When Brokaw asks Tom Hanks about the most important popular culture of the generation, Hanks steps past television - the answer most people would give - to music. I agree that music was the defining common thread with all boomers. "I knew what time it was by the television," says Hanks. "But I knew how I felt by the music." I love that statement. The music was worth an hour all by itself. But the inclusion of Hanks also suggests a problem, which is trying to understand a generation through its most familiar people and most famous events. He barely touches on the so called every day boomer; those of us who didn't burn draft cards, or attend Woodstock. Hurricane Camille came ashore the same night as Woodstock, so those of us in Ms. were otherwise occupied. An interview with a career military man reveals more than the interview with draft resistance spokesman David Harris, who's been yapping on the subject for four decades and he's gotten a little tiring after all that time. Many of the younger generation think all there is to Boomers was Vietnam, the civil rights movement, smoking pot and screwing in the mud at Woodstock. It's easy to sum up the very complex issues with a phrase like "The '60s was a background for profound social change." Or you get a guy who went to Woodstock saying he would go back to the 1960s in an instant, while writer P.J. O'Rourke says they were hypocritical and awful. I never had any use for the prissy O'Rourke anyway. I'm pretty proud to be a Boomer and to have lived through all that happened then. I haven't seen anything to match the era. But the TV special was a little tiring to me but maybe in the end, there is no way to show how it was because the times were as varied as the Boomers themselves.We really thought we were going to change the world back then, but it just hasn't happened. YET.
3/2/10
Rio's Birthday
Poncho Rio turned three years old today. He celebrated the event with a party at his home in Ocean Springs. He had hard milk (Ice Cream), Beggin Strips, Milk Bones and chicken for his birthday meal. He received may gifts including two chewy rope toys, a fat stuffed toy chicken and a fat stuffed toy rabbit. His family and friends attended the party. Guest included, his Ba, his Gonny, Stretch, Chica, Babe, And Charlie. In the above picture you can see the sleepy effects of all the partying. Happy Birthday. Rio.
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