“If by helping two somewhat deserving people, I inadvertently help one that isn't, who cares?
This isn’t, after all, Vietnam.”
Thursday, October 01, 2015
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
“I deny them because I’ve never seen them” said Richards.
“I pulled them from your corporate reports” says Chaffetz
"Oh," Richards said, appearing deflated.
Then staff behind Richards leaned over to whisper into her ear. She interrupted Chaffetz.
"Excuse me, my lawyer is informing me that the source of this is actually Americans United for Life, which is an anti-abortion group," she said. "So, I would check your source."
It was Chaffetz's turn to appear deflated. "Then we will get to the bottom of the truth of that," he said.
To his credit Chaffetz did admit today that his chart was "misleading". But then he had to spoil it all by saying he isn't raising hell about abortions, its all about the money.
Its all about 500 million dollars, says Chaffetz, that the taxpayers fund Planned Parenthood with.
Around here, in the US of A, you cant even blow your nose on 500 Million.
That's about what they pay for Big Bird too. There has to be some better ways to save some money besides sticking it to Womens Health and Big Bird.
I usually stay out of the abortion debate. I don't have a vagina or womb. Or breasts. If the Supreme Court were to rescind Roe vs. Wade, I would go along with that simply out of my respect for the Court.
Posted by Bulletholes at 9:39 PM
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Whale watching with your daughter who has been crazy about whales her whole life...priceless!
There was a woman on the boat that screamed out "Whoo-hoo" every time a whale breached. Sometimes the whale would breach three times in succession , and she would scream out "Whoo-hoo--Whoo-hoo--Whoo-hoo" right along with them. It didnt take long before I was howling "Aiiiigghheee!" right along with her.
And it wasnt long before the rest of the boat would ROAR after she screamed "Whoo-hoo" and I howled "Aiggghhheee!".
So it was "Whoo-hoo" "Aiiigghheee!" and ROAR! all over Puget Sound.
You could probably hear us all the way to Vancouver.
About halfway through the tour, the Captain came on the speaker.
"I dont know who the screamiing woman is, but I'm sure glad to have her aboard."
Me too. I love my excitable girl!
They ought to PAY HER for going on those boats.
Happy Daughters Day.
Posted by Bulletholes at 9:36 AM
Friday, September 25, 2015
Posted by bulletholes at 1:29 PM
Thursday, September 24, 2015
I was thinking of this a few days ago while I noticed all the anti Muslim stuff on FB.
There are 5 million of them here in the USA.
If 1% want to kill us that makes 50,000 out to get us.
If 1% of those are actually going to do something, that makes 5000 of them out there loading up right now to do something.
Even if we take it all the way down to another 1 of 100 of those (that would be .001%) that are completely radicalized, attack imminent , you got 50 radical Muslims about. That should register as an attack at least once a week.
So where the hell are all these Muslims I am supposed to be so worried about?
The last attack I remember was a couple that drove to Garland from Phoenix only to get blown away in the parking lot at an anti-Muslim Art Show.
I’m more worried about the guy that lives next door. He probably wont attack. I just hope he doesn’t get any uglier.
So I ask again…where are all these Muslims I am supposed to be worried about?
Last year it was reports of ISIL coming across the border with Central American refugees. They were finding prayer rugs and Quarans behind every bush all along the Rio Grande. I even saw a video Allen West put out that purportedly showed a dozen ISIS Jihadist's coming ashore in a landing craft somewhere near San Diego.
What has come of all that?
I tell you what has come of all that.
They arrested a kid last week in Irving Texas for bringing in a homemade clock project of some sort, thinking it might be a bomb.
Get a grip, Irving.
Posted by Bulletholes at 1:20 PM
Monday, September 14, 2015
"For me, it’s never necessarily been a choice, so I think the thing is, it’s really just kind of a breath, like you just kind of have to. And then there is something really exciting about being able to grab what the world gives you and turn it into something. And Fort Worth is a little bit one of those places that’s still starry-eyed, a little magical. Art is still magical around here. You can kind of do things you’re not supposed to. I kind of come from a slightly underground, slightly criminal version of art, with not a lot of money and [an interest] in making big things. A lot of times, instead of being met with apprehension, it’s usually met with a lot of appreciation, so that’s a really nice reason to be here."
You may recall a friend of mine, Jay Wilkinson, a thriving (starving) young artist here in Fort Worth. I posted about an Art Exhibition, "Bobby on Drums" a while back where he had several pieces. Lets take a look shall we?
This piece is recessed into the wall about two feet and nicely backlit from above. It is about five feet in diameter. I felt lighter just looking at it.
This one is really cool. Jay likes to work with salvaged materials, and I believe it is a satelite dish of some sort. Its big, about eight feet in diameter, and from the picture, you cant quite get the wonderful texture of the white "clouds".
In the middle of the floor was a huge sandworm or whale or something. Made out of scrap lumber.
Jay is an inaugural recipient of ArtSouth, a residency program by Fort Worth South Inc. Here is a link for an interview, and more information about Jay and the Fort Worth Art scene.
Be sure to follow this link to "Bobby On Drums", my previous post with more info about Jay and his art.
Here is the Facebook page for ArtSouth's "Meet Jay Wilkinson".
Posted by bulletholes at 2:15 PM
Wednesday, September 09, 2015
I don’t exactly remember when the glass top to moms table broke. It left a beautiful base, antiqued gold leaf on plaster of Paris, shaped like scrolls or waves; I always figured to replace the glass. It sat in the living room a few years, a piece of plywood and a cloth replacing the glass with a lamp on top. A newer table arrived, and moms old gold table was demoted to the den. A year later, further reduced to a third bedroom.
The plywood warped and the cloth got dirty, and somewhere along the way it wound up in the garage.
A move later, and no garage, it went to the back porch. I guess it has been on back porches now for eleven years of its forty-seven year life.
Mom bought it for the house on Hillview, the first house we lived in after moving to Hurst from Detroit in 1968.
I just cleaned off the porch today. It was warped beyond belief; cracked too, from the weather, and there really wasn’t much antique gold leaf left on it. It was more like green.
I slung it over my shoulder and trucked it out to the dumpster.
There was an old grey man by the dumpster, loading Miller Lite into an ice chest.
I walked past him, lifted the table over the edge of the dumpster and unceremoniously let it fall.
Inside of ten seconds, standing there, I reviewed the life of the table, much as I just narrated it for you in the post. I thought of the house on Hillview, Levitz Furnishings out on Camp Bowie, the home decorator that mom had hired, all the places the table had been, all the times I nearly bought a glass for it, and two years ago when I last still held some hope that I might salvage the forgotten table.
And of course I thought about mom. It’s really amazing how far your mind can race in ten seconds.
I turned from the dumpster to walk back to my apartment.
There is the old man with the beer.
“How you doing?” he says.
“I’m Ok.” I says.
I kept walking, then I stopped and turned back around.
“I’ve had that table quite some time. About 30 years I figure. It’s beyond repair, but I just hung on to it”
“He looked up from icing his beer.
I continued, “I always figured to fix that table. But it’s hopeless. It’s time to let it go.”
I laughed, and he laughed too. I could see a sense of identification on his face.
I turned and started back to my apartment. I got three steps and turned around.
“It was my mom’s table, you know?”
He smiled and nodded.
I turned again, got three steps, and turned around.
“Every year that goes by, there is one thing less that I have that was hers”
He looked at me closer, with kindly eyes, and nodded his head.
I turned again, got three steps, and turned around.
“I can’t help but think I let her down on that table.”
I could see his mind racing; the way mine had just a moment before. I wish I could tell you what he was thinking, or that this story has some nice neat end to it, but I can’t and it doesn’t.
“No son” he said “Don’t you be thinking that at all.”
“Thank you sir” and I turned and went back inside my apartment while he went back to icing his beer.
Posted by Bulletholes at 5:16 PM
Tuesday, September 08, 2015
Posted by bulletholes at 1:15 PM
Monday, September 07, 2015
I do "The Bulletholes Ten". Its a ten minute walk around my apartment. If I'm feeling frisky, I'll do two laps.
I always think about my nephew Dave, and what it takes to do one of these ultras he runs. An Ultra is an 80 mile jog over mountains and rivers and stuff, and you have like 24 hours to do it. I wonder how long it will take me to achieve the mindset of the ultra runner.
I had told Dave about "The Bulletholes Ten" last month. I said "The great thing about "The Ten" is that if I decide I need to bail, I'm never more than 10 minutes from home".
Dave looked at me, pitifully.
"You mean five. You are never more than five minutes from home" he said.
I paused a moment, quickly reviewed my calculations, rocked back on my heels a bit and grinned.
"Right, Dave my boy! Only five minutes from home!"
Dave is not just a great Ultra runner. He's a damn fine mathematician as well.
He will be pleased to know I did two full "Tens" tonight.
Posted by Bulletholes at 5:35 AM
Friday, September 04, 2015
Posted by bulletholes at 2:00 PM