Found some interesting stuff on a few sites I like to check when I get to Florence in the morning.

I usually click on Drudge and this other one just before taking roll and getting started with class. They sometimes have interesting pictures and articles. Here's a cool shot. Live fire exercises in the desert.

Anyway, I was surfing there Tuesday morning and found these two little articles...

The Curse of Peace in Iraq

January 29, 2008: You can tell peace is coming to Iraq, because the U.S. combat troops are having more hostile encounters with non-combat soldiers. You can usually tell who is who. The grunts (combat types) are skinnier and less well turned out (hair too long, shave not too recent, slouching). The plumper, sharply dressed, and higher ranking non-combat NCO will berate the grunt for his poor appearance. When there was a lot of fighting going on, the infantry guy would scare the other guy away, with a few choice words and a menacing look. Not so much, anymore. More and more non-combat troops are coming out of their well appointed (and well defended) bases, and ragging on the grunts. The fighting troops don't like it, and are beginning to wonder out loud what all these "combat support" people actually do, if they have so much time to gain weight, and harass the men who made Iraq safe for this kind of crap.

The combat support troops do have less to do now that there is much less combat. Less fuel and ammo has to be moved. Fewer casualties have to be taken care of. A lot less equipment to repair or replace. Combat support troops are mainly concerned with bringing order to disorder, and now the grunts need to be shaped up. The combat troops create disorder. They "break things and kill people." Now that the two species have more time to mingle, those differences are causing friction. It's bad for morale, but it's also a sign that peace is breaking out.

Anbar Disappoints

January 28, 2008: A U.S. Marine, Lance Cpl. James M. Gluff was killed in western Iraq on January 19th. Gluff shot a suicide bomber that was approaching his platoon. The explosion killed the bomber, and Gluff, but saved the lives of many nearby marines. This was the first marine combat death in Iraq in 103 days (since last October.) A marine regiment (over 4,000 troops) has been patrolling Anbar province (which comprises most of western Iraq) for quite some time. The marines have worked out security arrangements with most of the Sunni Arab tribes that dominate the area. That has sharply reduced the violence. So far this month, 29 U.S. military personnel have died in combat in Iraq.

Marines returning to Iraq, are surprised at the reduction in terrorist violence. These veterans are noting things like a 90 percent reduction in the number of roadside bombs encountered. This has a dangerous side effect, as it's harder to stay alert, to possible roadside bombs, while on patrol, because you spot so few of them. In the past, you could be sure to at least one for every two patrols. But now, many younger marines, in Iraq for the first time, have yet to encounter any bombs or gun fire after dozens of patrols. These marines are disappointed, and fearful that they will not earn the Combat Action Ribbon. For years, marines associated Anbar with war, but now it's just another quiet patch of desert.

It sounds from these that things are just about to the point where we could declare victory (again) and kiss that friggin' country goodbye. Naaa, we're gonna be there for a while longer. You break it, you keep it, but things are definitely looking better if this stuff can be believed.

And this, which I found on Drudge Tuesday morning, is a sign that a real culture of freedom may be germinating. Criticizing or poking fun at us, and themselves and their leaders, is something that we should see as a great step forward. Maybe this is all gonna work out in the end after all.

Anyway, I'm headed over to Salado to get my hair cut (I need to be beautiful for my thronging public) and then I'll head north for the regular Friday ritual. Dad's itchin' to get to Dynasty, and so am I. There's a party Sunday where we'll be drinking heavily, watching the Superbowl (as if I gave a shit) and eating more of those party treats you saw me make in a previous post. You guys enjoy the weekend, and I'll see you guys later. Cheers.

I'm about to head over to Temple and get dad.

I don't have much time for a decent post tonight, but figured I should put SOMETHING out there. I gave final exams today to the folks in my mini term. Most of them did well. Here's a shot from the phone of my last straggler.



After he finished I rushed home and met the plumbers. After about a half hour and about $80, I'm back to having two fully functioning shitters. Wohoo!

I met a buddy for lunch at a local place earlier today and had a good time listening to him tell me how my Florence kids misbehaved while I was gone. He subbed for me for these three weeks of the mini-term, goin' down there every day and tryin' to teach the kids how to do power point presentations. I'll start back down there Monday, and I'm sure I'll get an ear full from them too.

I've got six new classes starting Monday, two in Florence and five on Ft. Hood. Plus I'm two weeks into teaching a class for Tarleton State University. It's a Senior level Poly Sci class, Constitutional Law. It'll be a fun one to teach. Lots of heated discussions.

Denise and I went to eat at Ryan's last night. It was OK. Nice salad bar, but I've never been a huge fan of buffet style food, unless it's Chinese. Always seems kinda bland. After that we went to Wal Mart so she could pick up some stuff. She needed to get Valentines Day cards for her grandsons and baby stuff for a coworker who is expecting and about to have a baby shower.

As she looked through the cards, findin' one for the 8 year old, I told her I'd help her out. She started lookin' for one for the 13 year old and I told her to put back the sentimental one and look for one with titties on it. I know what a 13 year old boy wants to see. OK, maybe not from his granny, but still.

Then she started lookin' at baby clothes, ooooin' and aaaain' about this and that, I had a blast makin' jokes like "Well, how about a cat carrier. They could lock the little urchin up and forget it for a while". I saw a fancy toilet seat with handles, for potty trinin', I guess, and told her if she ever saw one full size, that would be cool as hell. And the full body things with a zipper down the leg, and feet, all in some sort of fluffy fleece. I told her if she ever found anything like that in XXL Tall, jump at it.

Anyway, after that we went back to the hooch, drank heavily and passed out in front of the TV.

OK, not really. Well, sort of, but not really.

Anyway, I'm late to go get dad. You guys have a great weekend. Cheers.

It's Friday again, and I've got more shit to tell ya.

First of all, today is the anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor, 66 years ago (he says, counting on his fingers - there's a reason I don't teach math). Wednesday night at the weekly pool game/booze-up/ceeegar fest, someone said that Wednesday had been the 75th anniversary of the repeal of Prohibition. I wasn't sure it was true, but we drank to it anyway.

That morning all those years ago, "Which will live in infamy", drew America fully into the Second World War, and changed my life. My dad says he walked right out when the news broke and wanted to join up, but his father talked him out of it. He eventually did join up mid way through 1942, after a stint in LA working in a defense plant building B-25s. He set out determined to become a pilot, having seen his first plane from the back of the family plow, and he eventually succeeded.



That's dad, center left, hand on cheek, out gettin' wide with his buds in Germany right after the war. You think they had a good time. I KNOW they did. The ladies LOVED those pilots wings. The guys didn't call them "leg spreaders" for nothin'.

He succeeded in everything he did, doing everything he dreamed of doing, including marrying a beautiful girl and having two children. In working for all of that he saved me from having to grow up picking cotton, and made it possible for me to become the guy I am today. You know, everything wasn't sweetness and light, but fuck all that. Pickin' cotton would have been worse than any stupid bullshit I had to deal with.

When I see him later today and we hit the buffet at Dynasty, I'll be sure and thank him again for that.

Now, for the really important shit...



I got a new box of cigars in the mail Wednesday. They're C.A.O. Gold Perfectos. A box of 10 6x60 torpedoes. Should be a good smoke. I've got a pretty good stash now, in a variety of brands, so when I'm drivin' to or from Florence (love the way the smoke drifts out through the sun roof), walkin' down the main street in Fredericksburg, or screwin' around in a pool hall on a Wednesday night, I can sample a different one and relax.

Oh, and I have two tickets to the Dallas/Philly game on the 16th. $65 a piece. Buddy of mine with season tickets gave 'em to me at cost. Denise and I'll get a room that Saturday night at the Hyatt and do it up right. Fuckin' Cowboys better win! Last time I went to a game was in the early '80s and they got beat by the Redskins. Aaaah, the Danny White era; The times that troubled men's souls.

Goin' to Fredericksburg this Saturday afternoon. Denise wants to Christmas shop and I want to try out another beergarten. I also want to pick up another bag of pecans. There's a party at a friend of hers here Saturday night, or we'd get a room and stay down in the hill country. There'll be another weekend for that.

Well, you guys take care and enjoy your weekend. I'll see ya later.

Took my Wowman out to lunch Wednesday afternoon.

First off, let me say WOOHOOO COWBOYS! OK, now that's out of my system...

I get out of my fifth class of the day at 2:30PM, and then have to be back by about 4PM (accept on Friday) for the sixth and seventh, so there's usually not much time to eat, but we like to make the effort every once and a while to hook up in the afternoon, even if it's only to head over to my place or hers for a snack and a snuggle.

I headed over to her office on the main campus and was parking when two sleek jets cut through the sky in front of me headed south. I thought they were T-38 trainers at first (like old F-5s), but when they banked over towards me and I got a better look at their silhouettes against the blue sky I saw immediately that they were F-18 Hornets, probably out of the Naval Air Station in Ft. Worth. While I waited for Denise to come down they zoomed around in front of me, around the local air field west of the campus, and I got a little impromptu air show. It was cool as hell. I miss that sort of thing a lot, having grown up on Air Force bases and seen it all my life.

In a little while Denise came down and got in the car and we were off. I was thinkin' about a big salad and a good sandwich at Jason's Deli in Killeen. I floated the idea but she came back with a better one. We ended up goin' to a nice little Italian place in Cove called Giovanni's. It's closer to the campus, and we hadn't been there in a while.

She ordered the Stromboli with ranch dressing to dip it in...



And I ordered the combination pasta. Its a plate of about 6 different kinds of pasta, including lasagna, covered with a great tomato sauce. I ordered meat balls to go in top of it all. Damn, it was good. The bread at this place isn't the greatest, but it's affordable and close, and the meals are great.

Wednesday night was pool night, and I actually had a win. It was ugly at times, with me making long or complicated shots only to miss easy short ones, but the lady I was playing cooperated with me by missing enough shots to give me a chance to sink the 8 a few times. I was happy. It was a two cigar night, and was gonna be a two mug night, but while I was playing one of my teammates mistakenly walked off with my beer. The waitress looked at me and asked if I wanted another one, and I looked at the empty that was sitting there and wondered what the fuck? We all gave him hell, but I didn't make him get me another. One was enough. I was gonna be drivin' in a short while, and there are a lot more adult beverages where I was headed.

Thursday morning Denise woke up feeling bad, with a headache and sore throat. I swear, if anyone in her office goes through there with a bug, Denise picks it up. I call her Typhoid Mary. For some reason, these bugs don't make the jump to me, but they lay her out. She called in sick and laid in, takin' a swig from a bottle of DayQuil now and then, and swearin' she was really ok and would get over it by Friday.

See, we've got plans. She floated the idea early in the week that she wanted to sleep in Saturday and then head back down south to Fredericksburg and do some Christmas shoppin'. I said somethin' like "Well hell, why don't we just get a room and spend the night?" Here eyes got big and a smile flashed across her face and the deal was done. There are a lot of nice ranches and B & Bs down there that cater to visitors, but I've been eyein' the nice hotels down at the end of the strip. I figure we can stay out late, check out the live music at a few clubs, do some pub crawlin' and then stagger back to the room and collapse. I called and a nice room with a king is a little less than $100 a night. Too cool. It was lookin' like another weekend of good food, good foreign (north of the Red River) beer, good smokes, and good snugglin'.

Now she's got a friggin' bug, and it's not goin' away, so the new plan is to bring her over here for the weekend, get some good pills down her and let her rest and get pampered while I get things done around the house. It was gonna be fun to walk the strip down in FBRG again with a good ceeegar blazin', but there's always next weekend. She'll be better by then, and the good times to be had down there aren't goin' anywhere.

My plan today is to head over to Temple like usual and take dad to eat Chinese, regular as clockwork. I might go over to Salado and wander through a cigar shop there on the way to dads. It's always fun to experiment. See what I can find that strikes my interest.

You guys try to have fun too. I'll see ya later. Cheers.

Another brief one.

Just want to show you some shots from the game Friday.



Academy played Rogers. It was a fun game to watch, with lots of action.



The weather was cool and still, and there was a huge full moon out. Tried to get a shot of that, and this is what I got.



Aaah, what the hell. I'll try again some time. Need a tripod for that one.



Dad loved the new hat, as many of you predicted. Looks good on him. We bundled him up in a heavy wool coat and he stuck it out till just after half time. I'd reach over and rub his back now and then and he'd smile and thank me for warmin' him up a bit. I kept tellin' him that we could leave any time he wanted to , and eventually he decided it was warmer at home. Academy eventually won the game in overtime by one point. Bet it was cool.

At one point I noticed that a new little cheerleader had joined the squad. I got a series of pictures as she stood, fearlessly, on the hands of the varsity girls. Cute as hell.









In the end she dropped down into the arms of the others with a huge grin on her face. One of these days I'll be watching her do this for another little girl. By then I'll be able to watch a full game. Maybe I'll stop comin' to Academy then, and switch to Florence. Too many memories here. Time rolls on.

Just realized I forgot to tell y'all about Fridays football game.

Last Friday morning, the kids in Florence were in rare form. They told me during class that the controls on the schools computer system were down, and we could get YouTube. So, of course, I clicked on it and it came up. Then they started shouting out funny things for me to look up, and eventually turned me on to this little number. Enjoy.




Love the hell out of that. They also showed me the Village Sniper video that I posted last week. Part of me wanted to show them the Monkey Sex video, but didn't go there. Last thing I need right now is to get fired for that kind of crap. Hell, they've probably seen it anyway.

Anyway, Friday night, after eating our traditional Chinese dinner at Dynasty, Dad and I drove down I-35 to the town of Jerrel and watched the Academy Bees play the Jerrel... whatevers. I think Cougars. You may remember Jerrel from the nasty tornado that ripped them a new one, killing 30 people on May 27th, 1997.

I saw the whole thing happen. I was reluctantly going back to grad school then, needing 18 hours of credit in Government so I could begin teaching it. Only being qualified to teach History left my income in a sad state. Getting 18 hours of Government would double the course load and get me on the move. It took me a long time to get my mind around it, not wanting to go back to school, but eventually I bit the bullet and went down to San Marcos, south of Austin, and enrolled in the program at South West Texas State University.


I'd driven down that particular day to close the deal on an apartment and was driving back north towards Temple when I noticed that the traffic was being detoured off I-35 to the access road. Like a few others, I tried to drive north on the access road until the highway patrol came zipping over the grass to stop us. I drove back south to a Texaco that sits on a rise next to an overpass south of Jerrel. I got out of my Jeep and stood there, along with a lot of other folks, and looked North. All you could see was a huge slowly spinning cloud. It looked like it was about a half mile across and heading our direction. I'd never experienced anything like it. Stunning and fascinating to see.


We all watched that thing heading our way for a good 10 minutes, almost like it was driving down the interstate. Pretty soon the clockwise spinning started to visibly slow, and the cloud began to break up into lots of smaller ones. As it did, many of us onlookers decided that everything was over, got back in our cars and headed north along the access road.


Next thing I know a highway patrolman is driving across the grass to stop me. He says that the tornado is reforming and that I should take cover. I drove up, parked the jeep, and took shelter under the next underpass. I stood there with about 15 other people watching the tornado slowly break apart, and I was totally absorbed in how cool this experience was , until I saw insulation from someones house falling out of the sky. Seeing that woke me up to the tragedy I'd witnessed, and come very close to being part of.

There was a huge relief effort after that, and it came in handy that I was moving and could get rid of a lot of clothes and stuff by donating it all to the relief effort. They've rebuilt the place since then, and Dad and I were glad to see Friday that the folks down in Jerrel have recovered from that tragedy and built themselves, among other things, a nice new high school and football stadium.




Got a good shot of Dad while he watched the game. The wind was blowin' a bit and chilly, but we'd dressed dad in lined jeans and I brought a coat for him to put on. Still, he only lasted till half time. That's usually when he make our exit.



Florence did OK at first, but the score went back and forth. This Black kid on the left is a great punt returner/receiver who can run and make points, when they manage to get him the ball.



Unfortunately, their QB isn't the most accurate guy in the game. When we left, the score was in Jerrel's favor by one touchdown. I found out later that they'd eventually won the game in a dramatic way by the margin of one point. Maybe one of these days I'll get to watch the end of a game, but I don't want to think about what will need to happen to make that possible.



Oh, and when I went to the air show last Sunday I got Dad a new hat. I'll surprise him with it when we go out this Friday. The kids in Florence play Jerrel Friday, and I think Academy plays Rogers. We'll be there, and I'll tell ya how it went. Take care. Cheers.

Friday's here, so you know what's comin'.

First of all, I found some cool gear on the base the other day.



These things look awfully familiar to me, being a gear head and having spent way too much time looking at pictures of weapons on the web. Those upright containers were the big giveaway.



They were in an area that specializes in AAA, or anti-aircraft technology. That is, vehicles with anti-aircraft rockets on them. I was thinkin' these babies might be part of some sort of new anti-aircraft or anti-missile system.



After a little research, they turned out to be the latest version of the Patriot, which our folks used against the Scuds in the first Gulf War. They turned out not to work so well in the conditions of that war, despite all the press hype, and have gone through a huge upgrade. It's always fun to wander into something cool out there on the base.

Anyway, it's Friday, so you know what's coming if you've been readin' this thing for any time at all. I'll head over to Temple this evening to take my laundry to the drive through window to be pressed and then I'll go over and get dad and we'll head to Dynasty for our regular Chinese food dinner.

I just talked to the old folks on the phone, and dad's ready and rarin' to go. We'll eat dinner at the regular time and place and then I'll drive us down to Florence to watch his old high school team, Academy, play the kids from Florence that I teach every morning. It'll be fun. The weather has turned a little colder in the evening, so I'll have to take special care that the old dude doesn't get chilled. It'll be ok. He'll love it.

You know, there's things about these evenings that I dread. Dad's really not the same man he used to be any more. You've heard me talk about this before. He's getting more and more childlike all the time, and seems to remember less and less of everything. He sits down in the stands when I get him up there and before long he's latched on to whoever's sitting next to him. H starts out asking them if they went to Academy, and then he launches into his stories about all the times he had back in the day. He's gotten to where he always asks me at some point if I went to Academy, and it becomes hard to remember that he's the same man that used to give me so much grief back in the old days.

The first time I realized how much he was declining it devastated me. I came back to Killeen a few years back after flying up to Pennsylvania to fish with my cousin and met my folks at the local Outback steakhouse for dinner. Dad looked at me over the Bloomin' Onion and asked me if he'd ever told me about the time he took his father to see my house there in Killeen. Of course, his father's been dead since about 1964. I just looked at him, and then at my sister and mom, and they stared back at me with a knowing look. My sister tried to tell him it was just a dream he was remembering, but he was insistent. I almost burst into tears, the realization hitting me like a ton of bricks that my dad had started to wither away.

Now it's a given thing. He's not the man he once was, but I've learned to deal with it, and not treat him like a fool or a child. He's still a man, and he's my daddy. I love him to death, and I won't let him be treated with disrespect. Most folks around here are great with him. There are times when I think we'd all be better off if he'd just go to sleep one night and not wake up in the morning, but I know that's just my selfishness. It's me that wants to be spared the grief of watching him decline. Turns out I'm the one with the problem. He loves the life he has, and he's happy, so I'm the one that has to grow up and deal with things. I'm cool with it now, and I'll be ready to tote him around so long as he can make the trip. He hauled my ass around, and wiped it when I was too young to do it, so now it's my turn.

So, I'll be headin' over there a little later. I'll take some pictures of the game and we'll see if I've figured anything out with the camera or not. There's a gun show in Ft. Worth this weekend, and I'm plannin' to head up there Sunday. My buddy Jim called me this mornin' in school from a Habitat for Humanity site he's working on, tellin' me about the show and askin' me if I was comin' up. He asked me if I was in class, and I told him "Yea, but it's Friday, so we aren't doin' anything." We both laughed.

I was piddlin' around, uploading music from a CD to the computer in the classroom. I get it uploaded and play it over the bad, tinny speakers built into the computer, and sooner or later the room will get quiet and one of the kids will ask me who the hell that is. This time it was Government Mule doing a cover of "Almost Cut My Hair". I love it when I play some old stuff in the room and these kids look over at me with that quizzical look on their face, and ask me "Who the hell is that?" Then I busted out his little number. There's no video to go with the music, but give it a listen anyway.



Of course, Jimi Hendrix doing Born Under a Bad Sign. While were here, why not have another. Here's one called Bleedin' Heart.



You should have seen the look on their faces. Hilarious. I guess I'm always teachin', and payin' it forward.

Y'all have a great weekend. Cheers.

Have a whole new reason to look forward to Fridays now.

Because I have more time than I need allotted to me down in Florence, teaching a 16 week class in about 18 weeks, I usually give the kids Fridays off. I show up and take roll, and then while I get caught up on other things, they ether study other things (remember, these kids are supposedly the smart ones), or they just shoot the shit. This morning was just as hilarious as last Friday.

Along with the normal banter about which one of the guys likes it up the ass, and who'd supposedly done what to whom, the cheerleaders (in uniform, of course) all somehow got into a discussion of which one of them had supposedly kissed another girl, and would they do one of those Girls Gone Wild videos. The boys were all sitting at attention, and then one of the boys, hearing them talk about kissing other girls, spoke up and said "Would you... please?" I was rollin', but mostly inside. I was busy grading exams from one of my Ft. Hood classes, and needing to get it done. These kids today! Love it.

After that was over I headed up to the office on base and found my buddy Dave looking at the web sites for Terlingua. We're all goin' to the next chili cook-off the first weekend of November, and he was scoping out the agenda for that weekend. They have live acts there each night, mostly country bands, but the live shows cam be quite fun.

We found out today that the Derailers are gonna be playing there one of the nights. They have a great sound, sort of a combination of Buck Owens, Bob Wills, and the early Beatles, if you can believe it. They're a regular in Austin, and will be playing the ACL (Austin City Limits) festival there later this month. I looked at their web site and according to their tour schedule, Terlingua is no where to be seen. Oh well, we'll see.

The trip this year should be fun. There's a rival cook-off down the road that has a much wilder reputation. I went over there briefly last year, but we got there just after the wet t-shirt and chili wrestling contests had ended. our timing will have to be better this year.

Anyway, I taught my lunch time classes, taking one bunch through the beginning of World War 2, from about 1933 to 40, and the others from about 1817 to 1828. Andy Jackson and the beginnings of the cotton economy/Industrial Revolution. Fun stuff.

Then it was home to do laundry and try to pull something out of my ass to post here. How does it smell so far?

I'll be heading over to Temple to eat with dad, and then he wants to go to a football game in Academy, his old school. I'll take Denise with me. We had plans to do stuff till the old geezer came up with this, and I have a hard time saying "no" to the man. I also need to come back by the base later and try to get mom a new sticker for her new Buick. She needs it so she can shop at the commissary on base.

Saturday evening, Denise and I will be doing to a wedding. A friend of hers from work is getting hitched, and then we'll all be getting sloshed at the big reception down the road. Sunday morning, I have to be up in Gatesville at 9AM. A few buddies and I are going to Ft. Worth to a gun show. I'll probably get a chance to give that GPS system back to Jim, if all goes well. It sure was fun to play with on that road trip to Tennessee.

So, I hope you all have a good weekend. Rest up. The pro football begins in earnest, which means cold weather will be blowing down from the north in no time. I can't wait. Take care. Cheers.

Friday feed is on.

Headin' over to eat with dad, as per usual on Friday, and then later my sweeitie and I will figure somethin' else out.

I finally managed to get a decent shot of her with the Razor last night, as we watched our buddies play pool. I'm gettin' pretty good with the sneaky, "grab 'em and shoot" thing.

I was drinkin' a Coors, and finishin' off a Mac, smokin' it down to the label (friggin' things are expensive!) When the opportunity arose.

My first attempt went off as usual. She's an expert at messin' up a shot. All the women in my life are experts at throwin' an arm or somethin' into the way, just in time. Guess they don't want it known that they hang with the FHB. Anyway, eventually I sweet talked her into calmin' down, and then I pounced.

Think it turned out well, for a crappy phone camera shot.

Well, take care, and be sure and check out the other Friday ritual, over at this place. It's always a trip, and an education. Cheers.

Man, I LOVE this show.

There's an amazing show on the History Channel called Dogfights. The most amazing computer animation, making you think you're really seeing these planes fly. Here's an example from one episode. God, I love the fact that these guys are getting this recognition on TV. They're passing away so fast now. Huge heroes.



I think my favorite shows so far are the ones showing F-4s in Vietnam. Pilots like Robin Olds were my heroes growing up, being an air force brat. Love them still. Olds started his career as a fighter pilot in WW2 in a P-38, and ended the Vietnam War as a Jet ace in a Phantom. What a fuckin' stud! Total class act.



Last nights show was all about Japanese Kamikaze pilots going against our Navy ships off the coast of Okinawa and German fighter pilots who rammed our bombers in desperation to save their nations from the just wages of sin. Didn't work for them. They'll probably repeat the show some time, so look for it. I recommend it highly!

On another note. I went to Salado and got a haircut yesterday. My cousin Peggy is a sweetie.



She married my cousin Mike 2 kids and 3 or 4 grand kids ago. Best thing that ever happened to him. Has a beauty parlor in Salado. Professional. Costs a bit more, but she makes me look GOOD! Fight her every time about her insistence on trimming the eyebrows. I'm dyin' to have those Leonid Brezhnev, big bushy things. She's not havin' it though. In the end, she spruces me up, trims the beard a bit, and always finds those long hairs that I never see, that stick right out of my ear or forehead. Don't know what the hell those are all about, but she gets 'em, every time.

Took dad to eat Chinese food last night, as per usual. This time I took the good camera, so you'd get to see the unfuzzy versions of things.



Yep, even more of the generals chicken, shrimp fried rice, and an egg roll. I know, why don't I try something else every once and a while? Well, I know what I like, and the dish is a little different at every restaurant I go to. This place is the best, hands down, and their egg rolls are wonderful. I know what I like, and so does dad.



We both have the same thing every time, and we love the hell out of it. His thing is the fried shrimp dipped in red sauce. I've tried to get him to try a few other things along with the shrimp, but he's not interested. He told me on the way over that his doctor told him to stop eating fried food because it's not good for his heart. I asked him "Did you tell him to go fuck himself?" I mean, what is the use in living as long as he has (84 going on 85) if you can't enjoy what you want one day a week?



Played with the camera and finally figured out how to turn the flash off. That way I could take pictures without having the whole place turn around and stare at the weirdo with the camera.

Afterwards, we went back to the folks place in Temple, checked the mail box along the way and handed the mail off to the lady of the house when we got there.



Still had the flash off, and the pictures came out pretty cool. Decided to get shots of the main part of the house, and see how they'd come out.



Love their place. It's like a museum of all our travels around the world. Antiques from here and there, brass and bed warmers from England, and art work done by my grandmother. The brass rubbing on the right was done by my mom when we lived in England in the late '60s.



Pictures of my sister and I, and our cousins, grandparents and great grandparents abound. When my mom walked into his house in '93 she fell madly in love with this front window. If I had the money, I'd have it redone in beautiful stained glass, at least those big center panels. I think it would be cool.



Lots of windows in the back as well, looking out on the English style garden my mom has nurtured for 14 years.



Lots of beautiful stuff out there, and a few cats that keep guard on it all.



I grew up doing the chores in gardens like this, so I picked up a few skills and tricks along the way, but I find it's hard to make myself spend the amount of time it takes to maintain it for long. Maybe I lived in apartments too long, where someone else does all the work of keeping the place going. Have all sorts of Ideas, but not the time, money, or energy to get it going. Of course, once you do the work to get it going, it's not that hard to maintain

Anyway, I hope your weekend is fun, and you have good friends to enjoy it with. Cheers.

Grading their first exam, watchin' 'em sweat.

God I love this job! My 7:30pm History class had their first exam last night. The new fish are always nervous, and I always have a good time milkin' it.

OK, call me a son of a bitch, but there are very few perks to this gig, and you gotta take what enjoyment you can. I start out by lingering a bit in handing out the test. They are usually bouncing off the walls, trying to compare notes with one another, reviewing, when I walk in. One will be telling the others his or her version of what they think I want them to know, and I give them a look, and say something like "Huh? Who told you that?"

They try to get me to give them answers, or tell them hints. "So, was it the Sugar act or the Tea act?", and I just shrug my shoulders and tell them "Pff, I dunno."

I leave the briefcase on the desk with the exams in it (they won't dare touch it), and I go get myself a soda, which takes a few minutes. I usually see someone in the hall, a colleague or former student, and chat for a sec. We're not supposed to drink in the classrooms, but fuck the rules. I talk for a living, not shuffle papers, so I needs me whistle whetted now and then. Rules are for nervous people. I was given a bit of wisdom a long time ago; it's always easier to apologise than to get permission. Words to live by.

I get back to class and I walk up to the podium and begin to turn on the computer in class, which takes a minute, and pretty soon one or two students are telling me things like "Come on, I'm forgetting stuff. Lets go!" I giggle. I start to hand out the answer sheet, and a few folks always think it's the test and start putting away their notes. I tell them "This is just the answer sheet. You can continue cramming." More giggles from the audience.

Then I start handing out the exam, and as I do, I give them my standard speech. "Read each question VERY carefully (pause for effect), on accounta I'm a tricky bastard!" That gets a few laughs and moans of dread. They always laugh when I cuss in class. Not supposed to, but screw it. We're all adults here. Shit, THEY cuss in class! Soldiers for Christ sakes! The gals cuss like the guys do.

More instructions; "Please don't write on the test. When you're done, bring it up here and I'll grade it (pause for effect) and then I'll shout your grade out to the class." THAT one always gets a good giggle and moan. I had a prof who actually did that. Bastard.

Is this wrong? Am I a bad person?

Well, it's mostly harmless fun. Most of them do well, and the ones that don't, usually do better on the second or third exams. If they bomb them all, well, I'll be teachin' the class again next semester. It keeps me in a job.

On another note, I'm still scanning old pictures now and then, and I've found a few that might amuse you.



How's that form? Jesus, I look like I'm trying to beat the ball into submission, rather than hit it down the fairway. I think this is from one of the last times I played golf with dad, about 10 years ago in Ft. Worth. The golf course is the one he loved at Carswell Air Force Base, now a Reserve Fighter Base/Naval Air Station. This place was practically his second home, from the mid- '70s to the mid-'90s. He played 2 to 3 times a week, in most weathers, and used to beat all his friends, till he got a bit older and began the slide. Beautiful course, now even nicer since the Navy took it over and spent an ass load of money on the place. We've driven by now and then to check it out, when I've taken him up there for one reason or another.

I found a picture of my old '82 Trans AM the other day, in this box of old shots. Ol' Mushy cleaned it up for me a bit, master picture manipulator that he is. That's our first cat, Calico, doing a little stalking. Doesn't mom do a great job with a yard?



My folks got me this car in about '85, for graduating from college. It was about three years old then, but still in new condition. I tried to get dad to think about a Honda CRX. Wanted to be responsible, but he never listened to me. He'd just grin and do what he thought was best. Ignore what I said, buy me the one he liked, and then expect me to be grateful. Hell, it was still better than payin' for it myself, and it was cool as hell, so I didn't complain. My insurance rate went through the roof; from about $250 a year to $1200. He laughed loudly at me about that, and that pissed me off. Thinkin' about that reminded me of something that happened back in about '71 or '72. I think the situations are somewhat similar.

I had outgrown my old bike by then. It was also a red sex machine. Purdy. Bright candy apple red, with a banana seat and sissy bar. The thing then was to copy the look of an outlaw chopper. The coolest ones had the tallest sissy bars, and the longer stretched out handlebars. Some folks even rigged them to have extended front forks. We'd plaster them with these fuzzy stickers out of cereal boxes, or wherever, to personalize them. There was usually a piece of duct tape here or there, and playing cards in the spokes, attached with clothes pins. Those were the days.

My folks had ordered it when we were still in England, and I loved the hell out of it. Rode it everywhere, on all the trails around our house in Kansas City, Missouri, and even up the steep hills, standing up and pumping the peddles. I loved it and I didn't want to give it up, but dad decided it was time to get an adult size bike for me to ride. I guess I was gettin' big, and was too tall to keep riding the one I had. Wish I knew what happened to that thing. Dad probably sold it. Fuck it. You can't stay a kid forever.

The newest thing around back then were 3 speeds and 10 speeds, particularly with the cool rams horn shaped racing handle bars and no fenders. Some kid in the neighborhood rode up to my friends and I out near the woods with one of those one day, sliding to a stop and spinning out in the mud, and I was stunned at how cool it was, and how fast it was. So when dad and I went to the local T.G.&Y. up the hill one day to get my new bike, I made sure to point out the one that was the perfect choice. It was a 3 speed with no fenders and the cool handlebars. I think it was white, or grey. I can't remember, but I was smitten.

10 speeds always seemed gaudy to me. Too much bullshit. Hell, you never used more than a few of those gears anyway, right? 3 was enough. One for goin' down hill, one for goin' up hill, and one for just peddlein' yer ass off. What the hell else did you need?

While I'm pickin' out the coolest and most practical one, tryin' to get dad's attention, he's pickin' me out the most fancy bike they had. It was a 10, turd brown, with fenders and lots of chrome, and the same conventional handlebars that every other old bike had. It looked like an old woman's bike to me at the time, even though it had the nut cruncher bar of a guys bike (who thought to put that fuckin' thing there anyway?). Hell, it was more expensive than the one I wanted, but he wasn't listening.

I was horrified. How the hell was I gonna look riding that thing? He didn't listen, I can picture this like it was yesterday. I go up to him while he's talkin' to the salesman, pointing back at the one I wanted, and he's acting like I'm annoying him. His mind was made up. I might as well have not even been standing there.

Well, he bought it for me, and I learned to like it, even though it always seemed a bit too much. I rode it hard, and put it through a lot of punishment. Didn't treat it like the high toned thing it was. Finally, one day in Junior high, late to class, I left it unlocked on the bike rack with all the others, and some other kid decided he needed it more than I did. Hope that fucker got hit by a car.

To replace it, dad looked in the paper and found a nice bike up a few streets away, on another block. He paid $50 for a used 10 speed, red this time, with those cool racing handle bars that I'd wanted before. I remember how much it cost because he made me pay him for it. He got me a job mowing lawns in the neighborhood, and when I did a lawn, he got the money. $5 a lawn. Paid for the bike, and his golf balls for a while.

I figured out some time later that my dad probably hadn't had much of a childhood, working hard from a very young age, picking cotton, wearing hand-me-downs, living on another mans land, and he probably had a need to see his kid in the nicest gear. Needed to be seen as a guy who was well off, and whose family was well taken care of. Insecurity... Drives people crazy after a while I think (wink).

I drove that Trans-AM till I started teaching on the ships in 1990, by which time it was faded and worn down. I never took care of it. I was spoiled, sheltered, and had grown up with dad doing everything for me. He always felt like he was being slighted if he didn't get to make all the decisions. I'll never forget how nervous I was just putting gas in the car the first time by myself at a self serve. Jesus! I can't imagine being that young and unprepared for the world, now that I'm the man I am. The innocence and fear of everything didn't stop at gas pumps ether, but that's for another post. Still workin' that crud out, but it's fast getting behind me, with he help of a few good friends (big wink).

When I shipped out the second time to the Mediterranean, and had realized that I was going to be off on the ships most of the time for a good while, I told dad to sell the car. Turned out, his idea of getting one that a dumb kid would wet himself over eventually paid off. He got me $3000 for it. I couldn't believe it. Some man came to the house, looked under it, checked it out, and bought it for his kid. I put the money in the bank, and drove their car between ships till I decided to give up the traveling and began teaching on Ft. Hood in about '94. I needed a car, and had saved up about $5000 for the down payment. Wanted a Jeep so bad I could taste it, but dad gave me a lot of shit about that.

This time though I was determined. I was gonna be makin' the payments, so I was gonna get the car I fuckin' wanted. He tried to change my mind the whole time. I think he was seeing Jeeps as still the old bumpy things from the war that he'd driven back then. I stuck to it. I'd been around the world by myself a few times by then, and seen a few things, and I wasn't that little kid anymore. The Jeep I finally got turned out to be a great car. She was my baby for 12 years.



Had about 32,000 miles on it when I got it, and about 347,000 on it when I traded it in for $500 and a 2003 Toyota Solara, about 6 months ago. Damn, I miss that car still. 1991 Cherokee, 2 door, 5 speed stick. It got about 23 to 25 mpg, and looked cool as hell with those wheels and that red and yellow stripe down the black sides.

Funny thing was, Dad fell in love with it after I brought it home. I think he was proud that I'd made such a good choice. That's my first tent on the left, by the way. Timberline Vista. Had windows on all sides for ventilation. Still around here somewhere, dried out in a bag. Took both cool toys on many a hike, canoe and camping trip back in the '90s. We were a threesome. Now my silver/grey Solara reminds me of the feelings I had driving that red TA, blasting Floyd as loud as I could on the 6x9s, though now the new 6x9s are joined by a few more speakers, and the Floyd is mostly Roger Waters, blaring from the CD changer. It's good to grow up.

Dad loves my Solara too. Always says so when I go to pick him up for our regular Friday feed. He's not the same man that I used to hate, back in the old days. He has to wear diapers now, and he doesn't remember half the things he used to know. Most of the things he talks about now seem more like dreams, half real and half imagined. He's not that pushy, controlling bastard any more. He's a helpless old guy. Sweet, and I love him to death.

Every once and a while, old memories flash by my mind and I get a rush of anger over some stupid thing he did 35 or 40 years ago, or something much more important that he didn't do, but there's a statute of limitations on childhood crap like that. As soon as I drive up today, and I see him come out the door, and he looks at me and grins and says "Howdy padna!", I'll forget all that bullshit and we'll head out to Dynasty, where the waiters know us, and they fetch his plate for him, and treat him like a king.

I probably only have a short time left with him, and when he's gone, I'll have these memories to counterbalance all the others. I'll cry for a very long time, but I'll live on, and I'll take care of mom as she goes through the same process somewhere down the road. This is our fate, my sister and I. It's the same fate shared by so many other baby boomers these days. Our health care system has figured out how to extend life far beyond the joy of living, and our gutless readers won't let us make the decision to end it for ourselves. They are SO much wiser that we are (gag).

We're a unit unto ourselves, the Wilson family. Nobody else is allowed in. We traveled the world together, and put up with one anthers shit for years, and worked out enough of our anger so that we could keep putting up with one another till the bitter end. Now that I'm pulling away, and letting myself out of this cage, taking on my part of the role of the parent and caretaker for my own father, I'm determined to do a better job than he did. he deserves it, and It gives me immense satisfaction.

Well damn, now that I've bummed you out, go out and have a great weekend! I finally figured out how to use the flash on the Razor, but I'd bet you're sick of looking at the Generals "chicken". Take care of yourselves, and listen to your kids, and don't let them grow up to be afraid. Teach them to be brave and self assured. Do it for me. Do it for them, and do it for yourself. I'll see you later.

Spent Friday night doin' the usual, and then watching friends play in a pool tournament, and playin' with my camera phone.

Some of the folks I work with are big into playing pool in a league. We started playing together years ago, but my night classes keep me from being able to play in this official capacity...

OK, I SUCK AT POOL, but so do they, so that's NOT why I can't play in the league. I used to play a lot in college, but got away from it, and now all my angles are off. If I played more regularly I'd get better, but who wants to hang out in a smoke filled pool hall after a long sweaty day dispensing wisdom to the masses? And if I put a pool table in the house, which I don't really have room for, it'd just end up like the stair machine; covered in magazines and crap and cat scratched.

Anyway, I enjoy going out and playing on occasion and watching these folks try to be serious. They're in a tournament now that could conceivably end up with their team going to play in Vegas. Normally they play at an American Legion post in Killeen, and Thursday night I went over after work, with the razor, and took a few shots of the crew at practice.



This is Gina. She's a cute little number. An ex-student of mine (most of them are), she lives with one of the other team members, loves to get loaded while she plays, and loves to flash her boobs to her other teammates when ever they win... as a reward. SEE why I go, and why I had the camera phone ready? I'm not a team member, so I've never been privileged to experience the full monty, but seeing that I was taking pictures, she flashed the PG version to me between shots on the table, and shots of some horrendous Korean booze she's always swilling.



Those are some famous tatas around here, I wanna tell ya.



Every once and I while my buddy Dave slides in to get a squeeze (that's her boyfriend shooting)...



and to provide his professional advise on a shot here and there. Great fun was had by all, even though the musical accompaniment was being provided by drunk Korean karaoke singers at the other end of the bar. I wanted to toss a cue ball over there and bean that bastard after a while. I think we got out of there at about midnight, and like a good boy, I went strait home and to bed.

After class on Friday, and taking dad to our regular dinner/boys-night-out that evening, I took dad back to the house and headed out to the big tournament that was being held in Temple at the local American Legion hall.



Walked in and was hit in the head by a wall of 2nd hand smoke. Haven't experienced one like that in a while. To add to the issue, apparently the AC and ventilators were down. Hot as hell in there, but the music was MUCH better than before. Hard rock classics by folks like Sabbath and Skynnrd, mixed with the newer metal that the younger vets are into. Nothin' like it to calm the nerves and clear the head.



Happiness! My friends weren't supposed to be playing, but Dave ended up having to jump in and go a few rounds. He lost most of his games, but the other players in his team played better, and they ended up winning the match anyway. As a novice, I particularly enjoyed watching the heavy hitters.



The guy in the center with the hat was on Dave's team. He's really good, but he has a reputation for choking in the big games. This time though, he was screwed over by what I would call and Act of God.

First of all, these guys are REALLY good. If one guy misses a shot, the other guy is likely to just run the table and that's it. So the hat guy won his first game against this opponent, pretty handily. I was impressed. In the second game, he dropped a few balls in the brake, but then he missed one by a hair. The guy on the left started to make a run, but then he missed one by a hair. Mr. hat guy took over and started clearing the table, and had a short, easy shot to make in the process. Side pocket, direct shot with the cue ball only inches away. As he's lining it up, a grasshopper lands directly in the path of the cue ball.

To try to get a breeze going in the place someone had propped the doors open, letting the critters in. He shews it away, and it jumps into the side pocket. He goes to make the shot and as he is hitting the cue ball, the grasshopper jumps out of the side pocket and flits overhead, breaking his concentration, making him screw up the shot. I could have made that friggin' shot! Hilarious, but nothing they could do. The other guy took over and ran the table. That was it. Mr. hat guy lost the rest of his games and it was left to his wife to win hers, which she did, to give the team it's win. She was up against a young girl who played while listening to her Ipod, which was strapped to her arm. Must not have liked Sabbath.

Meanwhile, several other folks (including Gina) were over at the bar, getting loaded to the gills while the other team members played. When all the games ended and the place shut down, we went to get them, and we all made a trip to I-Hop for an early breakfast. Nothin' like midnight feeds with a bunch of drunks to put the right end to a day. Left there and got home finally at about 2am. I brought half my club sandwich home and had it for brunch when I rolled out of the sack at about noon. Tasted damn good after bein' nuked for a minute or so.

They're playin' again tonight, and I'll probably head over there when the sun goes down and it starts to cool off. Maybe they will have fixed the AC by then. Plan to head to Dallas tomorrow with friends to run through a gun show at Market Hall. Should be a full day. Hope your weekend is as much fun. Cheers.

I'm finally off from school for a few days, gettin' ready for a new semester to start on Tuesday.

And it's Friday again, and I've got to go get a haircut and take dad to our regular big Friday feed. The kids I've been teaching down in Florence graduate tonight from High School, and I guess I'll try to be there. They've taken my classes for two years, half their high school life. Amazing to me that it's been that long since I started down there. Time flies.

I've been stayin' up late recently, scannin' old pictures from old times. It's been fun to go through these old shots and find stuff I haven't seen in a while. Here's a shot of me, happy as a clam, Christmas morning, Wichita Falls, Texas, about 1966, covered in pug puppies from our dogs second litter. They used to have a hell of a time keepin' me away from these babies.



Mom and Dad sold all of them eventually to people in the neighborhood, and that always made me mad. Some people didn't treat dogs the way we did, as if they were part of our family. One guy down the block bought one we named Brutus, and used to tie him up in the front yard. I'd ride my bike around and play with him when I could, but the folks there didn't like it. I have a vivid memory of riding by on the street and seeing Brutus just inside their screened-in front door. When he saw me he jumped up and started scratching at the door, trying to get to me.

We soon moved away again, to England, and mom and dad decided not to let Missy have any more pups till they were ready to keep them. When we went to England, Missy had to do a few months in the slammer, fulfilling their rules about quarantine. We'd drive over and visit her every weekend till we could finally bring her home. Here's a shot of Mom and I visiting.



You can sure see the love in my eyes. We kept her last litter , and when Missy died, in about 1971, Prissy and Wrinkles became my best friends. Here's my buddy Wrinkles, sitting on my bed in Kansas City, Missouri, where we moved to after leaving England in 1970.



They were both born in this house, in a cardboard box in the basement. Those were always wonderful times. Magical to me. Wrinkles and I used to tromp through the woods together, running through the creek that ran behind our house. He was my best buddy, at a time when I didn't have many others. There's NOTHING like the bond between a boy and his dog, even if the dog isn't a breed that people would associate with movies like Lassy or Old Yeller.

I'll never forget one day in Missouri, towards afternoon, we were standing out on the porch overlooking our back yard. The yard was huge, with about twelve trees on it, the grass stretching down to the creek and the woods beyond. Missy and her to pups were there, when all of a sudden a pack of dogs came running out of the woods and into our yard. At least a few of them were German Sheppards and there were a few other big dogs. Before we could stop them, the three of these little dogs took out after this pack of bug bruisers, and to our amazement and amusement, they ran those mutts out of the yard and down the creek, before trotting back, a look of happy satisfaction on all their little faces.

Both Wrinkles and Prissy died in the early 1980s, and it was ten years before the grief would allow us to think seriously about going out and getting another Pug. Finally, around 1990, dad and I took a trip to the east side of Arlington, to check out a huge flea market called Traders Village. I'd been there many times with friends, and had always seen lots of people selling golf clubs. I told dad he needed to check them out (he was a huge golfer back then). Never had I seen one pug there for sale. To my amazement we got there and found several people selling Pug puppies. It was like the stars had aligned there just for us.

We looked through several litters in several places, and dad picked one out while I went to the ATM to get the money. By the time I returned he'd put that first one down and picked out another, who we eventually named Rascal. Here's an early shot of Dad and Rascal in out back yard in Ft. Worth.



That's a golf ball he's playin' with. Our cat, Charley, can be seen surveying the situation, in the garden right in front of the Bike tire. Eventually these two became fast friends, and would lay around the house or yard chewing on one another playfully.



Most of this relationship developed while I was a way on ships. I'd come home and Rascal would have grown bigger, and the play time between he and Charley would have grown more hilarious.

Rascal was really dad's dog while I was away, and we think that their relationship, and the daily walks with both the dog and cat, helped my dad get over a jolt of open heart surgery that he'd had just before we got the dog. That's right, the cat would go on walks with them. People in the neighborhood were always amazed to see this old man, his dog on a leash, and a yellow cat following along. We've got it on video. One of these days I'll have it converted to digital and post it.

Eventually I stoped going out on the ships, and Raz became more my dog, as I spent more and more time playing with him. He was a great friend. Here's a shot ow us playing with his squeaky toy. He's trying to get it from me and I'm trying not to lose an eye as he comes at me with those paws. Fun times.



Anyway, inevitably, Rascal got older as time went by, and his health declined. We eventually realized that he was going deaf, and was slowly loosing the use of his back legs. I resisted the inevitable, wanting to try to get him some of those wheels that you see dogs using, but mom and dad made the call. It was time.

I knew from the memories of handing Wrinkles off to a vet, and the look on his face, watching me as he was walked away, that this time I'd hold Raz myself while these strangers gave him the shot. He was old and arthritic by then, but as he slipped away, all the tension in his body was lifted from him and he was the same old boy that he'd been years before. I stood there for a while, talking to him and petting him, and then mom and I walked away. I didn't erupt into tears till we were driving back in the car. I can't imagine a greater grief, probably because I still have both my parents with me.

I've got a house full of cats now, picked up while I lived in the cliff dwellings (apartments) before buying this house. I wake up on a bed full of pooties every day.



Love them to death, but there's nothing like the love of a dog. I'll have one again some day, and it'll be another pug. Part of me wants a big dog, but I think you need a big yard to really give a dog like that the life it deserves. Maybe one day I'll build a place out on my property, seventeen acres, and turn into one of those old guys with a huge pack of critters. Can't imagine a better way to go.