SEX AND THE CITY

You know what’s really funny about my sister?
You may recall she passed away back in January after years of being ill.

There was a guy that kept asking her out the last three years. And she would stand him up. And he just kept asking her out.

She finally went out with him one time.

She called me the next day.

“You call him and tell him not to ever try to kiss me again”

“He tried to kiss you?”

“Yes”

“When?”

“When he dropped me off and walked me to the door”

“And you wouldn’t kiss him?”

“No, I’m not that kind of girl”

“its just a kiss Lisa. He’s asked you out a million times. You should go ahead and kiss him, just a little kiss”

I can tell by her voice she’s totally offended.

“I have my boundaries” she says.

“Well, so do I” I say “And I have no intention of calling him and telling him not to try to kiss you anymore. Its not my job”.

I know this guy. He’s had a stroke, walks with a limp and his left arm is mostly immobile. He may be a creep, but he’s hardly a threat. He seems like a sweetheart to me. Hell, if I was girl I’d kiss him, just out of pity.

But then, if I was a girl, I’d be kissing EVERYBODY.

So now I’ve got all her stuff, and this is whats weird.

She has every episode of every season of “Sex In The City” on videotape.
But the last 4 Seasons are unopened.

Maybe that where they get to the kissing part?

"NO WONDER ALL YOUR SAUCES LOOK LIKE SHIT"

I’ll tell you what I don’t miss about learning to be a chef at Luminarias.
The Corporate Executive Chef would come visit from time to time.
I remember his first visit, when I was just a line lunch cook. He had stood at one end of the line watching me. I was nervous as a cat. Chef John Bonner was a serious fellow, but really cool looking in a Dean Stockwell kind of way.
In fact, Chef John Bonner looked just like Dean Stockwell in “The Dunwich Horror”.

After the rush I grabbed a bucket of soapy water and began to scrub the line, splashing water everywhere in an effort to look like the good worker I was. I looked up to see Chef Bonner surveying my work with a fairly critical eye.
I grinned at him.
He furrowed his brow.
“You know Renfro, you sure make a big mess when you clean up” and he turned around and caught the next flight back to Corporate Headquarters in Los Angeles California.

A few months later, I’d been promoted to First Cook, in charge of sauces, meats, specials, general kitchen stocks and soups.
Chef Bonner came to visit.
He looked at my walk-in, he looked at the Prime Ribs, he tasted my rice. He watched while I diced onions and chopped saffron, and made the chili con queso. Then he got about 10 spoons and went and tasted all my sauces.
He asked how I made my roux. I told him.
He shook his head.
“No wonder all your sauces look like shit.”
OK. Thanks chef, tell me how you really feel!


It wasn’t my Brown sauce, it wasn’t my White sauce, it wasn’t the Bordelaise, the Mornay, the Apple-Brandy or Demi-Glace.
No, it was ALL my sauces looked like shit.

That’s how it goes in the kitchen. Like Janos Kiss would say in his thick Austrian accent after he finished reaming you a new asshole…
”Its OK, guys, lets not be sensitive”

And ten years later, you find yourself telling some young guy, without even blinking:
“Well, no wonder all your sauces look like shit”
God, sometimes I do miss it so.

Here Dean Stockwell calls on The Old Ones in Lovecrafts "The Dunwich Horror"

ON DEFENSIVE DRIVING

I had to take Defensive Driving classes online a while back.  I'd been twenty years without a moving violation. I couldnt believe I picked up a speeding ticket. Normally, I drive like grandpa. You can usually find me in the slow lane, going 5 miles under the speed limit with my blinker on. 
The Defensive Driving Course was slow torture.
You couldn't whiz through it...each page was timed. I had to wait 45 seconds or more after I'd finished reading to go to the next page. By the time I got to the end of a chapter to take the quiz, I could barely remember what the chapter was about, especially since I started playing online poker to help pass the time between pages.
It took about 20 hours to get through it.

The worse part was every so often they would have “Real Life Story” video, like a guy smashing into a motorcycle or something. It was bad scriptwriting, bad acting, fake blood and stuff, and then at the end, to make sure you had watched it, they would ask a question like:

“What was the victims name?”
A. John
B. Jim
C. Joe

or “What size breasts did the traffic stopper in the purple halter have?”
A. Small
B. Medium
C. HUGE

You know, stuff that you wouldn’t know unless you actually watched the video.
And if you got the answer wrong?
You had to go back and watch it again!
AAGGHHHH!
There were a couple times I had to watch 3 or 4 times.

Next time I'll go to one of their classes in person. At least I'll be able to screw up in class. Maybe I can even get D-Hall for old times sake!

MORE ON THE RIGHT TO FREE SPEECH

"The university is a public institution, they say, and punishing the students for what they said—no matter how vile—violates the First Amendment’s commitment to “uninhibited, robust, and wide-open” discourse.

We are told the First Amendment protects the odious because we cannot trust the government to make choices about content on our behalf. That protections of speech will inevitably be over inclusive. But that this is a cost we must bear. If we start punishing speech, advocates argue, then we will slide down the slippery slope to tyranny.

If that is what the First Amendment means, then we have a problem greater than bigoted frat boys. The problem would be the First Amendment.

No one with a frontal lobe would mistake this drunken anthem for part of an uninhibited and robust debate about race relations. The chant was a spew of hatred, a promise to discriminate, a celebration of privilege, and an assertion of the right to violence–all wrapped up in a catchy ditty. If the First Amendment has become so bloated, so ham-fisted, that it cannot distinguish between such filth and earnest public debate about race, then it is time we rethink what it means.

The way we interpret the First Amendment need not be simplistic and empty of nuance, and was not always so. The Supreme Court unanimously held over eighty years ago that “those words which by their very utterance inflict injury … are no essential part of any exposition of ideas.” And in 1952 the Court upheld an Illinois statute punishing “false or malicious defamation of racial and religious groups.” These rulings, while never officially reversed, have shrunk to historical trinkets. But they mark a range of the possible, where one can be a staunch defender of full-throated discourse but still recognize the difference between dialogue and vomitus."

Full article here, at The Atlantic.

THOSE POOR FISH

I’m thankful that the aquarium I saw with the bubbles and the brightly colored fish who could not really swim but only rise and fall a few inches because it was only 3 inches in diameter wasn’t real.
Upon closer inspection, the poor fish were plastic.
Oh, and loafers. I’m thankful for loafers.

ON THE RIGHT TO FREE SPEECH

When I was in the 3rd grade we had a big mural going in the classroom. It was Mrs. Grahams class, one of my all-time favorite teachers. Everyone got to put something on it. My contribution was a turtle with wings, which I labeled “Turd” in big letters, right underneath. 

Mrs. Graham was not pleased. 

“Where did you learn that word?” she asked. 

“I made it up” I lied. 

“How would you make up a word like that?” she asked.
“Well, its half bird and half turtle. Turd” I said. 

“Don’t say that word” she said, and frog marched me down to the principals office, where to his disbelief, I recounted my story while he rubbed his chin. 

My mother was called to the school. I stuck to my story. It seemed legit enough. I think maybe I was a better liar back then than I am now. Back then my conscience was a bit cleaner.
But I will never forget the look of incredulity on all their faces. 

Of course, the truth was I had learned the word from the big kid down the street, Johnny Miller. 

The point to the story (if there is a point) is that I never once tried to claim the Right to Free Speech.

ON EASTERN MEDICINE

We turned to Eastern Medicine once upon a time. We had a wicked combination of holiosis and dingivitis. The Dr. took one look at us, twirled his mustache and put his shirt back on. When an Eastern Medical Dr. puts his shirt on, you can be sure its serious.
“Meestair Reenflo, we want you to burn incense all day. Do you have a Neti Pot? You will also need to change elephants. Here is a number for a good used elephant salesman. He will give you top dollar for the old one”
“But Doc, I don’t have an elephant” I pleaded.
“Well, how is it you get to work?” he asked.
“I have a Hyundai”
“Oh, that’s bad, velly velly bad. I want you to go for blood tests. You may have compacted car bowel syndrome”
So he sent me to Dr Shakeyerbootie, a pretty Dr. who did not put her shirt back on. This was encouraging. She drew blood and asked:“Meestair Reenfro, what have you been eating?”
“Why Doc?”
‘Because your blood, eets the wrong color!”
“What color is it doc?”
“Its pink, and CREAMY!”
This did not surprise us. Just the day before we had eaten a gallon of Bluebell French Vanilla. We decided to not say word, and simply shrug our shoulders. That way we could remain the medical mystery that we are.

Recently, we tried the holistic approach. Like you, we were skeptical at first.
We found that rumors that holistic approaches such as Leech Therapy, Blood Letting and Reverse Colonics were in fact not holistic at all, but techniques brought back into use in modern medical hospitals as part and parcel of the Obamacare nightmare, designed to lower costs and ruin the country.
If we had read the bill we would have already known this.
So, armed with this new information we decided to follow in the footsteps of others who this approach had worked for, people like Dennis Rodman, Adolph Hitler and Britney Spears.
And we did well for a week until our doctor told us "No more Arby's"
That, my friend, was a deal killer.

"Dr. Shakeyerbootie will see you now"

"Healthier than a Hyundai"

ON KID ROCK

I've got to like Kid Rock. I knew him before he was Kid Rock. At least, I knew a guy looked, acted, and got just as much or more pussy as Kid Rock. He was my best bud in HS, and we were 10 times the trouble together as we were apart.
On opening night of Spring Break he and I stayed out past curfew, which was a major problem for our hard ass dads. My dad told me "either obey the rules of this house, or leave".
I said "OK, fair enough", packed a bag and went to Johns house, whose dad, predictably, had offered John the same deal, and John was waiting at the curb with his little knapsack.
Man, did we have some fun the next two weeks.
We out Kid Rocked Kid Rock, I guarangodamnedtee you me.

ON BUTTERMILK

With regards to chicken livers and buttermilk, as previously posted.
You can make your own buttermilk. Just take the carton and let it set out a day or two until it thickens up a bit.
I dont really drink buttermilk.
But my dad did.
It was fucking hard to watch.
I will eat buttermilk pie.
Oh yes, I will eat buttermilk pie.

CHICKEN LIVERS

Every time I go I say never again. And then 30 days later I'm drawn to it for some inexplicable reason.
It defies all logic. I could get chicken livers and a glass of buttermilk at a dozen places in this city but no, I got to go to the one place they make me sick.

SOUTHERN COMFORT

When I was 19 I was on a Southern Comfort and coke kick. Then I got a bad cold. My theory was that enough Southern Comfort would knock it right out, yes?
So I got a big bottle and started chasing it with coke that Friday night. I was pretty drunk. Real drunk, and somehow I escaped from my apartment and went and hung out at the pool. I saw my best friend approaching, and he stuck his hand out to shake my hand.
Instead of shaking his hand, I hit him with the biggest roundhouse right hook I could muster. Flat out cold cocked him. Because I thought it would be funny, haha.
Then I passed out.
So now he and I were both on the ground (I’d knocked him out cold) and another friend came along and woke him up, and they carried me up and put me in my bed.
I woke up about 2 am and there was some chick in bed with me and my cold was gone!
My theory worked.

THE PEASANT, THE GOOGOO LADY, & THE HAG,

I went to Scarborough Renaaisance Festival. It was 100 degrees out.
We had to park about 2 miles away in a cow pasture and there wassn't so much as a barb-wire fence for shade.
They had a parade that was lame, and a 7 pound Turkey leg that came with no napkin. There was a peasant woman that could'nt have been more than 40 inches tall yet weighed at least 14 stone. She looked as though she might be in the beginning stages of Acromegaly, which seemed kind of funny to me in a medieval kind of way, so I laughed. She stopped in mid-sentence as she addressed the crowd to turn and face me full on, her face swollen, full of anger and resentment as she pointed to the ground at her feet and said "What are you grinning at funny boy? You need to come closer if you want a picture!"
I hid behind Susan.
There was a goo-goo eyed lady that made funny faces as she walked along in the lame parade as though she may have had a bustle in her hedgerow.
There was the really Rabelaisian hag-woman that came through the food court, her skirt pulled up to expose fat thighs and dirty bloomers and a Bustier so high and tight you could't tell where her breasts stopped and her chin started. I do not know how she could see.
And two guys in Highlander Robes and swords and walking staffs that would enter the Food court and gaze upon it like they had just discovered America, hands over their brow as though searching a great distance over unknown terrain.
Their third time through I determined they must be looking for the goo-goo eyed lady.

"If there's a busle in your hedgerow

Dont be alarmed now"

THE REAL URBAN LEGEND, ALL SIX COMPLETELY OVERDONE PARTS

Down here we had the Jarmacks, all big trouble and notoriously violent, with the eldest of the three brothers, Joe, being the most badass'd. One night Little Panama comes running into the local Foosers Hut and hollers that Fightin' Joe Jarmack has barricaded himself in the old abandoned Boys Ranch House for Orphans and that anyone going in there gets thrown out the second floor window.

Of Course the place empties out, and a caravan forms up to journey down Devils Backbone, a twisting turning roller coaster road that dead ends into the Boys Ranch where a crowd has gathered in the dark outside of the dilapidated two story wood structure.

Its pure Hugo without the hunchback, unless you want to count Cross Eyed Myra, who seemed to be everywhere all the time, just lookin' for a little lovin'.

Big Panama goes running into the darkness of the ranch house and in like 20 seconds you hear a scream and *WHOOSH* here he comes flying out the second story window. Same thing happens to Zigger-zoo, Cherokee, Tubby and the Strackman. Then Truck-Bob hollers "torch the place" and someone comes up with a gallon of gas, its once for the Devil and once for the Christ, and the next thing you know this weather-beaten old Ranch house is in flames, lighting up the hot August night. The crowd went wild!

No one ever saw Fighting Joe again, but the next morning his Saint Christopher medal was sifted from the ashes, still glowing red hot like Shelley's Heart and did not cool until it were dunked, hissing and steaming into the Boys Ranch Pond.

Today it is the site of the nicest little park and community center you would ever want to see. Its been deemed a State Historical Site because of the Old Boys Ranch for Orphans. But there is not one whit in tribute to the night that Fightin' Joe went down in a blaze of glory. The legend is that he still wanders the Park and surrounding neighborhoods, looking for his old girlfriend Betsye.

When the wind is out of the southwest, breathing its way down Devils Backbone and blowing through the willows by the waters edge, you can hear ol' Fightin Joe howling for his lost love.

THE CONTINUING CHRONICLES OF FIGHTIN’ JOE JARMACK, Part II

“Fighting Joe” was far and away the most baddass’d dude in these parts and a real life Urban Legend. I writ about 'im a while back.
He came from a long line of notoriously violent people.
My Mother –in-Law, Sparks, used to manage one of the toughest Redneck saloons that actually had a REAL Liquor License way out past the lights on the Jacksboro Highway. She knew Fightin Joes dad “Jigsaw" and she may be the only person on earth that might could take him.

Sparks didn't abide no bullshit in her Bar. Back in the 70's, they say she put JIgsaw out on his ass by his ear more than once. That was why he never come to her place no more. Sparks kept a sign over her bar said
"You are Welcome but your Dope is not"
and if she got wind that anyone in there was holdin' it was out the door with you.

Fightin' Joes dad, “Jigsaw” Jarmack would take offence to anyone unwitting enough to cast a glance in his direction. But he was right clever about it. Sparks said his usual method of operation was to down a couple dozen Boilermakers, which just seemed to bring out all the hate in him, then he would look for someone to unload on. He would act all friendly to them, even buy a few rounds and then out in the Parking lot he would give ‘em the knife.
He never killed anyone that could be proved but he left a long trail of men with only one ear, or minus the tip of their nose and a finger or two and there are enumerable fellows walkin’ round having a jagged tear down one cheek and stitches in their side like that guy Dalton from Road House.
All souvenirs of the night they made a big mistake, thinkin' they had befriended “Jigsaw” Jarmack.


His son, “Fightin’ Joe” was a bit different. He never pretended to like nobody.
Nobody ‘cept his girl, Betsie Boopman that lived down the street from me. She really wasn't a Boopman at all. Neither were her two half sisters.

The Boopman’s were the most unusual family you’d ever want to meet. They were like the Brady Bunch on a mean batch of Crank.
There were three brothers, all sired by the same father, Bum.
But all three son’s had come from different mothers.
Their names were Butch, Boomer and Buck. Rumor was that Butch's Mother had been killed by Boomers Mom, then when Boomers Mom got the chair, Bum re-married and Buck was born, but his momma ran off with the Carnival. Buck was the most normal of the brothers.
The other two, Butch and Boomer, were like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum and they were in a constant struggle against each other and for each other, all at the same time. They seemed to be living some kind of ancient genealogical war begun by two women, all the while having more in common with each other than their differences.


Then there were three sisters that all came from the same Momma, but they each had different Daddy’s. Their Momma's name was Eve, and she really got around I guess. I never did get comfortable with the hungry way she would eyeball me from time to time.
There was “Ruthless”, the eldest of the three, and “Lobo”, the one in the middle. Me and Lobo got to be pretty good friends. She drove a “72 Honda Civic, smallest car there could ever be (least until they came out with that Cooper thing) and sometimes I would get to be the 7th person in the car while a Grass Mask was passed front to back in the Parking lot before School.
I never did know what her real name was, but one night I did find out why they called her Lobo.

Betsye was the youngest, and she was the apple of Fightin' Joe's eye. Betsye was 16 going on 21. She was the best looking of the three. When she got all dressed up she was probably the best looking girl in the school, but instead of giving her confidence, she had become mousey, a kind of poor Cinderella Girl; quiet, shy and easily manipulated by anyone, especially Fightin Joe.
So when Bum and Eve got married, they combined to produce a household of six half Step-brothers and Step-sisters, only they were more like thirds.
Its like nothin' I've ever heard of before.

There were a lot of jokes about what went on at that house, you just didn’t want to tell ‘em when Fightin Joe was around.
You had to know about the Boopmans before I could tell you about the day that Fightin' Joe took “Perk” Perkins and “Hogshead” Newman apart during Drivers Ed then headed to the Boys Ranch to meet his end..

BETSYE TAKES A SHOWER

When he was 4 years old, Buck Boopman cried all the way to and from the
all-girl tap-dancing lessons his mother made him go to. But he did not cry
during the classes. No, that would have been too humiliating. It was bad
enough to have to wear that leotard and those shiny black shoes with the
little ribbon as a shoelace without bawling like a big baby about the whole
thing. The real reason Buck kept it together was simply out of respect for
the little girls in that class, especially Teddy, the daughter of the
Minister at the church he went to. Buck always looked forward to seeing
Teddy there. Teddy was Buck's first love. Tap-dancing lessons may not have
made him a dancer, but they taught him that sometimes love is just hoping to
see someone, and keeping it together for them when you do.

A few years later, in the second Grade, Buck would walk home from school
with Donna  for lunch everyday.  And everyday he would split the baby
Snickers bar his mother had given him with Donna when they met on the corner
for the walk back to school. One day when his mother gave him his usual
Snickers bar, Buck asked if he might have TWO snickers bars today.
'Why do you need two today?” his mother asked.
And Buck explained to his mother that everyday he split his candy bar with
Donna, and that today he thought maybe Donna might like one of her own.
"Oh yes!" His mother beamed as she wiped her hands on her Watermelon Apron
and reached into the pantry for another Snickers. "You certainly may!"

These two events would form Bucks attitude towards women that he kept for
the rest of his life.
It was also why he felt a bit nervous and uneasy about the effect that his
step-sister Betsye had on him, all the while hoping something might happen
between the two of them.


******

Betsye was 16 years old. She had a father somewhere that sent a birthday
card to her on her birthday for the last 14 years. She loved her daddy like
all little girls do, but stayed confused as to why he chose to stay away.
She had had to suffer the looks and jeers of quite a number of her mother's
boyfriends over the years. She had grown up 'fast" as the old folks say,
having started her period at the age of 10 and having her breasts come in
when she was 13. And my, did they come in! The flat chested girls could not
imagine what a curse it could be. Boys never looked you in the eye. Some of
them even would just come up and grab at them.
Men gawked and didn't even try to hide their lust.

She didn't quite know it, but she was more than breasts. She was also very
pretty and sweet, it’s just nobody had ever really told her that.
She had never really had a boyfriend, she stayed to busy just trying to
defend herself at school, and on the walks home, and when she and her
girlfriends would get cornered by some boys down at the Bellaire.

So when Fightin' Joe Jarmack, the toughest guy at school, showed an interest
in her and asked her out, it made sense to her to say yes. Nobody messed
with Joe, and nobody would dare mess with Joe's girl. She was scared and
vulnerable, and she did whatever Joe asked, but she wasn't really afraid of
Joe. Joe liked her too much to ever hurt her; she sensed that. He
represented protection, and it seemed like a good trade, her affection for
his protection.
But recently, since her mom had married Bum Boopman, she had taken a liking
to her step-brother Buck. He was kind and gentle, and had always showed her
a great deal of respect. He smiled to see her in the mornings, and she found
herself daydreaming about him during class, and at night before she fell
asleep.


*******

No one was home , so Betsye  took a shower, wrapped herself
in a towel, painted her toenails while she sat on the edge of the bathroom
countertop. She didn't hear when Buck came home until she heard him gasp
"Sorry" as he rounded the corner and into the bathroom.
"That's OK" she said as she hopped down from the counter to face him head
on.
Buck fought the urge to look at his boot tops and just stood there, looking
into Betsye's eyes.
Betsye knew it was up to her. She was tired of the affliction, tired of
playing the role of Joe's girl.
She smiled her best smile and let the towel drop, and Buck stepped into the
bathroom, pulling the door shut.

THE VIEW FROM THE SMOKING AREA

“Howdy do...yeah, I got somethin for the head!
Come on, come stand over here, it’s the best spot on Campus. Want a hit? Yeah, its Oaxacan  and it is good. See, from here you can see down the side of the building both ways and if Potter or Coach Dibble show up, we got a runnin start to the Parking Lot. They'll never know what hit 'em. Lobo is out there with all her girls. See that “72 Civic, the Purple one with the smoke comin’ out the rear window? Theres more pussy packed into there right now than a Future Teachers of America Convention. Sometimes they let you party with em, but you gotta wait for the invite. Won't take long, man.

When the wind is just right, comin out of the lot, you can get high just standin here, and seein’ as how jus’ ‘bout every other car is packed with Freaks all tuned in to KZEW its like were getting’ “Smoke on the Water”… in Quadraphonic too. Pretty cool

From here we can see everything. We got a better view of the Parking Lot and the Drivers Ed course over there than Mr. Turcell up there in the tower. They put that in last year, looks like something out of a Yogi Bear vs. The Park Ranger episode. Turcell thinks from up there with his Binoculars he’ll be able to see whats goin’ on inside the vehicles while everybody’s practicing driving.
Say again? Yeah, it looks like something a Boy Scout Troop made. He climbs three flights of ladders every day to get up there.
No, you’re right, they didn’t spend much money on it and it don’t look real safe.

Uh oh, there goes Fightin Joe. Looks like he's on a mission. Looks like they are headed to Drivers Ed. He’s got Tiny Fontanadana with him too. They’re probably lookin’ for someone for Tiny to beat up while Fightin’ Joe holds ‘em. Tiny is little, but he’s a coward and that makes him dangerous, especially since he’s Joe’s only friend besides Betsye.
But don’t look now cause here comes Cross-eyed Myra in that Rabbit Jacket of hers. 88 degree's in the shade, Myra has gotta wear that jacket. Her mommas REAL French, barely even speaks English, but Myra is from Brooklyn. She likes to think she's French though.

Listen! Hear that squeaky sound?
Its that Patent Leather Ultra Miniskirt she wears. Man she’s really truckin’ ain’t she? Check it out, she’s gonna want a light for her cigarette…she’ll let it dangle until she decides to make Gentlemen out of us, and ask us if we ain't gonna light her cigarette.

Hey Myra whats happenin'?!
No, ma’am, I do not know what Joe and Tiny are up to besides no good. Lookin for who? What do they want with Buck? He did what? You don’t mean it! He and Betsye? But she’s his Half-Step Sister. Yeah, I guess that don't plug no holes. Aren’t I gonna what? Oh sure, here you go…man I need a cig too after hearin’ that shit.
Buck and Betsye! My my!
Ok, catch ya later!

Man! Buck has been makin' out his own step sister, Betsye, which just happens to be the most notoriously bad-assed’ dude in the world's girlfriend. Fightin’Joe must be wiggin’ out. Someone's gonna get hurt, I guarantee you me.
Buck better keep his ass well hid.

Whats that? Me and Cross-Eyed Myra?? No, not me…everyone thinks I am but the fact of the matter is I’m the only one thats not.
Yeah, it gets pretty intense around here for sure. Whats your name? Good to know ya, Stan-man…
They call me Bulletholes. See ya ‘round”

 TURCELLS TREEHOUSE

Turcell looked up the three flights of ladders that led to his perch. It was like the worlds biggest Deer Stand, 30 feet up from the blacktop, and situated smack dab in the center of the Drivers Ed Course. From here he could keep an eye on the 15 year old Hoodlums that were learning to drive in his program. Years ago, he felt like he was doing the Community a real service. These days he didn’t know.
Something had changed.
The kids were different, that was for sure. The kids today had changed everything. They had changed in the way they acted, especially towards any authority. They acted so oppressed, like the National Guard had been to their School, fired M-16's into their mob, cut their classmates down, hit their heads with nightsticks and blinded their eyes with tear-gas.
None of that had happened to these kids, so why did they act that way?

When he reached the top and settled in to his chair, he put out the Green Flag indicating the course was open. He fired up the radio with which he could communicate with each car. There was always some joker out there that thought they could get away with something, like smoking a cigarette, or worse, fire up a Reefer, and the CB Radio was there to let the kids know Turcell was on top.
“On top, darn right I’m on top, I’m more on top than that gook sniper that took out my best buddy in the ‘Nam” Turcell thought to himself.
Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out the little silver flask.

It looked like it was gong to be a long morning.

With his Binoculars, he could see Bulletholes up on the hill, right on that blind corner of the building where the gooks, I mean, the kids, could get away with murder.
Bulletholes! That kid was too sharp to be a slacker, but that’s what he was allright. And now, he and that new kid, blacker than the Ace of Spades, are cutting class and smoking that shit.
There goes the neighborhood.

Whoa! Whats this? Theres Cross-eyed Myra, always lookin' for some trouble. She's found it with those two!
That slut.
Turcell licked his lips and refocused his binoculars for a better look and muttered to himself:
"Every boy in school must be bangin’ that. Every boy but me. What are they lookin at?
Oh shit… Fightin’ Joe and Tiny. Shit, they’re headed this way.
Whats this?
Car 17? Thats Perk, Hogshead and Buck!
They’re pullin’ Perk Perkins out of MY car!"

Turcell took a quick swig from his flask and reached for the Red flag that signaled "All Stop".


(Radio Static)
Turcell:
“Perk, you get that car under control or your ass is grass!
(static)
"Perk, I want your butt back into that drivers seat now!"
(static)
Hogshead, can you hear me? I want you to make Fightin Joe leave Perk alone, and if you can’t do that I order you to gain control of that vehicle!”
(More Radio static)

Turcell gulped hard as he watched Fightin’ Joe wrestle Perk the rest of the way out of the drivers seat. He saw Buck Boopman exit from the rear passenger side door and run for his life. He saw Hogshead exit the passenger seat, go ‘round the rear of the vehicle and try to sneak up on Joe. Hogshead was a big ol boy, but a peaceful, slow-movin' kind of guy, no match for fightin' Joe.

The whole time, Car 17 was idling along in a slow wide arc, driver-less, but still in gear. But all eyes were on the hand-to-hand combat taking place on turn #3 of Turcells beloved Drivers Ed course.

It looked like Joe was about to remove Perks head, and Perks upper left arm was bent in a most unnatural way having been both broken and dislocated from his shoulder while being extracted from the vehicle. Why Joe went after Perk the driver instead of Buck in the backseat has been a subject of much conjecture for many years now.
Blind rage coupled with mistaken identity seems as likely an answer as any.
Maybe it was just Perks lucky day.
It was only during the investigation the next week that Buck's affair with Joe's girl Betsye came to light.

But now, Turcell could only watch in confused amazement from his Tower.
At the last second, Joe saw Hogshead approaching from the rear of the car.
Joe let Perk go and Perk sat there, holding his arm and trying to keep Tiny from pummeling him more with those little fist’s.
Joe squared off and met Hogshead head on with a straight right that would have stopped one of Rucker’s High Performance jobs.
It would have stopped a tank.
In his Binoculars, Turcell could see Hogsheads face flatten, and his ears bulge out. Hogshead sank to his knees and kissed the asphalt.

The fight was over, but Turcell felt a hole in his middle. He could taste the coppery flavor of some impending doom.
What was it?
What was that sound?
What was this screeching, crunching, scraping, noise?
And why was his tower leaning now as he watched the parking lot get closer and closer to his window?
Crap! Car 17!

Turcells day suddenly seemed to have gotten significantly shorter.

WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

 ‘Ol Bulletholes cannot speak for any of the characters, unreal imagined or conglomerated into his story about fightin’ Joe. He can however, speak for himself.
Bulletholes resides in Bedford, not far from the old Boys Ranch for Orphans. He works a job as a Shipping and Receiving Clerk.
Bulletholes is a very grateful Recovering Addict with 411 days of clean time. He spends his time spreading the message to the still suffering addict:
“ANY ADDICT CAN STOP DOING DRUGS, LOSE THE DESIRE TO USE AND FIND A NEW WAY TO LIVE”

SO DUMB

I rented a movie last week. The Equalizer, with Denzel Washington. He plays an employee at an Home Improvement store named Rob who also happens to be an ex-CIA agent.
Denzel is always good, right?

It was weird. The producer tried something new I guess. In between all the dialogue, they had a narrator. The narrator would say things like "Rob checks his watch and gets up from his table. The girl at the corner table watches him as he goes to the pay phone. He drops a quarter in the slot" then the narration would end and Rob would be talking on the phone.

"I've done some bad things in my life, Nicolai... Things I'm not proud of. I promised someone I love very much that I would never go back to being that person... But for you, I'll make an exception."

Next, the narrator would say:
"Rob hangs up the phone, leaves a tip at the table and approaches the waitress"

The dialogue between he and the waitress, Teri, would start.

Teri: [about his book] What's your new one about?
Robert McCall: Oh, it's about a guy who thinks he's a knight in shining armor. The only thing is, he lives in a world where knights don't exist anymore.
Teri: Sound like my world.

And the narrator kicks in again, telling the audience that Rob smiles, pats Teri on the arm, walks out the door and down a darkened street with his reflection in the storefront windows revealing him to be deep in thought.

Man, after about 30 minutes ithe constant chatter was totally on my nerves. Driving me nuts.

I thought "If I was at a movie theater, I'd have to leave right now."
After an hour and a half, with 20 minutes left in the movie, I finally figured it out.
Somehow I had activated the feature for the "Vision Impaired".
God, I'm so dumb.

"Rob wipes bloody brains off of the baby sledgehammer he used to bash the side of Nicholai's head in, and returns it to the shelf in aisle 10"

AT THE CHINA DRAGON TODAY

The waitress takes my card to pay.

“Are you see your?” she asks.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you seen goo?”

I hold up my left hand, no ring, “Yes, I am single!”

“No,no,no,no….seen ger, seen ger” she says.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand” says I.

She turns the check over and writes:

“S-E-I-O-R”

“See your” she says again.

“Oh, I get it. Senior. I’m 57. How’s that?“ I say.

“No, you no see your” she says and off with the check she goes.

THE LOVE BIRDS OF LUMINARIAS

We did great business those first 3 years, even though it was hard to find down that lonely stretch of road. but that's not why the business went away. We lost business because it was horribly mismanaged.
Luminarias Restaurant was bastard child away from its mama.
Corporate didn't want to make trips to Fort Worth...there was nothing here...they came to inspect but never quite made it west of the two Dallas stores, Baby Does and 94th Aero Squadron.
At the beginning of the end, one of our bright managers decided that money could be saved by installing a washer and dryer in the employee break room. The Employee break room was only 10' by 10', and also housed the cashier. So, after a busy Friday night there were about 500 napkins and tablecloths that had to be laundered.
It wasn't long before there was a huge pile of soiled linens built up that was never going to go completely away.
It wasn't long from there before we discovered that the plumbing system couldn't take all the extra water. Drains backed up. On a Saturday night we might be running out of clean napkins, and the washer would be going, and the dryer too, and the cashier is sweating their ass off, and 8 waitresses are trying to take a smoke break, and the drains are backing up. It was hell.
One of the drains that would back up was in a glass atrium behind the hostess stand. It had a tropical plant and two love birds in it. 
Prior to the Washer-Dryer, customers at the Hostess stand would coo at the Love Birds in the Atrium, and the Love birds would rub their necks together and coo back.
The Atrium was about the size of a phone booth, and when water began to rise in there it would come up about 3 feet high, and the birds would get nervous, and it would start to laek at the Hostess stand, and run like a river right out into the dining room.
Yeah, the business dropped off pretty quick.

THE KIND OF BROTHER I AM

MY SISTER PASSED AWAY JANUARY 21, 2015.

My first memory of Lisa was riding our tricycles around the kitchen table while my mother howled with laughter, then playing in the sandbox, and later that day, inexplicably and for no apparent reason, breaking one of her toys on purpose.
I guess that’s the kind of brother I was.


As we got older I remember being at home with the measles -- we both had the measles at the same time—waiting for the soundtrack to Mary Poppins to be delivered so we could sing along to it. Then a year later giving her an album for her birthday. It was “The Monkees” and we sang to that one as well.


We lived in Detroit, and during the winter when it snowed, the snowplows would come by and leave a huge mound of snow on either side of the road. When kids walked during these times, we walked on top of these mountains everywhere we went, as though we were traversing the south ridge of Everest.­­­ One day after school I had beat her home. I went in the garage and got a shovel. I went to the end of the driveway where there was a mountain of snow. I was sure she would come this way. So I dug from the top, straight down, and made a 4 foot deep hole for her to fall in. I covered it with a piece of cardboard, and covered that with snow.
My trap now laid, I went across the street to get my buddy Pete, that we might hide and spy her as she fell in the trap. But once at Pete's, his mother brought hot chocolate and cookies, and soon we were playing Monopoly, and I had forgotten all about my trap and my little sister Lisa.
When I finally left Pete's and got home, a distraught and freezing Lisa had been rescued from my trap by my mother, who had heard her cries for help from inside the house.
Dad wore me out that night. I guess that’s just the kind of brother I was.


Back in Texas, when she was a 5th grader and would have her friends spend the night, they would gather around her phonograph. In strange cabaret-esque voices they would sing:

“Those were the days, my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d sing and dance forever and a day
We’d live the life we'd choose
We’d fight and never lose
Those were the days, oh yes, those were the days”

In my minds I can hear them now, just as you might be hearing them too.
I would think to myself “OK, they are in the 5th grade right? What do they think they are singing about? ”


Then the next song would be Cher’s big hit “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves” and I would wonder “Is it possible they really know what they are singing about?” and the thought occurs to me now and I have to wonder did I really know what they were singing about?
That’s the kind of brother I was I suppose, and the fact is Lisa was way more hip and way more popular than I. It was Lisa who talked to me for hours and finally convinced me I should wear bell bottoms, something this son of a Republican wasn’t too sure was a good thing to do.


Later in High School we had drifted apart. She was Partridge Family, and I was Black Sabbath. She was Pep Squad and I was Parking lot. I shared a bathroom with her for 17 years, and it had got to where when we passed in the hall in the morning there was a two word greeting we had for each other.
“Hello Face” I would say
“Hi Freak” she would reply .
It was like our Pet name for each other. I guess that just the kind of brothers and sisters we were.


I never really knew what to get her for Christmas or birthdays. Her tastes were so much more refined than my own. But in 1985 at Christmas I found something I thought was nice. It was a ceramic goose head, with a long elegant neck. It hung on the wall in the kitchen, and you could hang a kitchen towel on it.
She hated it. She hated it the second she opened it up. And since I liked it so well, she let me keep it. I was delighted. And so in 1986 when I was Christmas shopping for Lisa, I bought another one. She hated that one too. So now I had two goose heads in my kitchen and when Christmas 1987 rolled around, I also had a ceramic pigs butt to hang towels from in my kitchen.
Because that’s just the kind of brother I was.


Despite all this, sometime in the last 20 years Lisa confided to me that I was her hero. I never figured out what I could have done to achieve that status. For me Lisa had always been someone to play with, someone to tease, someone to set traps for. A target. Maybe it wasn’t 20 years ago. Maybe it was 6 years ago when I finally got clean and sober that she said I was her hero, but don’t think that’s when.


Then two years ago Lisa had a neck surgery. I went to see her in the Rehabilitation Center.
“They are kicking me out of rehab” she said.
‘Why?” I ask.
“Because they are a bunch of horses asses here. They are not taking care of me. This bed is uncomfortable. The pillows are like bricks. They locked me into the bed last night without telling me. They keep changing my medicine without telling me. They made me eat broth because they said I was constipated. The broth was cold. I asked for water, and they won’t bring me any. I can’t get any rest here, so I can’t do the therapy exercises.”


I’m thinking what a tough and demanding princess and the pea of a patient she must be, but then she says: "The doctor ordered a soft neck brace for me three days ago, and they haven’t brought that to me yet. He said it would be more comfortable for sleeping than the one I have now, but they haven’t brought it for me because they are idiots and just don’t care, and I can’t get any rest in this Frankenstein neck brace”


My ears kind of prick up at this. Three days?
I looked at this neck brace she is wearing.
Its huge!
It looks like something you would put on a mule getting ready to plow the back forty.


So I go to the nurses station.
“My sister needs her soft collar neck brace”
“We don’t have one”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“It was ordered Monday right, yes?”
“Yes, but they keep them in storage downstairs, and no one is here with a key tonight.”
"But its Thursday today. What happened to Tuesday and Wednesday?"
"They didn't get the brace."
I look around over my shoulder. "They? Who is they?"
"The day shift."
“Is this some specialty item?”
“No, Mr. Renfro, you can get them at CVS.”
Holy crap! Now the short hairs on the back of my neck are singing “woo-woo-woo” and I say: “So if I go get one of these, you can put it on her, and she will experience some relief, and get some rest so that she can do the physical therapy and wont have to be kicked out?”
“Sure!”
 
So off I go to CVS to furnish the million dollar hospital with rehabilitation supplies they have, but just can’t seem to deliver to my sister. And the whole way there and back, the old chef, the crazy killer intolerant son-of-a –bitch that resides in a shallow grave in my head, he starts to rise up.
What I don’t want to do is go all Hells Kitchen on them. I’m thinking to myself “Don’t stop at the nurses’ station, just walk on by.”


I was almost past the nurses station with the neck brace when I hear the nurse “Oh, you got it! You got the neck brace! You are such a good brother!”
And that’s all it took.
I wheeled around and slammed the new brace down on the nurses station counter.

 “No. I’m not a good brother. I suck as a brother. But she has laid there for three days waiting to get this brace the doctor ordered for her. There must be thousands of these in your little neck-brace closet downstairs that nobody has a key to, and all I did was show a little empathy and take a 5 minute drive around the corner to get a medical device a doctor ordered 3 days ago for YOUR patient that cost a whopping big 14 bucks, and I think that is ridiculous. This is a Rehabilitation Hospital right? That’s what it says on the sign out front. I'm sure I saw a sign that said  Rehabilitation on it. Does rehabilitation mean what I think it do? Isn't this where you help people get better?”


She gulped, but another nurse in the station turns and tries to help. She says “You know, you sound just like your sister.” And she laughed.


Holy shit. I got two of them now. So I said:


“I know my sister is difficult. She must be a royal pain in the ass. But I love her, and if ya’ll here at the Texas Rehabilitation Hospital can’t supply her with the medical rehabilitation supplies that a doctor has prescribed for her to help her with her recovery, even after three days, then you incompetent dumb-asses deserve everything you get from her. I don’t think it’s fucking funny at all.”


They didn't even flinch, but went back to staring at their computer screens. I said all this outside the earshot of my sister, but I said it plenty loud.


I opened the door to Lisa’s room. Her face lit up when she saw the bag. “Oh Stevie, thank you” she said, almost in tears “You are the best brother in the whole world”
“Well Face, I guess thats just the kind of brother I am!”

AS TRANSLATING FROM THE RUSSIAN LOOSELY

Rabbit went to woods for mushroom. Mushroom saying to rabbit “Eat me”, so rabbit did.
Now rabbit not been seen long time.
By this you know a talking watermelon not good for eating.
No! Not!
But a talking mushroom is good for much eating.
Just don’t expecting to be back, like rabbit, anytime soon.
Don’t believing you me?
Go asking Alice. Thinking she’ll know.

THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE PART TWO

" In the same manner we would not … make a discriminatory cake against Christians, we will not make one that discriminates against gays,” 
This story (click here)  refuses to end.

You may recall "The Right to Refuse...Pt. I" from last month.
I just keep adding on, and will until the day comes that all 50 states recognize the right to Public Accommodation for the LGBT community. Currently, I believe 31 states recognize the right to service regardless of race, creed, color AND sexual orientation.

THE FATAL BOOTS

When I was a boy, about 3 or 4, and my uncle Grady took me and bought me some cowboy boots, the kind with pointy toes.
Later, he was sitting in his big easy chair reading the newspaper, and I come up in front of him where he couldn't see me and I kicked him in the shin with the new boots he had bought me just as hard as I could.
Down came the newspaper, and he backhanded me, hard, and I went flying across the room and into the wall.
I was crying as I got up, rubbing my head and said "Why you want to hit me for Uncle Grady".
Most of my lessons seem to come that way.

SUCH A PRETTY MESS

All day long you
ran wild inside of me,
throwing pillows and peeping
around corners, knocking down
my dreams from the pantry shelves
and my unthought thoughts
from where I had them neatly stacked.
Now I come home
and there is nothing but you,
everywhere you.

Is it any wonder
that I want you? I want you
to lean back and lie still.
I’m going to clean up
the mess you’ve made of me.
I’m going to restack my thoughts
all around you, all over you.
I’m going to feed you my dreams
and dreams are a messy food,
my love… a messy food. Peregrine @ Your Eyes Blaze Out

RED ROVER, RED ROVER

"We are living now.

We shall not live long.

No one should tell us we shall live again.

This is our little while.

This is our chance."

Susan Glaspell

Image

Arthur Leipzig

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

DOWNBOUND TRAIN

I was 27 or so, and working with a real tough guy who was maybe three years older.
He wasn't a chef, he was just a guy trying to make it as cook. But he seemed like less of someone that should be a cook than anyone I ever knew  
He had come from a broken home. Some steel town outside Pittsburgh. He said his daddy beat him senseless all the time. It was like he had walked right out of that album, right out of that title song, "Born In The USA".
He seemed like he had probably done some time; maybe he had, but what he talked about the most was how he’d left home at 16, joined the Army and ended up in Vietnam. He was entirely affected by it all; he wore an American flag headband and an Army jacket and we called him Rambo. He talked like Rambo, walked like Rambo, acted like Rambo and wouldn't you know it he looked just like Rambo too, except his nose was a lot more crooked. And he was a big, strong, fit SOB too with a look like he could creep up on you and stab you in the neck and you wouldn't even make a sound. He was the first guy I knew that had one of those little locks of hair growing longer from the back. I think they call it a "Rat-Tail".
His favorite song of course, was Born In The USA, he sang it always.
He seemed like a guy who might go off any minute, kill a cop and end up in the woods somewhere, and a whole army wouldn't be able to shake him out of there. But I found favor with him somehow, maybe because we’d be preppin’ in the kitchen, and I’d get the song started by banging a pot with a spoon keeping time, then "Born down in a deadmans town",  and pretty soon the whole kitchen is singin’ it.
We’d belly bump, and he’d let me box him, like a Doberman might let a Terrier nip at him.
Fuckin’ Rambo. I think about him every time I hear a Springsteen song.

He had a girl, but I think he slugged her one night, and I don't remember if he got fired, or if he just stopped showing up. All I know for sure was he was a stick of dynamite with a short ass fuse. And like a wolf, no matter how much you fed him, he would always have one eye on your throat and another on the woods.

So when a buddy posted "Downbound Train", a song I'd never heard before that I can recollect, it made me think of Rambo. Fits him, it does, maybe even more than the obvious Born In The USA. And I got to say, upon hearing this song I got choked up thinking about Rambo, and how I cant even remember his right name, and hope to God he's doing OK.
I hope to God he's doing OK.





"Downbound Train"

I had a job, I had a girl
I had something going mister in this world
I got laid off down at the lumber yard
Our love went bad, times got hard
Now I work down at the carwash
Where all it ever does is rain
Don't you feel like you're a rider on a downbound train

She just said "Joe I gotta go
We had it once we ain't got it any more"
She packed her bags left me behind
She bought a ticket on the Central Line
Nights as I sleep, I hear that whistle whining
I feel her kiss in the misty rain
And I feel like I'm a rider on a downbound train

Last night I heard your voice
You were crying, crying, you were so alone
You said your love had never died
You were waiting for me at home
Put on my jacket, I ran through the woods
I ran till I thought my chest would explode
There in the clearing, beyond the highway
In the moonlight, our wedding house shone
I rushed through the yard, I burst through the front door
My head pounding hard, up the stairs I climbed
The room was dark, our bed was empty
Then I heard that long whistle whine
And I dropped to my knees, hung my head and cried

Now I swing a sledge hammer on a railroad gang
Knocking down them cross ties, working in the rain
Now don't it feel like you're a rider on a downbound train

ITS BEEN A HARD DAYS NIGHT

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas, and got everything they wanted, and enjoy continued blessings for all of next year, and gas prices stay low.

The best part of Christmas was buying Dave Mows Grass some bowling shoes, shipping them to Arkansas, then calling the local bowling alley up there and getting him a $50 Bowling certificate.

The man said "Would you like us to call him Christmas Eve and let him know its here?"

"Yes, that would be so nice" I said.

Then, Christmas Eve, Dave calls me and thanks me for the bowling certificate.

He hasnt opened packages to find the shoes yet, burt he is excited and says:

"I was going to spend some money on a Smart Phone, but instead I'm going to buy bowling shoes."

Man, I just couldn't stop grinning, thinking about him opening up those shoes..

As it ends up, he not only got Bowling shoes under the tree, but a Smart Phone too!

What will he do with all that money?

I guess every few years, or less, you manage to buy the right gift for the right person at the right time, and its the best feeling ever. Maybe that's what Christmas really is,.

LEFT BEHIND

On the way in to work this morning I only saw 4 cars and gas was 1.66 a gallon.
Hello? Did I miss the Rapture?

FIRST SIX MONTHS NO INTEREST

Every year I go through the same exercise at Kohls. The cashier asks if I have a Kohl's Credit card.
"No ma'am"
"Would you like to apply for one?"
"Ma'am, there's no way they are going to give me one."
"We will give you 20% off just for applying"

Well, who can turn that down?
So every year I hold up the line to get my 20% off,  the cost being the shame, humiliation and suffering I go through while everyone is watching.
I hear the guy two people down ask whats taking so long, and the woman behind him whisper "He's trying to get credit", then the computer spits out its answer, and the girl cocks her head and says "I'm sorry, here is a number you can call to find out why you were DENIED"
I don't need to call, I know damn well why I was denied, but HEY, I got my 20% right?

Well, let me tell you something sister.
This year is different.
I'm going down to Kohls and get my 20% AND their fricken' card because I'm getting approved for credit all over the place!

DR. WAYNE DYER

I used to like him. Then he turned into a PBS money machine.
He comes up with a new one every few years.

He had one a while back where he opens the program, talking about selling all his worldly possessions and moving to an Island in the Pacific, in the middle of nowhere, just him and a straw hut and his one pair of sandals which he only wears when he’s not going bare foot.
Tonight, on stage at the USC auditorium, he is barefoot, just to make his point.
And the island he moved to, now that he has nothing, having abandoned all the toils and troubles of the world?

Maui.

Poor SOB.
I lost all respect right then.

THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE

Some folks are under the impression that a store owner can just refuse service to anyone for any reason. That that is what America and the First Amendment is all about.
But that’s not true. What America is all about is exactly the opposite.
You have the right to purchase goods and services from anyone, anywhere, no matter who you are and the accident of your birth.
That was the purpose of the Civil Rights Amendment back in 1964.
That no one could be told where to sit on a bus, or which water fountain to drink from, which restroom to use.
That no man be denied buying lunch, having his car repaired, or lodging for he and his pregnant wife at a hotel, based on his skin color, or his religion, or lack of one.

There was a court case up in Oregon where a Biker was suing because he was refused service for being biker. But that’s not why he was being refused service. He was being refused service for being loud and obnoxious. That’s what the court ruled.

Lately, many states have expanded those rights to guarantee service regardless of race, creed or color to include Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender. It seems like the only people that are really against this are Christian. They tend to see this as an attack on their Religion.
I’ll go along with that when I hear about a Gay Florist refusing service to a Methodist.
The fact is....
ITS AGAINST THE LAW TO BE DENIED SERVICE FOR BEING A METHODIST!

They wonder aloud “Whatever happened to the right to refuse service”?
But they themselves have never been refused service.
I've never been refused service. Tell me how that works, because I might be a tad miffed if I went to a service station with a flat tire and was refused service because I was a woman, or black, or Muslim or was not a Christian, or FOR ANY REASON. Or because I was Gay.

There was a case in Colorado, where a Bakery denied service to a Gay couple who wanted a wedding cake from his shop. The Baker, a Christian of course, says it offends his religion to have to bake a cake for a Gay Wedding. I’ve got friends that agree, that think he has a right to refuse service on these grounds.
“Why can’t they just go somewhere else for a cake?” they ask, those who have never been denied service.
Those who have never been in a minority.

Lets say I’ve been talking with my boyfriend, and we’re gonna get married. And for the last few months we’ve been to several weddings, and the cakes were GORGEOUS. They were made by the Finest Cake Shop in Denver. So we go online and look at their cakes, we're almost giddy, and one day we go down to the Finest Cake Shop in Denver to order our cake. But the big poo-poo behind the counter says :
“You boys look gay to me”
“Yes we are”
“ I refuse to make a cake for you”
Well, me and my beloved are shattered. We really liked the big poo-poo’s cakes, and what started out as joyous occasion has turned into a bag over the head punch in the face. Yes, we will go get a cake somewhere else, but we will also file a complaint against the big poo-poo.

The good thing is the courts see it this way too. The court in Colorado ruled that anyone who denies service based on sexual orientation will be fined.
We are all, as Americans, guaranteed a right to service regardless of race creed or color, and in many states regardless of our sexual orientation.
The tide, I think, has turned.

Addendum:
It is sometimes argued that if a Christian cake baker is compelled to bake a gay wedding cake, what would prevent a black cake baker from having to make a cake for an Aryan Nation Wedding with Swastka's on it.
Well, the judge in this case ruled on that as well. Click here and see pages 8 and 9.

As much as I admire the outcome of these cases, I especially enjoy the logic and language employed in the rulings:

"Finally, Respondents argue that if they are compelled to make a cake for a

same-sex wedding, then a black baker could not refuse to make a cake bearing a white-supremacist message for a member of the Aryan Nation; and an Islamic baker could not refuse to make a cake denigrating the Koran for the Westboro Baptist Church.

However, neither of these fanciful hypothetical situations proves Respondents’ point. In both cases, it is the explicit, unmistakable, offensive message that the bakers are asked to put on the cake that gives rise to the bakers’ free speech right to refuse. That, however, is not the case here, where Respondents refused to bake any cake for Complainants regardless of what was written on it or what it looked like. Respondents have no free speech right to refuse because they were only asked to bake a cake, not make a speech."

THE DOCTOR SAID IT WAS OK

After about 3 days after my last shoulder surgery, my girl says to me “Are you sure we should be doing this?”
I said “It doesn't hurt. As long as I don’t get too carried away”

She says “It doesn't hurt?”

“No”

So then one day a couple weeks later, and its “not hurting”, but all of a sudden I feel a little tear.
So I kinda eased up ya know, but I didn't say anything, or she’d have got all over me, and that would have been the end of that, if you know what I mean.

So at PT the next day I tell the physical therapist”I did something and I could feel a little tear”

“What were you doing”
And so I showed him how I was up, with both arms locked like in the missionary position and I said “Well, I was watching TV, and I got up like this like I was going to do a push up, but I didn’t do a push up, I just kinda stayed in this position because it felt good”

 And he  looks at me and says “And that feels good?”

“Yes”
"It doesn’t hurt?”
“No”

“But you think you felt something tear?”

“Yes”

And so he has me lay down, and he pulls and pushes and checks my range of motion and says
“Well, you seem to be OK. Maybe it was just scar tissue”
I was pretty relieved.

So the next time I’m with my girl, and she says “Are you sure we should be doing this?” and I said “Oh yeah, I asked the Doctor and he said its OK”

DAD AND THAT CIGAR

I don’t remember who it was that came to the house, could have been any one of us I reckon, but dad sat me down later to talk.
He liked to smoke his cigar when he talked all serious to me at the kitchen table. He would say three words
(“You are judged…”,
pause for effect, look at his cigar like it was a crystal ball, take puff and blow great clouds of smoke out, and as the smoke cleared, I would be looking him dead in the eye. He would say two more words
(“by the…”),
 his eyes would  follow the smoke coming off the stogie making  its way to the ceiling. I couldn’t help but watch with him. Then, as punctuation, he would tap his cigar on the ashtray, and finally finish his thought
(“…company you keep”),
which happened to be some new buddy with bad posture, a slouchy hat, long hair and bloodshot eyes.

It’s one of my fondest memories of dad, having him and that cigar busting my ass at the kitchen table.

THANK GOD ITS FRIDAY

I dreamed I was working  a part time job. It was at a Hyatt, or some huge hotel.

There was a buffet, a really fancy buffet, and I was doing some nice stuff for it, everything from carved steamship rounds of beef to galantines of duck; from smoked fish mirrors to pate’s;  the band was actually on a riser in the center of the table, 5 piece jazz doing Patsy Cline tunes, and we had them surrounded with tropical plants and  ice carvings of saxophones, stand up base’s,  eighth notes and of course, swans.

I put this buffet together once or twice a week. It was just part time, I still worked my day job.

And as things so often go in dreams, several months went by of working this job when I suddenly realized…

I haven’t received a check yet!

Surely by now I’d have gotten paid, yes?

So I called Human Resources and asked about it.

“This is Steve Renfro and I’ve been doing the buffet on Tuesdays and Fridays for several months now, and I still haven’t received a check”

“Let me check into this for you” the lady says.

A moment goes by.

“Mr. Renfro, I don’t have any record that you were ever hired. What is it you do here?”

“I put together your Tuesday and Friday night buffets”

“Oh, those are very nice”

“Thank you. But you don’t show that I work there at all, and that’s why I haven’t received a check?”

“That’s right Mr. Renfro. You don’t work here”

“So does that mean I don’t have to come in tonight?”

“I don’t know about that. You’ll have to check with the chef”

(About this time in the dream, I’m thinking there is something very Seinfeld about was is going on, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

So she transfers the call down to the kitchen. I explain to the chef that I was never hired, that I never received a check, and that I don’t work there.  Technically, I never have.

“So I won’t be in tonight”  I said.

“But we need you. Your buffets, they are very nice” he says.

I think about it a minute. How can I refuse?

“Ok Chef. What time would you like me?”

I woke up about this time. And it was while I was making coffee at work that I recalled the Seinfeld episode that must have influenced this dream.