The six-year-old truck driver

When he was six my brother Davie graduated driving toy trucks to drive the real thing. He convinced dad to let him drive the truck - alone - through the fields of our company in Montana and around the courtyard. Davie knew all truck driving by then. He rarely missed a movement dad or grandfather made while driving.

It 'was a dismal spectacle watching Davie drive that truck, because he could not see it. It looked like the truck was driving. Then you identify the top six inches of her blond head on the dashboard, his eyes watching carefully in advance. In those days he did not ride in a seated position: he drove with his small fund just brushing the edge of the seat, while his feet on the pedals and grabbed the neck tended to keep their eyes on the dashboard. He drove well, putting his whole body and mind into it. In fact, he drove so well that in the fall that was allowed to drive a truck full of wheat fields over at Our Farm barn in the barn.

That day he glowed with happiness.

When he was eight, he was allowed to drive the family car in the driveway. He spent whole Sunday afternoon to do so. He had the car back at the end of the driveway, stop, change gears, steer the car forward forty feet to the garage, stop, change gears, the machine again at the end of the driveway, stop, change gears ...

One Sunday afternoon when he was nine years began to show the results of these training exercises. The day was March 1, when the snow had melted and the ground just thawed, turning the field next to the house of clay gumbo frozen. Gumbo which was several feet deep. Davie - who has since let us know that David, not Dave ever Davie was the choice of his name - David took the truck out in the middle of gumbo and deliberately stuck to its hubcaps. All afternoon we heard the rumble of trucks and spin and spin noise ... a silence of five minutes, then spin and roar, roar and spin. A miserable, cold and windy afternoon, and even David would be driven in to warm his hands freezing and drink a glass of water.

David reports were always cheerful. The first ad really explained how he got hopelessly mired truck. Following reports that efforts by the chains, tables, and jute bags, all done with their bare hands in the freezing mud.

"It 's halfway out!"

Very roaring from the field.

"It 's almost there, only a few attempts more."

Sounds like a truck from the field in his last agony.

"It 's out!' Out! I took off! "

Glance the kitchen clock. "I think I have time to do it again blocked before it gets dark."

A small man with wheels

Mom was a strong believer inheritance, and she believed German heritage of our family has established two things: hard work and stubbornness. The gene for the hard work lay rather low we kids while we were growing, but stubbornness kicked in quickly.

So you could say that what happened one summer evening at the end of 1940 was all our ancestors' doing.

Papa was preparing to go to a board meeting of the church. Four years Davie wanted to go to the board meeting too. (From the beginning, Davie liked to go places, while the mom, dad, and I liked to stay places.) We explained that Board meetings are for adults only. He still wanted to go. We explained that Board meetings were only members of the board. He still wanted to go. We are all standing around the bedroom while dad knotted his tie and combed his hair, and we take turns explaining what a miserable time Davie had a board meeting. At that point the conversation was always warm and the tears began to flow, but at that time Dad was ready to leave and it was time to leave, so he left.

I watched the cloud of dust as the little black Chevy coupe sped up the hill near our house Montana. And then I noticed the back of the dust cloud a small figure. Davie was on his bike after riding bravely. Evidently he intended tricycle five miles to the board meeting.

I watched him for several minutes. Rose bit 'pretty good speed on the slope down to the stream. But then began the hill, and the bottom of the hill was almost vertical. The wheels of the tricycle moves slower and slower, but Davie legs were still pushing. Davie did not surrender.

About that time I thought I'd tell my mother, and knew what I had: if a car was beaten down that hill, it would mash Davie and his bike plate before the driver even saw them. Mommy off like a shot and I could see the result of two objects with the same trajectory traveling at different rates of speed.

Davie was surprisingly docile when Mom landed on him, and seemed to have been defeated, but did not. His views were unchanged. He thought the course was still better than staying and going places on wheels was better than anything else.

25 reasons why you might need to wear a welding helmet

A welding helmet is a safety device worn for protection while one is welding, but there are definitely many other uses for a welding helmet. A welding helmet is very practical that should be found in every home. Here are some ways you might be in need of a welding helmet:

1. Can not find a bike helmet.
2. You lost your Darth Vader mask on the opening day of a Star Wars movie. A welding helmet is a good substitute, but you must imitate Darth Vader breathing noises themselves.
3. You do not know your science very well, but thought it would be nice to make your own fireworks.
4. Are you afraid of identity theft.
5. Wear a welding helmet in hopes of attracting women, making them understand that you are manly and can fix things.
6. You want to reenact the opening credits of The Simpsons and Homer are playing the part of the power station (in this case, you will also need a glow stick).
7. You think that cartoons are real and there is the possibility of an anvil falling from the sky.
8. If people look at you turn into stone then you might want to wear a welding helmet.
9. Want to give your kids a punishment they will not forget and decide to make them wear the welding helmet to school for a week.
10. If you are afraid of the sun you wrinkles or skin cancer, you could use a welding helmet to protect themselves from harmful rays of the sun.
11. You have horrendously bad breath and / or forgot to put on makeup.
12. I can not find sunglasses.
13. You are one who wants to always be on top of fashion and thinks welding helmets could be the new thing.
14. You are sick of relatives pinching your cheeks at family reunions.
15. You are a celebrity and do not want the paparazzi taking any pictures of you.
16. Are you tired of shallow people falling for you because of your looks and want people like you for your witty humor. Wear a welding helmet is definitely a way to see if you like someone special because of your personality.
17. You think that the end of the world is near and somehow a welding helmet will save you.
18. We want people to think you're weird, have learning problems or who are half man and half machine.
19. Want to make your personal interpretation of the Phantom of the Opera called "Phantom of the Tool Shed.
20. You think your partner in Class Science Lab secretly wants to destroy you.
21. You had a haircut very badly.
22. Do you think you are like Cyclops of X-Men and you have uncontrollable optic blasts from your eyes.
23. Want to scare small children. (Bring a blow torch and laughing will help in this goal).
24. It's never wanted to have a boyfriend / girlfriend.
25. And I think you might want a welding helmet, if you think you possibly be welding something anytime soon.

These are just some of the reasons is probably a good idea for you to wear a welding helmet. After earning his own welding helmet, I'm sure this list will find very limited and you will find thousands of other uses it.

Road Trip

I'm getting older but not up
My metabolic rate is pleasantly blocked
Let the winds of time blow over my head
I'd rather die while I'm living than live while I'm dead (Jimmy Buffett)

Buffett was playing as I drove down the road to seventy miles per hour. I was my road trip to the Middle Age, somewhere between the line of North Carolina and Nashville. The last time I had taken this route was in 2001, just before going to live in Japan. It is now four years later, and I realize that have not grown much.

My boyfriend. Almost twice her age. It 's almost double. I, I'm a middle-aged guy who still loves cheap hotels, country music, driving the road with my radio blasting. It may not be the head-banger music, but rhythm, and soul, and a touch of southern twang.

The last time I took this trip, I called my old friend Brent in Nashville, and we met for some bluegrass at The Station Inn as we always have. Brent is one of those guys who went to Nashville after college and has not left. He even managed to make a few dollars, and has continued to make his life outside the music business. When one considers the number of talented people come and go every year in Nashville, is a living miracle. A middle-aged man who makes his living in the music business. Dang.

This time, I called Brent. I did not have his number and I had a full program, and was not sure he had time. Then, suddenly, while the purchase of postcards to Elvis Ryman Auditorium during intermission of the concert by Bela Fleck, who is coming and I pinched his ass, but my old friend Brent.

We've known for so long (more than 30 years) that was not caught in a pinch on my back (although sad that it was a hot Nashville singer with a penchant for young, middle-aged). We had not seen each other in almost four years, then we are back in the old days.

He is one of my only friends that I still keep in contact with which was to Coffee County, Alabama. He is one of the few people I know that I can still talk about FFA String Band competitions and land judging contests, and knows exactly what I mean. He is one of those guys who grew older than me, but not necessarily high.

Brent and I did what I normally do when they meet. We ate, we talked of old times and new times, and also the future. Then we went our separate directions for another long period. Note to self: keep in touch this time.

The other part of this road trip that was important was my trip to Graceland. Every South must make the pilgrimage once in their lives just to get in touch with their roots. (Some of us were a second time for good measure.)

No matter whether one likes it or not Elvis, is a part of us. If we grew up listening to rock and roll, Elvis must thank. If you never shed a tear in a gospel song, Elvis has contributed to this. If we danced stupid in public and not feel self-conscious, Elvis came before us.

Some facts I learned from this road trip:

1) I am a southerner, and will always be different because of it.
2) Music goes to the core of my being and my soul is just a bit 'lower down than others are willing to admit.
3) There's nothing like the open road to clear your head (and $ 2.25 per gallon gas portfolio too clear)

Fly The Friendly Skies

I decided that every day the trip is an opportunity for humor. My recent travel experiences could be just what one needs to revive its aging comic career.

It began with the arrival at the airport, where no one was in communication with each other. The guy at the door tells me I can not check in with him because I missed the ticket, so he sends to line 3. Line 3 tells me I can not go because it is only for international passengers. He tells me that the guy on the sidewalk would run. I explained that I was not going back to the door, so he proceeds to show me a phone that will do just as well. This was pretty simple, but obviously the other woman asks me why I'm talking to you, and I answer: "Because someone told me." Replied, "There was no need to do."

Having checked in, my 11 year old son and I were identified by TSA as potential terrorists, but to do the pat down and wand between her legs routine before God and everyone in Tampa. They tried to explain to me that there have been identified by chance and I laughed. Then he said: "Well, not if." I laughed louder, and he said, "Okay, you guys meet the required profile. I laughed harder thinking about my son in a Hawaiian shirt and my Thai silk shirt and what characters are menacing.

In fact, we fit the profile and Have been chosen for special treatment for almost every domestic flight I can remember in the U.S. for the past four years. Some of the known variables: the foreign postal address, tickets purchased abroad for a domestic flight tickets are not associated with an international flight, one-way tickets and over-discounted.

Upon his arrival in Atlanta, we were greeted with the reality that a bag arrived, and a bag no. It so happens that the bag did not arrive was my son who had all the clothes we had just bought new school during a family visit. My purse would not be nearly as devastating, because I can pick all my stuff quickly from online stores and the like. Stock reflects the child 15 hours of shopping and family very uncomfortable. God knows I did not want to go through that again.

I spoke with three different names Dave, Jim and Peter in Bombay, India I promised that I would see again the bag (real names? What they tell me.). They were wrong. It finally appeared 36 hours after it was lost. He was in Dallas, sat down at the airport in Atlanta for at least 15 hours, and finally aboard a delayed flight to Dothan, Alabama. My son goes to school with new clothes and I kept my sense of humor.

An example Feline Courage

Fangs. Killer claws. Wheezing, grrrs ... and later, yelps. Those not familiar with cat-fighting dog? This is a "hair-raising" party of limbs and tails and, yes, the loser throws most of the hair for the most part, the cat.

It was night and I was in the living room to read a tear-jerker when I heard a guttural groan prolonged and vacillating. Immediately I dropped the book and rushed to the door with one thought in mind - my cat was under attack. Thought has an ugly picture in the head. Sparky feared an on-the-hunt or a Caesar hyperactive or worse, the dogs on the Big Block (aka Askale BDOB) was Cheops my circle waiting to snatch her hand.

So one can only imagine the shock on my face when I took Khufu chasing Sparky, the dog twice its size. A dog. My cat just chased a dog. I thought it only happens on TV.

"You had to be impotent," I scolded Khufu, but in reality I was torn between being proud of the cat and the fear of him as he sat on his back, licking his paws ... Sparky completely forgotten.

But my memory bank has recovered from its archives a plausible explanation of what had been the scene of the crime. Said dog seemed to have a phobia of cats once received a blow on the head of a cat paw. So I thought my cat was just lucky. Sparky would avert from all that meows.

But then another strange night has come and dogs were running for the queue. The cat militant had struck again.

Dogs. Not one, but two. puppies-definitely not. One was Caesar and the other was a BDOB, both larger than Sparky. I was impressed.

Perhaps it would happen again, maybe not. But I would not want my feline friend to make it a hobby or you drive all the dogs away.

Here's the rule: Cats must be chased by dogs. The poor cat must have got tired of running for his life that he decided to make a bold move once unthinkable to alter life in our neighborhood cat-infested dog.

It seems that she has picked up his pride and office pieces, come what may, to make a statement on behalf of the feline race. The declaration could be: We cats can be soft, but we are not fragile.

How easy it is for us to leave our fears or to yield to the injustice of bullies to avoid the inconvenience and side effects of the battle, not having known the victories possible we could realize the dreams ... remain as mere dreams.

But fear is fear. If only we could simply throw out the window and closed out of our mind. But fear is a part of our existence. It is a psychological battle, a struggle between yes and no. For me, it is not something that demolished in one day. I remember that my cat used to sacrifice food for dogs and be embedded within. He took his time to get the courage to go against the norm that we thought could never be changed.

Have you ever tried one of those rare moments when a thing or two happens beyond normal?
You learn things from cats ....

Perhaps courage is the passport to be sure of who we are, to believe, to act big no matter how small, like the cat who has fought for his claim of territory and demand compliance with a personlity bigger than a dog.

We all have our own dogs to hunt to turn our "impossible" in a badge that we wear proudly. As for me, I'm not done with my anchor.

French teacher of memories: the first day of school

Does anyone know how to go to school for the first time. Teachers experience this twice, and the second time is not less impressive.

Despite my diplomas that allowed me to teach in secondary schools and state my demands, I was asked to teach a class of sixth grade. At least, I almost worked in my yard. The morning classes went smoothly. I knew that my students have met many new situations. In primary school, were all day in the same classroom with the teacher, who knew them by name. During their first day of sixth grade, have met a different teacher every hour, each time in another class that was among hundreds. They were mainly concerned to find and reach the room just in time. One of them would be happy to recognize and sit by the girl or the boy who would not be seen with last year, when the world was not large.

The afternoon classes began at 02:00. (Whenever possible, lunch is provided on a regular basis for children.) I unlocked the classroom and allow children to enter. I counted them as they passed in front of me. One was missing. I checked the book of presence: no pupil was reported missing. I had no idea what I should do and began to wonder how to report the fact, when TocTocToc, someone knocked at the door.

- "Next!"
A little girl came

- "Excuse-me, ma'am, I was lost."
Before I could reprimand those who laughed and began to vomit.

I had a girl: "Go to the infirmary with her."
- "Where is he, ma'am?" he asked.

I did not. I have not had time to reflect, the second girl had vomited, then a boy, so I could count more.

I thought of a food poisoning and sent two students who appeared in good health to inform the head supervisor "or any grown to find." Yes, I was losing my mind at full speed!

Eventually, the cavalry came to the rescue: fire (in France, have dealt with all matters of emergency, not only fire), ambulances, medical personnel and cleanup crew.

As students of other classes were not affected, it could be because of food poisoning and no!, Do no harm! The first girl vomitted because of his fear of loss, delay and only. The others are led by her, because they felt the same fear of getting lost, late and alone.

To yawn is contagious too. I would have preferred yawned.

Strange goings on Ebay

What makes people list some entries very strange and outrageous on Ebay?

And 'their ego that drives them? And to think that thousands of people will read and maybe even bid on their ridiculous offerings - is it?

What kind of deals can be classified as 'strange' you might ask?

auctions Well, this author has seen for: virginity (this was removed because let's face it - that is prostitution, and certainly not something that eBay really wants to promote!) at an auction of fun for a stick - yes a stick ! The offending stick was part of a chair which broke when the seller sat on it! He was so outraged that he decided it would be a salable item. And from 0.01 c, he was right! He actually did sell it for close to $ 1.00 ...

Now that does not mean you should all run to your local forest and collect firewood and give each piece an interesting story to write and offer on Ebay!

It has also seen a piece of toast! It was so ridiculous that a TV station in Australia featuring that piece of toast on a program of evening and play the hit counter went berserk after that! So it seems that anything that could be classified as 'strange', has a place on Ebay.

Anyone any old false teeth perhaps? I'm sure that even those who would get an offer! And what about that most horrible 'thing' you bought on Ebay, which could be classified as the worst, buying choice you ever made?

I have one of those - what self-respecting supporter Ebay does not have?

Thinking it might be fun to buy a wig, after having long hair cut short, I turned to - you guessed it - Ebay - to spend my money on a wig. Boy oh boy, what a disaster that turned out to be! I bought this beautiful piece beautiful blond hair long, curly research that promised to make me look sexy and turn heads! The only witness this catastrophe would have been made in true style 'Exorcist'!

This 'thing' that was advertised as "new with tags" was a disaster absolutely revolting! It was made of what can only be described as raffia, was orange in color and was 'glued' in bits for the mesh Which fits 'all sizes of head' - all but mine, that is!

Too small, too ugly, too funny for words! It is now the corner piece of our banister - I keep thinking I'll paint eyes and a big red mouth there. Certainly was a point to talk to a lot of laughs and cracks wise on 'worst Ebay buying mom'! It almost seems a shame to sell it now in the category 'strange because' Sally 'seems to now have a home here!

Ebay - not just a place to buy and sell - a scandalously funny place to find odds and sods to keep readers of all ages entertained!

Stopping Bad Breath Bart

"Pee-EW! You smell like a skunk soaking in sardine nectar for a week."

OK, so I can be a bit 'sincere occasionally. It's not something I would say to Attila the Hun pep during a pre-event battle. But it was not Attila the Hun standing in front of me. It was just my friend Bart.

"Pee-EW! You have bad breath."

So when the phone rang that night, the last person I expected to greet me with a cheery voice was Bad Breath Bart. "Hey, Happy Guy. I feel great," he said. "You know why?"

"You just won the gold medal for Turkey to launch ten meters?"

"No," he said. "But thanks for the suggestion. I will start training tomorrow."

"Ok, I surrender. Why you feel so great?"

"Because I've discovered an easy way to stop bad breath," he said. "Want to guess how?"

"You bought a book on stopping bad breath and you are following the instructions?"

"Sa-ay, this is a good idea," Bad Breath Bart said. "But not all. My plan is even simpler. I covered my bad breath."

"Bart, who does not work. Since Julius Caesar first invaded Paris and declared 'Veni Vidi Vino', people are trying to cover up their breath. Mint, but simply is not strong enough."

"Bingo!" he cried. "Mint is too weak, so I found something stronger. Want to guess what?"

"You've been rinsing with milk five weeks of age?"

"No.".

"You have discovered that the colony is best taken internally?"

"No.".

"You have downed a bottle of vanilla extract, mistaking it for beer?"

"No.".

This puzzle gave me a headache. "I give up, Bart. What's your secret to stopping bad breath? "

"Garlic," he said.

"Garlic?"

"Garlic. Now nobody can smell my breath, because everything is the smell of garlic," he beamed.

"Garlic?"

"Sure, there are some side effects," Bad Breath Bart noted. "For example, my pet vampire has fled. And this afternoon I sent a kiss to my wife, and she slammed the door."

"I can offer an alternative, Bart? Something that will not put his nose in a cast every time you are irresistible desire to blow your wife?"

"Sure."

"Try using some mouthwash with cetylpyridinium chloride in it. That always works for me."

"Wow. This is a mouthful," Bad Breath Bart exclaimed.

I was happy to have finally given Bad Breath Bart a mouthful that would actually help him cure his problems. I do not anticipate the call I received the following evening.

"Hey, Happy Guy. Thanks for the tip," Bad Breath Bart said. "This cetlip cettap centapyr ... ... ... That unpronounceable mouthwash ingredient is superb."

"Excellent!" I was thrilled that he took my advice and that was working so well.

"Yeah. It tastes really great," he continued.

"Tastes great?"

"You bet. And so filling, too."

Suddenly I heard a disturbing feeling closed in, "What do you mean by 'fill'?"

"After I got that ... ... ... cettep cetilp certip that unpronounceable concoction, I do not feel hungry," he said.

"Bart, what you put into this mix?"

"Oh, the usual - Ten scoops of ice cream, a cup of milk, a bag of chocolate chips, half a banana, some corn flakes, a wombat's ear and the juice of maraschino cherry jar," he said.

"But this will not stop your bad breath."

"Oops. I also added that cetip ... ... ... that CETP certilp unpronounceable ingredient," he added. "It 's certainly tasted good."

Just then, my wife entered the room. "Honey, I just made one of your favorite banana-strawberry smoothie", said with a smile.

I began watching the glass in his hand. I looked down. I looked at him from below. I looked all around it.

"What are you looking for," he asked.

I knew you would not believe me. "Chocolate chips and cornflakes.

Songwriter Confessions # 1

Looking up this week to obtain a support of reggae sound like St Ann rather than St Felicity, I saw the small dark cloud in the usual corner behind the left monitor speaker. Sometimes I absolutely believe that this is my best muse, back from a pizza run to starbelt outside. Or maybe just the golden ring around Uranus. Anyhoo ... It seems to bring inspiration to obscure more Cliff Richard Keith Richards, and I feel the need to write something that involves leather, whips and a snare that sounds like Pavarotti hitting the water from the upper edge. I dig my file called heavy riffs that AC / DC lost under the driver's seat. It would be useful if the word assassination appeared in the first lyric line: that always gets the Bowie knives out. As Sam Goldwyn said: Start with an exploding volcano and build from there to a climax.

I can not stress how important the first two lines of the first verse are, in any song.This is where the artist set the hook in their tiny attention span or not. If Simper your way into a song, like a style I like to call Captain Cliche, you've probably lost before their second guitar comes in. Please avoid a first verse that goes like this: Ooh I love you, yes is true, what should I do, baby without you know, all my dreams are loo ... blah blah ...

Does anyone still awake? The only thing that could even save that song would be a heart strong enough to flip out of Lazarus from the grave and beyond the skyline. I never thought that the years spent writing ad text for various ad agencies would be worth much to me. The rule of advertising is: when you wrote the title, 80c in the dollar you spent. It's got to hook them. And I must say something different about a topic you've heard a million times. Take the subject of endless LOVE (also known as lurve ... the bad ... and bumping uglies) If I have learned to write songs, I set one of the first projects should be: write a song about love, but make interesting.Make is different. Make the listener say, I never thought this way before. Now, Paul McCartney, being famous does not need to work hard as the rest of us. So call it: Another Silly Love Song. With a chorus that says: iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou. Ugh, Macca ... Time to open the window!

Here's how I do it: my song is called: If You Were Icecream ... and the first verse is: If you were ice cream, I would eat with a spoon very small ... if you were the stars, I'd like to meet you halfway to the moon ... I think it's much more interesting than Paulie, but hey, is famous, and I just started kicking the door. For more examples of how I approach the first verse and songs in general, scoot along to my new site or click on the link below.

Must enter the city for some new guitar strings. Not changed them for a year, and no. There is no direct link between the rotation underwear and guitar strings. And a ... two ... three ...

Songwriter Confessions # 2

Any true Beatles fan knows that Stu Sutcliffe was the original bassist, who died of a brain embolism before the Beatles became famous. But what if it had not been Stu with the deadly weakness, but ...?

There is no time left now. The meeting will take place in a matter of hours, an event so significant for future generations that nothing can be allowed to change in any way. I found the boy a 'happy soul, with eyes wide open the question of the world with fun. He still does not know the path that is set for him, or what inside his tiny brain that leads me here through the oceans of time. We agreed that is a task that needs to be done for peace of souls worldwide.

From my hiding place I look across the square to appear in this cloudy day. I see a vortex in the sky that promises more storms, but the people around me, simple people with low levels of accommodation that do not understand, pass on their life patterns. Once the boy is in sight, my timing allows me to meet him at the shop window where it stops, without exception, every day to stand and admire. Are programmed with all traces of memory from the projection taken from the best minds of our universe. There are not accounted for randoms: no changes can not be calculated to infinity.

Now I see. The boy is around the corner, whistling a tune by himself, with his eyebrows in delight as high activity in the plaza greets his vision. For a moment you slow down while passing the shop is called the baker, but then resumed its journey through the Square in close to me, where I am near the store that intrigues know HIM. Each step is more important than he can ever know, but her cheerful smile shows none of this as it gets to the window of the store that sells music instruments and stands with hands in his pockets looking into the family routine.

If he was watching me, he would have seen only one other boy his age, but his attention is on a steady and full of the items in the window. He leans forward until his nose touches the glass. Hofner ... said aloud to no one. Loovely, says he and his focus is so complete that I take three quick steps toward him, shake the mantle of change at him and you're done.

I turn from the window and return to my journey. Random thoughts in my mind are how to obtain money for the musical instrument, with spontaneous bursts of melody in the background. Part of my mind sees the images of playing a guitar sitting on a bed in a small room but comfortable. I keep walking.

It is 30 minutes later and came to an open field that filled a small festival with music, banners and the chatter and laughter of two hundred people. I just reached the stable first when someone calls me and I turn to see my friend Ivan smiles, while the activity flows show around him.

Come here, he says, someone I must meet. I follow him deeper into the fairgrounds to stop in front of a small, ramshackle stadium just three feet off the ground.

Sitting in a corner with his legs dangling over the edge is a thin young man with a black shirt and jeans with his hair slicked back in sculpture and extravagant cigarette in the corner of his mouth with thin lips. His left hand is to regulate the tone of the guitar strings on his legs while you cradle her eyes measure me with care.

Hey, Johnny ... Ivan says with some excitement to the casual lean figure ... but I should meet someone who ... he's a guitarist too ...

Johnny peering through cigarette smoke on me.

Oh yeah? ... Says.

Yeah ... says Ivan and throws an arm around her shoulders.

Johnny said ... Ivan ... meet Paul McCartney ...

Copyright - 2005 Dollar Bill

Cow Bell Resort

Meat is murder - I understand that - but if it was murder? " It would be good to eat, then? The reason I was thinking of this was that I almost hit a couple of wild turkeys while driving to work today and it occurred to me that if I had not hit it to murder all their meat is free of the stigma of cruelty that Most patches of flesh. And I should be able to eat themwith good conscience. (In Wisconsin if you hit wild animals allowed you to store meat for you, so that would be legally complex. I suppose you can not try to hit them and must stay on the road, but otherwise ok ).

This example is hypothetical, but I have a real life that makes my point better. A colleague of mine - a vegetarian - hit five deer at once on the road, then donated the deer to a food shelf. Here you have a non-meat-eater to provide one-shot meat to charity.

I think that in this case, those deer eat almost virtuous.

This is fine until now, because basically I'm still talking about road-kill, tasty road kill, but road-kill though. And most just do not get meat that way. But what if all the meat that was consumed in America come from animals that died of natural causes? Someone should have problems with this?

Here's how I think it would work for, say, beef. Instead of cattle you have livestock community. These 'community of cattle' would be configured so that all they have provided a cow would need to live a long life fulfilling cow. It would be almost a location for them. They receive the best care available until gently close their eyes at the end of their happy life.

Then eat them.

Under a moon Cuban

HAVANA, May 20 (www.cubanet.org) - The Cuban authorities have implemented stringent security measures at points of embarkation point for ferries crossing small bay.Now Havana before boarding, all passengers must pass through a metal detector. Just posted signs warning passengers not to bring mobile or birthday cakes ...

You know how in a stormy night when you take the Havana Bay ferry and you smell the fear of passengers like the waves I invite you to death and the ferry captain drunk falls into the sea about three times before the rope to the harbor wall leaked.

The captain is drunk again, I said to my brother Ramon.

Not for his salary, Ramon said, he is stunned with the danger.

Yes that is so, I said. But this danger that makes him dizzy does not affect us.

Not that kind of danger, Ramon said.

And so we stood on deck in the rain, all 65 of us, as the ferry made its way across the bay.

A few minutes later, Ramon spoke again: is the kind of danger, as when a young Chiquita down from the hills and see the city for the first time. She carries the smell of ripe bananas and sweet oranges so that when walking down the street, the old look of their board and sigh Aiy bananas, while young straighten his trousers and groaning: Aiy Chiquita. It 's so it is.

So we stood on deck lashed rain and prayed God to keep a firm grip on the captain cojones all the time it took. Five minutes passed and Ramon leaned toward me and whispered: La fiesta no es para los Feos. It 'was the signal to do what we do and I moved through the people to get closer to the position of captain, near the front. Yes it's true I thought, this party is not for the ugly ones, but can still be a bad start his own party. Fidelissimo not show us how?

When I got close to the captain, I saw in his eyes that was still mad at him. I tapped on the shoulder and when he turned around, I pulled out the chair where I had hidden in his shirt pocket and pointed to his chest. La Fiesta es perdido I said. And mas Perdido. I could see by the look that came into his eyes that had once been a good man. One of the good ones, perhaps one of the best, but tonight he stared at the chair pointing at him and knew that death had joined passengers without paying a single weight. Verdad.

The captain, although he had once been one of the good ones have a burp as strong as an elephant rising from a pool of mud and clouds of tobacco, tequila and three bean stew caused passengers to stumble back to the stern of ferry.

Que Pasa? said the captain as a man waking in a gutter that he feels a hand in his pants pocket, which is not his own hand. I held the chair against his temple, and if there were one can never know the thrill of fear that his broken body oscillation. I made my voice sound of the grave. Ramon, give me something, I called and he was beside me like the wind. In his hands he held the thing that had kept alive for the last five years. The thing that we exchanged our mule, two machetes and a hundred bananas. What we needed in the way an old and rich look at a young chica in her Sunday dress and become a crazy old man for the rest of his life. Such was the nature of this thing we appreciated.

With infinite care, Ramon peeled back the corners of the tarpaulin that enveloped him, and when the moonlight caught the brilliance of it, the captain drew a quick breath.

Although I held the chair steady captain, Ramon bent and place the thing that had brought on the shelf in front of the wheel.

I stepped back and took the chair beside me: My Captain, I said firmly, while other passengers crowded around, .. You will bring to this thing you see before you. She will not stop until he reaches. And when we, we will sit around a table, you and I, and drinking the best rum with Coke and talk about the real past and future, as men who looked at their feet for a long time but now choose to look at stars.

The captain looked at me for a long time.

I knew you were the one, he said, have a light that shines above his head, and also ... gave a small smile as a man who will not give away your cards ... have a great chair ... Then he turned the wheel and took it between both hands darkened sun and pushed the throttle to maximum power, while the rest of us had looked carefully and view it on the shelf HIM Would that guides all of us to a day different. It was small but shining like an angel My Mother to guide our path. One passenger said it was called El Statudo Liberdade de ...

© 2005 Dollar Bill

Diary Complaints

My wife keeps a diary, and sometimes leaves it open with the last entry in the table view. I am a person who does not want to read the diary of another person, even my wife, being personal diaries. But out of a corner of my eye, in the diary page, I saw my name. I could not read.

"I can not let the negativity of John to get to me," read the diary.

What do ya 'mean, bad? I thought. I'm not negative. Sure, they complain a bit 'because I am not a rich man. I have a relative who gets paid thousands of dollars, a shock of lower middle class that does nothing but count sofas in a furniture outlet. The boy thinks Arnold Schwarzenegger is a good actor. It is so stupid it is and does all this money.

They are the only man in my family who could take the bad luck I had not become a drug addict, or ending up in an insane asylum, for this and I'm Called negative. I work endlessly, without a vacation. I put up with a cocky kid and a wife who gives me for granted.

Me negative?

Grumbling, I moved beyond the diary and went out to mow the lawn. The next day, Sunday, my wife left the house, and the diary was opened again and there was a new step.

"Why do I have to deal with stress like that?" Read it. "I can not stand the complaining. We are now more than ever the distance. Yet, as John has the spirit and feeling ........"

"Well, at least that last part is good," I told the journal.

"He needs to feel not the world is against him," the journal added.

The world is against me? I never said that. Remember when Cynthia (my wife's friend), that college educated snob too (she thinks he is better because it is a Hollywood screenwriter who knows the names of all the English king). Remember when his father died in Hawaii, and I forgot, and she has returned from the funeral and asked innocently, thinking that he had gone there on holiday, "How was Hawaii?"

"I dare not say that," Cynthia had growled bitterly.

It 'was an innocent mistake. Cynthia had the right to be angry. But I took the Guff. I wanted to throw it out the window, but I did not. I just decided I'd never speak to her again.

Disgusted, I put the diary down and went and racked dishes in an automatic dishwasher. Wiping her hands, I went back and took the diary, and flipped back a page.

"John does not listen. Stop and have the last word, read it.

"Bull!"

I took a pencil and made my journal entry. I copied my wife's style of writing. "My husband is handsome, muscular saint," I wrote. "I must allow him some vices."

© Copyright 2004 by SammonSays.com

Bath Palacial

I had to play a joke waitress in a hotel where I lived. You know that little paper wrapper they place on the toilet seat, the band of thin paper that is supposed to convince you that the system is clean. They normally take the strip of paper off and throw it away, you go to use the John. Instead, I saved mine and every morning before leaving the room, slipped on the toilet seat, giving the impression I never used.

After five days of this I could only imagine the reaction of the waitress.

Staring, said, "What are you, a kind of lizard?"

For me, the bathrooms are like Greek temples, stone and cool marble, reassuring, serene, little worlds of their own, a place of refuge, closed off from the world and its problems.

These places thus earn more dignified name of "rest room".

For example, if you hate your job without end, and sharing a common bathroom down the hall with employees of other companies in construction, it is likely that you'll spend more time here than you should, far from threatening, dishonest boss , call phones and mountains of paperwork.

I admit I'm selfish. When I use the john hall, I want everything to me --- only.

I also do not want my imitation stained greek temple. Therefore, I never play important bodily functions here (the only time I did I was sick).

There's this boy. Every morning at 8:45 he is seated on the throne. Now I know this is not a common subject for a column, and I do not want you to think I'm weird. But I'm really curious about this guy, perplexed, baffled, whatever.

Since only 8:45 in the morning, can not have been working very long, not much more than an hour. Why can not keep it longer? Why can not do its job before it gets nasty at home to work?

What does the food as a process of goose?

Now, we all drink coffee, I admit that passes through you pretty fast. So I'm not against the use of little John for calls of nature. But I'm thinking about posting a sign that reads: "This facility used for body functions Minimal Only."

Not my fault greek temple with your gut digest.

More palacial bathroom.

Bathrooms like restaurants should be assessed in travel books by how good they are. For example, we have all seen gas station bathrooms in truck stops on Labor Day where the unflushed facility has not been cleaned, and globs of stuff in there are so putrid that you think can reach out and grab you.

These sites give us lower on the ladder of evolution.

Disgusting!

Then there are the bathrooms, like the one I saw at Pebble Beach Resort. The heart soars. You can eat off the ground. Little, damp towels hanging silver trays for cleaning hands. Embossed toilet paper. Sparkling silver and brass fixtures.

A dream come true.

I was in tears.

© Copyright 2004 by SammonSays.com