I haven't posted in a while because I've been working on my books. I just had a mystery, unmarked grave, come out in april, and in august, liesure is putting out my next western, day of vengeance.
to be honest, one reason i spend so much time writing is that way, i escape the idiocy of the world around us, especially the disasterous events unfolding in washington.
instead of the columns i like to write, i've been venting my spleen on their hapless behaviors, behaviors i wish I knew how to prevent.
I woke up Sunday morning to learn the much ballyhooed Energy-Climate Bill passed the House-by seven votes.
I don’t know whether to cry or not.
On the one hand, we hear horror stories about running out of energy; on the other, we hear glowing stories about vast, untouched energy sources that will take us to the next millennium.
If you’re like me, I don’t know who to believe. It’s like the boy who cried wolf. The politicians have lied to us so much, we don’t know what to believe.
The fact the vote was 219-212 tells me the same feeling exists in our House of Representatives.
What really concerns me is that no one up there, not from the president down, not even Queen Pelosi, can tell us exactly how the results of this bill will play out.
I’m all for making us more energy efficient, but at what price? I’m going to spend an additional five thousand on a car that gets me ten more miles per gallon. Do the math, and you’ll see it’ll take you several years to break even—unless gasoline goes up, which it will.
Simply put, the bill requires the U.S. to reduce carbon dioxide and greenhouse gasses by 17 percent by 2020, according to the Associated Press, and 80 percent by 2050.
Businesses that pollute must have permits, some sold, most issued.
In other words, refineries in Southeast Texas will have to get permits to operate. Whether they will be forced to purchase them or receive them without cost, no decision has been made.
I have feeling this is where Joe Politics will decide to take a hand. Why do I think that?
Well, I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but according to the Associated Press, the final bill contained concessions to satisfy farm-state lawmakers, ethanol producers, hydroelectric advocates, the nuclear industry, and others.
Concessions, if you didn’t know, is another word for ‘back room politics’. Guess who will pick up the tab that those industries politicked out of.
You guessed it, good old Dumbo Taxpayer, those of us who let our elected representatives lead us around with a ring in our noses..
One fact all agree upon, however, is that this bill will cost the American taxpayer, homeowner, renter, RV park customer, boat owner, bike rider, skateboard aficionados, and just about everyone else more money.
I’ve seen estimates from $70.00 a year all the way up to $770.00 just for electricity to power a home, an average home, not one like ‘greenhouse conservative’ Al Gore lives in.
Now I know are a lot of you out there behind this bill. How about filling me in with some concrete details. Tell me how much it will cost.
You can’t do it because this is just another one of those bills pushed through in the almighty name of ‘Change.’
Remember the middle class tax cuts? Kiss them goodbye. The $600 billion the administration planned to use for the continuation of those tax cuts was eliminated.
Why?
Because those businesses mentioned earlier will be given permits instead of having to purchase them as the bill FIRST proposed. Selling the permits was how the administration planned to raise the $600 billion.
For the first time in decades, I’m really worried about the direction our country is going. The only hope I have is the fact that enough of us will wake up to what’s going on and start making some changes in 2010.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
grandkids
The Blessings of Grandkids
I have some grandsons up in the Fort Worth area I haven’t seen for quite awhile. I’ve thought about perhaps inviting them down for a visit during the summer, but given the shape in which my two little grandsons down here in Port Neches leave me each day, I don’t know if it would work—or if the young men would even want to take time from their own interests.
They’re past that age where they could benefit from the homespun wisdom we elders possess, you know like ‘forgive your enemies. It messes up their heads,’ or ‘never corner anything meaner than you.’ And probably the most important philosophy of all is that ‘most of the things folks worry about ain’t never going to happen.’ Good stuff, you know.
The two little grandkids down here, we see frequently. Sometimes I pick them up from day school where they are always bundles of energy and where finding one of them in ‘time out’ is no surprise. Sometimes we go for ice cream or chicken nuggets and then to the park.
Back at the house, among other toys they have a tricycle and a battery-powered Bat Car (both provided by their parents) that they ride around the concrete rim of the swimming pool.
Of course, we watch them constantly, warn them constantly, yell at them constantly.
Does it help?
Usually! But—
That’s right. One day, the boys were on their vehicles, one trying to squirt past the other. A back wheel slid off, and in slow motion, Mikey hit the water. Before he was half way in, his Mom was right there-all the way in.
Hopefully, they’ll learn to swim this spring.
I have two boys of my own. I can remember how rowdy and rambunctious they were. That’s just part of being a boy. Keegan and Mikey are rowdy personified. Shout at them, and they think you’re playing.
The other day, I took the boys to the park. After a good while, I decided it was time to leave. To my surprise, then frustration, when I called them to me, they laughed, turned, and ran.
I couldn’t catch them. I wasn’t about to try. My joints that once purred like contented kittens now click and clack like skeleton bones on Halloween.
Now, I finesse the little guys.
When they ran, I shrugged and got in the truck. “So long, guys. I’m going to Dairy Queen. See you later.”
Okay, so I lied, and so they got teary eyed when we didn’t go to DQ. As soon as I pointed out the airplane (that didn’t exist) up in the sky, they dried up. You got to think fast with three and four year olds. And fabricating the truth is an option I use without shame.
I thought I was pretty clever to finesse them by just walking away. I did it at the store one day.
Hold on, hold on all you zealots drooling at the mouth out there. I always keep them in sight. When I get around the corner, I stop and peek around.
I was surprised at the number of curious looks I get from customers seeing me peering around the corner of the Gladiola flour or Sunkist soft drinks displays.
As soon as the older ones saw me watching the kid down the aisle, they smiled knowingly and chuckled. Obviously, they’d used the same technique. So much for me being clever.
I love having the boys over. I love when they leave.
One of the regrets I’ll always have is that I wish I could have spent the same kind of quality time with my other grandsons.
And don’t start hurling platitudes at me. I couldn’t feel any more guilty. But, you take the hand dealt you, even if you cut the deck.
I have some grandsons up in the Fort Worth area I haven’t seen for quite awhile. I’ve thought about perhaps inviting them down for a visit during the summer, but given the shape in which my two little grandsons down here in Port Neches leave me each day, I don’t know if it would work—or if the young men would even want to take time from their own interests.
They’re past that age where they could benefit from the homespun wisdom we elders possess, you know like ‘forgive your enemies. It messes up their heads,’ or ‘never corner anything meaner than you.’ And probably the most important philosophy of all is that ‘most of the things folks worry about ain’t never going to happen.’ Good stuff, you know.
The two little grandkids down here, we see frequently. Sometimes I pick them up from day school where they are always bundles of energy and where finding one of them in ‘time out’ is no surprise. Sometimes we go for ice cream or chicken nuggets and then to the park.
Back at the house, among other toys they have a tricycle and a battery-powered Bat Car (both provided by their parents) that they ride around the concrete rim of the swimming pool.
Of course, we watch them constantly, warn them constantly, yell at them constantly.
Does it help?
Usually! But—
That’s right. One day, the boys were on their vehicles, one trying to squirt past the other. A back wheel slid off, and in slow motion, Mikey hit the water. Before he was half way in, his Mom was right there-all the way in.
Hopefully, they’ll learn to swim this spring.
I have two boys of my own. I can remember how rowdy and rambunctious they were. That’s just part of being a boy. Keegan and Mikey are rowdy personified. Shout at them, and they think you’re playing.
The other day, I took the boys to the park. After a good while, I decided it was time to leave. To my surprise, then frustration, when I called them to me, they laughed, turned, and ran.
I couldn’t catch them. I wasn’t about to try. My joints that once purred like contented kittens now click and clack like skeleton bones on Halloween.
Now, I finesse the little guys.
When they ran, I shrugged and got in the truck. “So long, guys. I’m going to Dairy Queen. See you later.”
Okay, so I lied, and so they got teary eyed when we didn’t go to DQ. As soon as I pointed out the airplane (that didn’t exist) up in the sky, they dried up. You got to think fast with three and four year olds. And fabricating the truth is an option I use without shame.
I thought I was pretty clever to finesse them by just walking away. I did it at the store one day.
Hold on, hold on all you zealots drooling at the mouth out there. I always keep them in sight. When I get around the corner, I stop and peek around.
I was surprised at the number of curious looks I get from customers seeing me peering around the corner of the Gladiola flour or Sunkist soft drinks displays.
As soon as the older ones saw me watching the kid down the aisle, they smiled knowingly and chuckled. Obviously, they’d used the same technique. So much for me being clever.
I love having the boys over. I love when they leave.
One of the regrets I’ll always have is that I wish I could have spent the same kind of quality time with my other grandsons.
And don’t start hurling platitudes at me. I couldn’t feel any more guilty. But, you take the hand dealt you, even if you cut the deck.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Horror On Graduation Night
note: this is an experiment with a young adult novel I wrote. Those young folks who read it, enjoyed it. I hope you do. I plan on adding one chapter a week.
Kent Conwell
brief synopsis:
Pursued by a knife-wielding woodshop teacher while locked on the second floor of the high school, five high school graduates take desperate measures to escape, but solar disturbances skew the time continuum so that when they run into various classrooms, they find themselves in different centuries, all hostile.
Horror on Graduation Night
Prologue
A surge of exhilaration rushed through the small man’s veins when he clamped his rough hand over Sarah Lawson’s mouth and pinched her nostrils between his thumb and forefinger, smothering the scream on her lips.
The twelve-year-old girl scratched and kicked, knocking over an empty orange crate. He jerked her into the car.
Across the parking lot, a Chevrolet Suburban with a Point Sequin Junior High decal on the door waited in the drive-thru lane of Dairy Queen. Inside the vehicle, members of the junior high debate club laughed and giggled.
At the sharp rattle of the orange crate, several of the young students glanced around.
With a curse, the small man drew back into the car, clutching the struggling girl to his body, at the same time pleased with his foresight in removing the interior light bulb. Still, despite the car being parked in the dark shadows of the alley, which hid it from their sight, he trembled with fear that the students in the suburban recognized him.
His eyes narrowed. "Nosy little brats," he muttered. Anger boiled in his blood.
Infuriated that the students were staring in his direction, he tightened his grip on the flailing girl's mouth and nostrils, shutting off her breathing. Her struggles lessened as she gasped for breath. She beat weakly on his arms, but he ignored the blows, instead focusing his attention on the students in the suburban.
A few moments later, the girl went limp. Gently, almost fatherly, he lay her on the seat beside him
Kent Conwell
brief synopsis:
Pursued by a knife-wielding woodshop teacher while locked on the second floor of the high school, five high school graduates take desperate measures to escape, but solar disturbances skew the time continuum so that when they run into various classrooms, they find themselves in different centuries, all hostile.
Horror on Graduation Night
Prologue
A surge of exhilaration rushed through the small man’s veins when he clamped his rough hand over Sarah Lawson’s mouth and pinched her nostrils between his thumb and forefinger, smothering the scream on her lips.
The twelve-year-old girl scratched and kicked, knocking over an empty orange crate. He jerked her into the car.
Across the parking lot, a Chevrolet Suburban with a Point Sequin Junior High decal on the door waited in the drive-thru lane of Dairy Queen. Inside the vehicle, members of the junior high debate club laughed and giggled.
At the sharp rattle of the orange crate, several of the young students glanced around.
With a curse, the small man drew back into the car, clutching the struggling girl to his body, at the same time pleased with his foresight in removing the interior light bulb. Still, despite the car being parked in the dark shadows of the alley, which hid it from their sight, he trembled with fear that the students in the suburban recognized him.
His eyes narrowed. "Nosy little brats," he muttered. Anger boiled in his blood.
Infuriated that the students were staring in his direction, he tightened his grip on the flailing girl's mouth and nostrils, shutting off her breathing. Her struggles lessened as she gasped for breath. She beat weakly on his arms, but he ignored the blows, instead focusing his attention on the students in the suburban.
A few moments later, the girl went limp. Gently, almost fatherly, he lay her on the seat beside him
bizarre food
Pass the Fried Worms, Please!
I don't know about you, but I don't care for many of the ‘reality’ programs we see on cable. Now, I’ll be the first to exclaim ‘if you don’t like them, flip the dial’, which I do with frustrating regularity. Every time I see a guy drop a scorpion down his throat or suck a gummy liquid from some insect, I flip the channel.
When I say ‘reality’, I’m not too sure what I mean for many programs are seeming to attempt to go ‘reality’ one better by proclaiming they are ‘actuality’ programs.
According to the dictionary, reality is the quality or state of being actual or true; actuality is the state or fact of being actual, reality.
So, how can two programs, one claiming reality and the other actuality, be any different? You suppose all those honorable people know something we don’t?
Well, that’s one of those philosophical mumbo-jumbos that someone who has nothing better to do can figure out.
The other day, I ran across a program called something like ‘Food Adventures.’ The only reason I stopped on the channel is because the trailer said ‘Acme’s Oyster House Challenge.” Well, my wife and I have eaten at the Acme Oyster House in New Orleans, and the food was delicious, but this turned to be one of those ‘I bet you can’t eat it all’ sort of challenges.
The host of the program was going eat fifteen dozen raw oysters at one sitting. That’s right, fifteen dozen, one hundred and eighty, of those slimy little suckers.
And for the next fifteen or twenty minutes, that’s all we did, watch him poke one oyster after another down his gullet. Oh, he did it, which accompanying sauces.
Another time, we caught bits and pieces of a program from the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo. That’s where if you finish a 72 ounce steak—that’s five pounds- tossed salad, shrimp cocktail, buttered roll, and baked potato in one hour, it’s free, so I heard.
Now those are all right, but somehow, sitting on the couch, glued to the screen while someone is tearing into a five pound steak or a bucketful of oysters isn’t my idea of entertainment.
The ones that really gross me out are the ones like fried silk worms or sea snail salad. Perhaps they are tasty, but the idea of swallowing something like raw fish egg sacs doesn’t to anything to settle my stomach.
Some programs go beyond dog meat or sucking the brains from a baked pig. There is one program in which the host is dropped off a various wilderness locations throughout the world and works his way back to civilization. I enjoy it until he starts looking for supper. Then my stomach starts doing the two-step.
The guy eats raw fish, snails, bugs, beetles, snakes, worms, both earth and grub, and once, he even fished chunks of apples from bear scat, washed them off in a stream, and ate them.
That’s when I flip over to ‘I Love Lucy.’
If they’re trying to shock us, at least me, they’re succeeding. Obviously, there are folks out there who like that sort of entertainment; otherwise the programs wouldn’t be scheduled.
Just goes to show you, most of us have no idea how the rest of the world lives. As for me, give me pancakes in the morning, a BLT for lunch, and chicken fried steak at night.
I don't know about you, but I don't care for many of the ‘reality’ programs we see on cable. Now, I’ll be the first to exclaim ‘if you don’t like them, flip the dial’, which I do with frustrating regularity. Every time I see a guy drop a scorpion down his throat or suck a gummy liquid from some insect, I flip the channel.
When I say ‘reality’, I’m not too sure what I mean for many programs are seeming to attempt to go ‘reality’ one better by proclaiming they are ‘actuality’ programs.
According to the dictionary, reality is the quality or state of being actual or true; actuality is the state or fact of being actual, reality.
So, how can two programs, one claiming reality and the other actuality, be any different? You suppose all those honorable people know something we don’t?
Well, that’s one of those philosophical mumbo-jumbos that someone who has nothing better to do can figure out.
The other day, I ran across a program called something like ‘Food Adventures.’ The only reason I stopped on the channel is because the trailer said ‘Acme’s Oyster House Challenge.” Well, my wife and I have eaten at the Acme Oyster House in New Orleans, and the food was delicious, but this turned to be one of those ‘I bet you can’t eat it all’ sort of challenges.
The host of the program was going eat fifteen dozen raw oysters at one sitting. That’s right, fifteen dozen, one hundred and eighty, of those slimy little suckers.
And for the next fifteen or twenty minutes, that’s all we did, watch him poke one oyster after another down his gullet. Oh, he did it, which accompanying sauces.
Another time, we caught bits and pieces of a program from the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo. That’s where if you finish a 72 ounce steak—that’s five pounds- tossed salad, shrimp cocktail, buttered roll, and baked potato in one hour, it’s free, so I heard.
Now those are all right, but somehow, sitting on the couch, glued to the screen while someone is tearing into a five pound steak or a bucketful of oysters isn’t my idea of entertainment.
The ones that really gross me out are the ones like fried silk worms or sea snail salad. Perhaps they are tasty, but the idea of swallowing something like raw fish egg sacs doesn’t to anything to settle my stomach.
Some programs go beyond dog meat or sucking the brains from a baked pig. There is one program in which the host is dropped off a various wilderness locations throughout the world and works his way back to civilization. I enjoy it until he starts looking for supper. Then my stomach starts doing the two-step.
The guy eats raw fish, snails, bugs, beetles, snakes, worms, both earth and grub, and once, he even fished chunks of apples from bear scat, washed them off in a stream, and ate them.
That’s when I flip over to ‘I Love Lucy.’
If they’re trying to shock us, at least me, they’re succeeding. Obviously, there are folks out there who like that sort of entertainment; otherwise the programs wouldn’t be scheduled.
Just goes to show you, most of us have no idea how the rest of the world lives. As for me, give me pancakes in the morning, a BLT for lunch, and chicken fried steak at night.
Kent Conwell
213 E 1st St
Port Neches, TX 77651,,
409-724-2956
rconwell@gt.rr.com
Pass the Fried Worms, Please!
Like thousands upon thousands of other folks throughout this neck of the woods, I have cable. Now, I’m not going to fuss about some of our cable’s latest stunts. I’m not even going to complain about the misinformation the Director of Digital Communications at Time Warner, Jeff Simmermon, wrote in the Beaumont Enterprise about customers not being billed an additional 99 cents for paper billing for he is an honorable man.
I’m not even going to gripe about my recent bill that came right out and stated in unequivocal black and white print a 99 cent charge for paper billing for those responsible are all honorable people.
Nope, today, I’m going to express my distaste with many of the ‘reality’ programs we see on cable. Now, I’ll be the first to exclaim ‘if you don’t like them, flip the dial’, which I do with frustrating regularity. Every time I see a guy drop a scorpion down his throat or suck a gummy liquid from some insect, I flip the channel.
When I say ‘reality’, I’m not too sure what I mean for many programs are seeming to attempt to go ‘reality’ one better by proclaiming they are ‘actuality’ programs.
According to the dictionary, reality is the quality or state of being actual or true; actuality is the state or fact of being actual, reality.
So, how can two programs, one claiming reality and the other actuality, be any different? You suppose all those honorable people know something we don’t?
Well, that’s one of those philosophical mumbo-jumbos that someone who has nothing better to do can figure out.
The other day, I ran across a program called something like ‘Food Adventures.’ The only reason I stopped on the channel is because the trailer said ‘Acme’s Oyster House Challenge.” Well, my wife and I have eaten at the Acme Oyster House in New Orleans, and the food was delicious, but this turned to be one of those ‘I bet you can’t eat it all’ sort of challenges.
The host of the program was going eat fifteen dozen raw oysters at one sitting. That’s right, fifteen dozen, one hundred and eighty, of those slimy little suckers.
And for the next fifteen or twenty minutes, that’s all we did, watch him poke one oyster after another down his gullet. Oh, he did it, which accompanying sauces.
Another time, we caught bits and pieces of a program from the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo. That’s where if you finish a 72 ounce steak—that’s five pounds- tossed salad, shrimp cocktail, buttered roll, and baked potato in one hour, it’s free, so I heard.
Now those are all right, but somehow, sitting on the couch, glued to the screen while someone is tearing into a five pound steak or a bucketful of oysters isn’t my idea of entertainment.
The ones that really gross me out are the ones like fried silk worms or sea snail salad. Perhaps they are tasty, but the idea of swallowing something like raw fish egg sacs doesn’t to anything to settle my stomach.
Some programs go beyond dog meat or sucking the brains from a baked pig. There is one program in which the host is dropped off a various wilderness locations throughout the world and works his way back to civilization. I enjoy it until he starts looking for supper. Then my stomach starts doing the two-step.
The guy eats raw fish, snails, bugs, beetles, snakes, worms, both earth and grub, and once, he even fished chunks of apples from bear scat, washed them off in a stream, and ate them.
That’s when I flip over to ‘I Love Lucy.’
If they’re trying to shock us, at least me, they’re succeeding. Obviously, there are folks out there who like that sort of entertainment; otherwise the programs wouldn’t be scheduled.
Just goes to show you, most of us have no idea how the rest of the world lives. As for me, give me pancakes in the morning, a BLT for lunch, and chicken fried steak at night.
213 E 1st St
Port Neches, TX 77651,,
409-724-2956
rconwell@gt.rr.com
Pass the Fried Worms, Please!
Like thousands upon thousands of other folks throughout this neck of the woods, I have cable. Now, I’m not going to fuss about some of our cable’s latest stunts. I’m not even going to complain about the misinformation the Director of Digital Communications at Time Warner, Jeff Simmermon, wrote in the Beaumont Enterprise about customers not being billed an additional 99 cents for paper billing for he is an honorable man.
I’m not even going to gripe about my recent bill that came right out and stated in unequivocal black and white print a 99 cent charge for paper billing for those responsible are all honorable people.
Nope, today, I’m going to express my distaste with many of the ‘reality’ programs we see on cable. Now, I’ll be the first to exclaim ‘if you don’t like them, flip the dial’, which I do with frustrating regularity. Every time I see a guy drop a scorpion down his throat or suck a gummy liquid from some insect, I flip the channel.
When I say ‘reality’, I’m not too sure what I mean for many programs are seeming to attempt to go ‘reality’ one better by proclaiming they are ‘actuality’ programs.
According to the dictionary, reality is the quality or state of being actual or true; actuality is the state or fact of being actual, reality.
So, how can two programs, one claiming reality and the other actuality, be any different? You suppose all those honorable people know something we don’t?
Well, that’s one of those philosophical mumbo-jumbos that someone who has nothing better to do can figure out.
The other day, I ran across a program called something like ‘Food Adventures.’ The only reason I stopped on the channel is because the trailer said ‘Acme’s Oyster House Challenge.” Well, my wife and I have eaten at the Acme Oyster House in New Orleans, and the food was delicious, but this turned to be one of those ‘I bet you can’t eat it all’ sort of challenges.
The host of the program was going eat fifteen dozen raw oysters at one sitting. That’s right, fifteen dozen, one hundred and eighty, of those slimy little suckers.
And for the next fifteen or twenty minutes, that’s all we did, watch him poke one oyster after another down his gullet. Oh, he did it, which accompanying sauces.
Another time, we caught bits and pieces of a program from the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo. That’s where if you finish a 72 ounce steak—that’s five pounds- tossed salad, shrimp cocktail, buttered roll, and baked potato in one hour, it’s free, so I heard.
Now those are all right, but somehow, sitting on the couch, glued to the screen while someone is tearing into a five pound steak or a bucketful of oysters isn’t my idea of entertainment.
The ones that really gross me out are the ones like fried silk worms or sea snail salad. Perhaps they are tasty, but the idea of swallowing something like raw fish egg sacs doesn’t to anything to settle my stomach.
Some programs go beyond dog meat or sucking the brains from a baked pig. There is one program in which the host is dropped off a various wilderness locations throughout the world and works his way back to civilization. I enjoy it until he starts looking for supper. Then my stomach starts doing the two-step.
The guy eats raw fish, snails, bugs, beetles, snakes, worms, both earth and grub, and once, he even fished chunks of apples from bear scat, washed them off in a stream, and ate them.
That’s when I flip over to ‘I Love Lucy.’
If they’re trying to shock us, at least me, they’re succeeding. Obviously, there are folks out there who like that sort of entertainment; otherwise the programs wouldn’t be scheduled.
Just goes to show you, most of us have no idea how the rest of the world lives. As for me, give me pancakes in the morning, a BLT for lunch, and chicken fried steak at night.
Bizarre Foods
Pass the Fried Worms, Please!
Like thousands upon thousands of other folks throughout this neck of the woods, I have cable. Now, I’m not going to fuss about some of our cable’s latest stunts. I’m not going to complain about the misinformation our cable spews out. I’m not even going to gripe about my recent bill that came right out and stated in unequivocal black and white print a 99 cent charge for paper billing for those responsible are all honorable people.
Nope, today, I’m going to express my distaste with many of the ‘reality’ programs we see on cable. Now, I’ll be the first to exclaim ‘if you don’t like them, flip the dial’, which I do with frustrating regularity. Every time I see a guy drop a scorpion down his throat or suck a gummy liquid from some insect, I flip the channel.
When I say ‘reality’, I’m not too sure what I mean for many programs are seeming to attempt to go ‘reality’ one better by proclaiming they are ‘actuality’ programs.
According to the dictionary, reality is the quality or state of being actual or true; actuality is the state or fact of being actual, reality.
So, how can two programs, one claiming reality and the other actuality, be any different? You suppose all those honorable people know something we don’t?
Well, that’s one of those philosophical mumbo-jumbos that someone who has nothing better to
do can figure out.
The other day, I ran across a program called something like ‘Food Adventures.’ The only reason I stopped on the channel is because the trailer said ‘Acme’s Oyster House Challenge.” Well, my wife and I have eaten at the Acme Oyster House in New Orleans, and the food was delicious, but this turned to be one of those ‘I bet you can’t eat it all’ sort of challenges.
The host of the program was going eat fifteen dozen raw oysters at one sitting. That’s right, fifteen dozen, one hundred and eighty, of those slimy little suckers.
And for the next fifteen or twenty minutes, that’s all we did, watch him poke one oyster after another down his gullet. Oh, he did it, which accompanying sauces.
Another time, we caught bits and pieces of a program from the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo. That’s where if you finish a 72 ounce steak—that’s five pounds- tossed salad, shrimp cocktail, buttered roll, and baked potato in one hour, it’s free, so I heard.
Now those are all right, but somehow, sitting on the couch, glued to the screen while someone is tearing into a five pound steak or a bucketful of oysters isn’t my idea of entertainment.
The ones that really gross me out are the ones like fried silk worms or sea snail salad. Perhaps they are tasty, but the idea of swallowing something like raw fish egg sacs doesn’t to anything to settle my stomach.
Some programs go beyond dog meat or sucking the brains from a baked pig. There is one program in which the host is dropped off a various wilderness locations throughout the world and works his way back to civilization. I enjoy it until he starts looking for supper. Then my stomach starts doing the two-step.
The guy eats raw fish, snails, bugs, beetles, snakes, worms, both earth and grub, and once, he even fished chunks of apples from bear scat, washed them off in a stream, and ate them.
That’s when I flip over to ‘I Love Lucy.’
If they’re trying to shock us, at least me, they’re succeeding. Obviously, there are folks out there who like that sort of entertainment; otherwise the programs wouldn’t be scheduled.
Just goes to show you, most of us have no idea how the rest of the world lives. As for me, give me pancakes in the morning, a BLT for lunch, and chicken fried steak at night.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Cheats in Congress
Trust Me, I’m Here to Help You.
“Trust me. I’m here to help you,” says the government.
If I had to choose the world's biggest lie, it would be between the previous remark and the oft used, “The check’s in the mail.”
Have you ever reached the point in a particular situation where you felt almost compelled to throw up your hands scream, “That’s it! I’ve had it! I’m washing my hands of it!”?
That’s exactly the way I feel about Congress as a collective group.
Now, I’m not ranting about the bailout any longer. It won’t do any good. I cringe when I think how it will affect my children and grandchildren, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
I’m just an average Joe Six-Pack on a fixed income dabbling in a few sidelines in an effort to bring in a little more income each month. And if you have any idea of the income of a journeyman writer, you know exactly what I meant by ‘little.’
Sometimes, I wish I had a place up at the lake where I could get up in the morning, hop in my jonboat, drop a line in the water, and let the world go to blazes.
What upsets me is that Congress is the ultimate hypocrite. Tell me this, how many of you make over $137,000.00 a year?
Well, that’s what every last member of Congress made back in 1999. Today, 2009, ten years later, they are making $174,000.00. Do the math and you’ll see that’s right at a 25% increase in salary.
How many of you had your income jump by twenty-five percent? How many of you make $174.000.00?
Years back, Congress voted itself automatic cost of living raises. So every year, they get an automatic raise.
They even got a $4,700.00 raise on January 1, 2009, while thousands upon thousands of plain old American citizens were being given pink slips.
I saw a movie where Washington’s shenanigans were called the ‘Potomac Two-Step.’ And is that appropriate.
Here’s why.
To stop the raises, Congress must vote on them. And neither party wants that to happen.
You see, such a bill must go through committee, and when it hits the committee, you might as well say ‘adios’ because that sucker will never see the light of day again.
In all fairness, some lawmakers have tried, Mitchell D-AZ, Paul R-TX, and Feingold D-WI. These decent folks have introduced bills, and all have me the same fate, merciless deaths at the hands of greedy Congresspeople who should be back in their own states sweeping garbage from the streets.
Now, if you pay attention to politics, you will learn Congress, fearful of voter reaction, did vote to decline the raise for 2010.
Don’t get excited for they specified 2010, not forever. See how sneaky they are? In 2011, they’ll be right back at it.
And these are the same hypocrites who have been lambasting CEOs over the past few months.
If Obama can freeze the seventy senior members of the White House Staff’s pay at $100,000.00, why can’t Congress follow suit? Of course, to be frank, I have reservations about anyone running a house, White or not, being paid $100,000.00.
But then, I’m just a plain old American hick down here in Texas.
But I tell what I am going to do. I’m going to find out which of my senators and representatives took the 2009 raise and campaign against them. I'll vote only for those who refused it or turned it back to the government to go against the horrendous deficit our president has created.
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