2019 Telly Award Winner

Feature films have the Oscar.  Television has the Emmy.  

Films straight to DVD have the Telly.

This is the 2019 People’s Choice Award presented to us from several thousand entries.  The script was co-written by my daughter Victoria, and my other daughter Colleen was also a co-producer and received her own Telly.  I’m proud of both of them. 

The awards are on display at 

Steampunks in Downtown Barnesville, GA. 

BETTER CRIMINALS AND BETTER VICTIMS

...whut..?

BETTER CRIMINALS AND BETTER VICTIMS

In case you haven’t noticed or been paying attention, I live in a small town.  Not just a small town but a small town in Georgia.  Now that in itself probably brings up some mental images depending on where you live or the books and movies you’ve seen.  To set the record straight, I haven’t always lived in small town Georgia.  I’ve lived in San Francisco, Honolulu, Los Angeles, Miami, and the Washington, DC area several times. I don’t even count the other garden spots the Army has sent me. Leesville, Louisiana, Killeen, Texas, Fayetteville, NC, Anniston, Alabama and Columbus, Georgia, also several times.

This brings me to the point of this blog. It’s not a travelogue, but an observation on living in a small town.  We have a weekly newspaper because we don’t have enough news to publish one every day.  I really…really love the newspaper.  We’ve got a great columnist and the publisher and I play poker occasionally, but the thing I enjoy most is the police reports.

The paper breaks down the crimes in the county by those handled by the city police and the sheriff’s office.  This ain’t Chicago but we do have our share of crimes and criminals.  For instance, this week the city police handled 376 calls.  Those calls resulted in 74 major crimes.  Major, you say.  Everything is relative. Somebody actually had less than an ounce of marijuana. Somebody else was driving without a tag and another person changed lanes without using his signal…or his arm depending on the age of the car and the driver. Now to the serious stuff.  We had 13 speeders, eight “hands free” law violations. Were they driving Teslas?  Maybe they were trying to drive with their knees…”Hey, y’all hold my beer and watch this.”  And my favorite that I’m still trying to figure out…”one laying drag.” Now we’re a small town and I suppose there may be one or two in the county, but where would you…never mind. Let’s move on to the Sheriff’s report.

A man was going 85 in a 55 zone.  Sheriff lit him up and he took off finally turning into a driveway.  Report said he was “extremely intoxicated”, claimed he was in his own driveway and if the deputy would just let him or help him into his house, he’d forget the entire episode.  The deputy had no sense of humor and the man spent the night as guest of the county.

Sheriff was called to the home of two brothers who evidently had been to the same place as the above gentleman and had consumed far too many adult beverages were doing batting practice on each other with baseball bats.

Then there was the lady who threatened a deputy and told him he was a worthless piece of humanity for attempting to arrest her for destroying her boyfriend’s tractor.

We get a lot of loose cattle, dogs chasing chickens and occasionally someone dispatching a dog to that great doghouse in the sky for said crime. People really take that one personal. 

As a writer the report is the equivalent of a gold mine for me.  I can’t make some of this up even at 3 AM when the crazies come to call. 

WHEN FUNNY AIN’T 

I was watching television recently and after running through all 6, 427 channels available and not finding anything that I really wanted to watch, I settled on a comedy special. The last one I saw was Jeff Dunham and it was one of the funniest hours I have spent in a long time.  If you haven’t seen him, you owe it to yourself to do so. He is probably the best ventriloquist ever, with all due respect to Edgar Bergan and that other guy whose name I can’t remember right now but I probably will by the time I finish writing this.

But this is not about ventriloquists. It’s about comedy or what passes for comedy now.  I don’t remember the name of the comedian I was watching and it’s probably a good thing.  I know I’m showing my age but ten minutes into the act I felt like I was in the men’s room at a gas station on a country road.  After twenty six years in the Army…in the Infantry…I thought I had heard every form of profanity every devised by man and a few women.  Boy, was I wrong.  I have been known to peel the wallpaper with my language on occasion. I have always tried to watch it around my wife and my daughters and especially my mother who kept a switch on top of the refrigerator and would have had no problem using it if she heard me.

I did a little searching on the Internet and came up with some old comedy routines that were popular “back in the day.”  If you have ever heard it, I think you may agree that the Abbott and Costello “Who’s on First” routine has stood the test of time and may still be the funniest of all times.

Back in the early day of television and radio prior to that every show had to be “G” rated because you never knew who would be watching or listening.  Radio transitioned to television and the only difference was that Grandma was watching and not listening and you didn’t want to embarrass her. 

As an example, and with apologies to one of the pioneers of radio and television comedy, Red Skelton I found one of his routines.  Take a look and see if it works today as it did…back then.

RED SKELTON’S RECIPE FOR THE PERFECT MARRIAGE

1. Two times a week we go to a nice restaurant, have a little beverage, good food and

companionship. She goes on Tuesdays, I go on Fridays.

2. We also sleep in separate beds. Hers is in California and mine is in Texas.

3. I take my wife everywhere, but she keeps finding her way back.

4. I asked my wife where she wanted to go for our anniversary. “Somewhere I haven’t been in a long time,” she said. So I suggested the kitchen.

5. We always hold hands. If I let go, she shops.

6. She has an electric blender, electric toaster and electric bread maker. She said, “There are too many gadgets, and no place to sit down.” So I bought her an electric chair.

7. My wife told me the car wasn’t running well because there was water in the carburetor. I asked where the car was. She told me, “In the lake.”

8. She got a mud pack and looked great for two days. Then the mud fell off.

9. She ran after the garbage truck, yelling, “Am I too late for the garbage?” The driver said, “No,

jump in!”

10. Remember: Marriage is the number one cause of divorce.

11. I married Miss Right. I just didn’t know her first name was “Always”.

12. I haven’t spoken to my wife in 18 months. I don’t like to interrupt her.

13. The last fight was my fault though. My wife asked, “What’s on the TV??”

I said, “Dust!”.

With my apologies to all the wives who read this….especially mine.

It just hit me….Paul Winchell and Jerry Mahoney.

MIDNIGHT MUSINGS

I try to go to bed around eleven at night. That means I go to sleep about an hour later.  I can set my clock by the fact that I am going to wake up between three and three thirty.  Four or five hours uninterrupted is the best I can hope for.  There are a lot of reasons for that, but that’s not what I want to talk (write) about today.

I want to discuss all those things that run rampant through my mind when I wake up.  I try to wake up without my brain knowing I’m awake.  If it knows, and it usually does, it goes off on some of the strangest tangents you can imagine.  Or maybe you wouldn’t want to imagine some of the things that I think about at that time of the night/early morning.

For the last few weeks, the topic has been things that I don’t understand or things that I question or those that generally just don’t make sense. At least to me.

Let me give you a few examples.  Out of the blue or black as is were, one night I woke up and wondered how meat tenderizer knows when to stop working.  Think about it.  Put it on a tough piece of meat, it starts to tenderize it.  Does cooking kill it?  If not, does it tenderize your stomach?

Same thing for pre-shrunk pants, shirts and other pieces of clothing.  How do they know my size?  Is the shrinking stuff lying in wait for me to put the jeans on? Ah ha, the jean say.  We are going to shrink some more, or oh (**&^)(&( we shrunk too much and now you can’t get in them.

Ever go to a hotel or motel that costs more than $39.99 and up, double occupancy?  Go in the bathroom and look at the toilet paper.  The first sheet is folded into a little point.  Who does that and why?  Does the motel owner run an ad in the paper…help wanted.  Must be adapt at folding toilet paper into little points. My theory is they do it to see if you actually use it.  One of the things I always do before I leave is to refold the first sheet into the little point. It’s especially fun if you’ve been staying in the room for a few days and have wife/husband and kids with you.

There are others, but I think you get the point.  I don’t think I’m crazy or anything serious like that, but maybe the jury is still out on that verdict.

There is one more that I am actually hesitant to mention, but I really need some help with this one.  If you know the answer, please let me know.  It’s been at the top of what I call my “three a.m. creative thinking period.”

Ready?  Did Adam and Eve have a belly button?  

TWENTY SIX YEARS FROM THE DOOR

I almost forgot about a very important anniversary last week.  Not a wedding or something common like that, but the day I was inducted into the US Army.  August 15^thback in the old days.

A friend of mine worked at the draft board and called to tell me she had pulled my name and sent me the “Greetings from your friends and neighbors” letter. I had three days to come up with an alternative.  Viet Nam was raging and people were getting severely killed over there and I did not want to be one of them.

A friend of mine and I went to the Navy recruiting station.  We walked in and there was a man sitting behind a desk reading a newspaper.  We could see his hands but everything else was covered by the paper.  After a minute and a ‘scuse me, he finally spoke.  “Can I help you?” Newspaper still in place. “Uh, yes, we’re thinking about joining the Navy.”  From behind the paper, “Got a college degree?”  I stammered, “no sir, but…”  Before I could finish telling him my outstanding qualifications, he simply said, “try the Marines next door.  They’re taking anybody.”  We left having never actually seen anything but his hands.

Being barely a high school graduate, I waited for the letter to drop and decided to join the Army the day before I got it.  Better to choose an easy job than get stuck in the Infantry, the recruiter said.  I don’t even remember what I selected. Probably something like sheet folding or mess kit repair or basket weaving, things that I later learned were just code words for “this idiot thinks he’s smarter than I am, so I’ll put him in the Infantry.”

After going through the physical and mental and a variety of other test at the induction center it was time to raise my right hand.  Over 200 of us were herded into a large room and put in some sort of order. Those who had been in ROTC in high school (not me) knew how to stand and took great pride in doing so.  Finally, a Marine Lieutenant Colonel came in, the door was closed and two VERY large Military Policemen stood in front of it. He took the podium and announced in a voice that could be heard in Moscow, said “Raise your right hand and repeat after me.”  After he administered the oath, he leaned across the podium and in an equally loud voice said, “Now…if any of you sons of bitches think you ain’t in the Army because you didn’t repeat after me, just you try and walk out that door.”  The man had a way with words.

It took twenty six years (in the Infantry…who knew) , two combat tours during Viet Nam, more separations, moves, schools, temporary deployments, good jobs, bad jobs, good people, bad people and memories for me, my wife and two daughters than any of us could have expected, and it was time to retire.  

My boss, a two star general said he would read my retirement order and I refused to let him  We had a very serious and adult, albeit, one-way conversation about how if I wasn’t retiring things would not be so good for me, etc. etc.

I asked a Marine Lieutenant Colonel in my office to read it.  I explained why and I finally got to walk out that door.

I'm BAAACCCKKK....

Trash Panda

I’M BAAACCCKKKK….

In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been gone from this blog for several months.  I have several excuses and even a few good reasons which I might share with you at a later date, but the important thing is that I’m back.  I know you’ve missed me and if you haven’t please don’t tell me.  Let me wallow in self-delusion.

I think it was John Lennon or maybe Vladimir Lenin or somebody else who said, “Life is what happens when you have other plans.”  If that’s the case, I have been living life to the fullest for the last few months. As I said, I won’t go into details but I will say that Emory Hospital in Atlanta has the worst food in their cafeteria that I have had in a long time. I think they do it for two reasons.  First, if you have to eat there because you are visiting or have a loved one in the hospital, you will never visit again and take up a parking space that costs as much as a brain transplant or eating there will make you sick and they have a place for you.  And did I mention the couch they have that if you are spending the night you are supposed to sleep on?  I spent 26 years in the Infantry sleeping in some God-awful places, even spending one night in an open grave (another story for another time) and I slept better than I did on their couch.  If the CIA got one of them they would never have to even consider waterboarding again.  But that’s life.

And another thing. I have so many holes in my shoes from shooting myself in the foot that when it rains I almost drown. The latest hole you ask?

I attended a writer’s conference in Key West, Fl two years ago where I did a workshop.  I couldn’t go this year, see above, but they sent me a nice email saying they were having a writing contest.  The winner got a free conference, a trophy and most especially, a publishing contract.  All you had to do was send in the first 750 words of a COMPLETED (there’s a reason for the caps) novel by a certain date.  Like most writers, I have several versions of unpublished works, so I pulled one out, dusted off the first 750 and sent it in.  Do you see where this is going yet?  I didn’t hear anything by the deadline so I proceeded to forget about it…..until…email: Congratulations.  You won third place etc. etc.…send us the rest of the novel so we can edit and publish it.  The REST of the novel…but…but…I scrambled around for several day, cutting and pasting from the several drafts I had and sent them a publishable manuscript.  My foot is just now healing from that gunshot. But I know I’ll do something like that again.  It’s in my DNR. (see earlier blog).

Bottom line. I’m back and I’ll keep making mistakes, occasionally doing the right thing at the right time, dragging things up from the past, making observations and if everything else fails I’ll just make something up to keep the blog going.  

Thanks for your interest and keep moving.  It’s harder to hit a moving target…but not always.

All Books Available @ amazon.com/author/paulsinor

Check out my Latest "That Old Black Magic" Available Now!

Not so HAPPY TRAILS

We often hear the term, “the end of an era” used when someone dies or a television show ends or something like that happens. Recently, not only did an era end, but it passed away into private homes and museums forever.  An icon for many Baby Boomers, Roy Rogers, died several years ago but his legacy lived, and lives on with movies and old black and white re-runs of his television series.  Now his museum in Branson, Missouri has closed and all of the items associated with him, Dale Evans, Trigger, Bullet and even Nellie Bell have gone on the auction block.

How popular was he?  A pair of his boots sold for $11,000.  A shirt with an embroidered Trigger went for $8,000.  Trigger?  Stuffed and sold for $266,000.  Need his saddle?  You could have gotten it for $386,000. Want ‘ol Bullet to run alongside Trigger?  He went for $35,000.  Even Nellie Bell’s tab was $116,000.  Obviously, “gone but not forgotten” is true for Roy.

I met him twice.  Once at a reception in Los Angeles where I have a photo of me, Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, Tony Curtis (don’t ask) and a strange lady I never did identify. I also have a nice photo of me with Jimmy Stewart at the same reception.  I happened to catch him coming back from the bar and he has a drink in both hands.

The best story about Roy is one I heard at the reception.  All his career, Roy had worn cowboy boots and didn’t even own a pair of regular shoes. Dale wanted to surprise him for his birthday one year so she bought him a pair of custom made alligator leather shoes. They were not just ordinary ones but were designer specials with inlays of pearl and all sorts of other things to make them unique to Roy.

The first time he wore them on their ranch in Victorville, CA, Roy saddled up Trigger, got Bullet and headed for a ride in the nearby mountains.  Once he got to the foothills of the mountains, Trigger began to act funny and Roy sensed danger.  It was soon revealed that a mountain lion was following him and his animals.

When the big cat got close enough to spook Trigger, the animal reared up and threw Roy off the saddle and onto the ground. Without Roy to control him, Trigger ran away from the danger and headed back to the ranch.  With a mountain lion on the hunt, no horse or dog and too far from home to make it back before dark, Roy sought refuge in an indentation in the rocks.  He was able to slip almost all of his body in but his feet were exposed.

During the night, the mountain lion tried to pull Roy from his hiding place and in the process destroyed his new shoes.  The next morning a rescue party found Roy, safe, but barefooted walking back to the ranch. He was picked up, checked out by a doctor and was fine.

A week later, Roy came riding back into the ranch mounted on Trigger with a massive mountain lion, dead and draped across the back of the horse.

When Dale saw them she said, “Pardon me, Roy.  Is that the cat who chewed your new shoes?”

Eh Braddah, Howzit?!

Eh Braddah, Howzit?!

Here comes Santa Clause…. again

There’s a great commercial on television about how we grow to be our parents.  That’ll never happen to me, I said as I slipped on my Vans and into my yellow button up sweater.  Unfortunately, it’s true in spite of all we can do to prevent it.  We have picked up traits and habits that we didn’t realize until someone points them out.  “You remind me so much of your crazy Uncle Herbert when you do that…” Or you see something and buy it because “my mother had one just like that and she loved it.”  We may not use it or even need it, but we have it.

One of the things my parents did…kids stop reading now….is to hide my Christmas presents all over the house.  Of course, I spent a great deal of time trying to find them and sometimes I actually ran across one or two, but they were very good at it, or I didn’t get many gifts, so I never found them all.

Which brings me to the point of this writing.  Christmas Eve would come and no matter how old I was, I had to wait for Santa to bring the gifts and put them under the tree.  The next morning after a completely sleepless night, I’d come to the tree and find that ‘ol Santa had, in fact come to my house with something other than a bag of coal and a sack of switches.  (If I have to explain ask your grandparents).  I once told my daughters he might do that if they weren’t good and they immediately got nicer for a few minutes and then asked me what “coal” was. It kinda lost its effect after that.

Once all the gifts were unwrapped it was usually my mother who would ask if I had overlooked something. I’d check the discarded paper and boxes and assure her that there was nothing left.  This is where it gets a little strange but hear me out.  She was concerned because she knew she or my dad had bought something that they did not bring out.  Why?  They forgot where it was.

If it was something I had asked for but did not get, she came up with an ingenious idea one year. “You know ‘ol Santa has to deliver all over the world and he usually winds up in some place like Botsa Lumba where he takes a few weeks rest before heading back to the North Pole.  He has a few gifts left over and for good little boys and girls, he’ll drop one off on the way back.”

I believed it and it accomplished two things.  It gave her time to find the thing she had lost, and she got another couple of weeks out of my being good in anticipation of Santa swinging by on his way north.

It worked for me and it worked on my girls and if you do it right, it’ll work for you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go dig through my garage.  There was this power drill I bought for my wife at the hardware store on Christmas Eve that I seem to have misplaced.

Weight…Weight…don’t tell me.

It’s the first of the new year and time to make changes.  Make those New Year’s Resolutions that you never keep.  Start getting all your income tax information together so you can file early this year in January…or March..or at midnight on April 14^th.  Plan the summer vacation well in advance so you can get reservations at that place you see advertised on television…free airfare…women in bikinis, men with six-pack abs, all you can drink….sorry.  Sold out two years in advance.

For me, I decided to start an exercise program so I can lose a few pounds, regain the body I had when I was…was…younger…not so old…all of the above.  I have been doing some research to find the best way to accomplish my goals and here’s where it gets a little hairy.

I need a machine so I looked at the Bowflex.  I saw an ad on television about it.  Great looking women, sweaty men, none of them gasping for breath, so I checked it out. I figured if I’m going to go, I’ll go all the way.  Top of the line.  Get one with all the whistles and bells.  It’s only $3,000 and I have to pay shipping.

Maybe I’ll do the old tried and true Nordic Track.  A friend has one and swears by it.  He put it in his bedroom and said he lost five pounds the first two weeks.  The third week he needed a place to hang his jacket when he came home late so he temporarily placed it on the Nordic Track, which by the way, cost him $2,800.00.  By the end of the first month, he found out he had a clothes rack that cost as much as a cruise to the Bahamas.  Swear by it? Now he just swears at it.

I had a great idea. If my excess weight was in the middle of my body, I could have it drop down by buying a Teeter Hang Up and letting gravity take over.  That little idea cost me $500.00.

Enough with the machines. It stands to reason that if you burn more calories than you eat, you will lose weight.  Just pick the right foods and I’m not good at that or I wouldn’t be looking at things that turn me upside down, so I went for the diet plans.  Found a new one called Golo.  Weight loss in a bottle.  Six month supply for only $60.00 a bottle for each month.  I seriously considered it until I went to the website and saw five pages of instructions and warnings.

Enough of this nonsense. I want to make it happen so I went to Nutrisystem.  If it’s good enough for Marie, it’s gotta be good for everyone.  Only $425.00 per month but I got a week’s worth of “free” shakes.   If I combine that one with the South Beach Diet…I didn’t really consider the diet at $360.00 per month but I really like watching Jessi James Decker on the beach.

All of them advise checking with your doctor before you go on any diet or exercise program.  For once I followed their advice and talked to my doctor.  He had the best advice I have ever gotten.  He said he wanted me to “watch my waistline.”  I am now in complete compliance.  All I have to do is look down and I can see it and watch it anytime I want to.  It’s right there for me to see.  I’m just glad I didn’t go to my podiatrist and he told me to watch my feet.

Black and White Days

If you’ve been paying attention since I’ve been writing this blog, you know a lot about me.  You know I’m married. I’m a published novelist (available on Amazon or B&N), a produced screenwriter and I taught screenwriting at the University of West Florida when I lived in Pensacola.  You also know I’m a retired Army Lieutenant Colonel and did two combat tours during Viet Nam.  So, what’s you point, you ask?  I’m getting to that.  You also may recall from other blogs that I don’t sleep a lot at night which means I look at a lot of really bad…I mean REALLY bad television between midnight and six am.

My grandson once asked me if I was born during black and white days.  I wasn’t sure what he was talking about or how to answer until I realized we were watching an old cowboy movie on television and it was in black and white.  I’m just happy the movie had sound, so he didn’t ask if I was born during the silent era, but I digress.

I hadn’t thought about it much until lately.  I love old movies and many of them are from the black and white era.  I can’t imagine Casablanca or some of the early Hitchcock films in color.  We know Rick wore a white dinner jacket in the film and we know the Maltese Falcon was black but do we need to know what color hat Ilsa wore?  The blood was red on the knife in Psycho, but black did the trick when it scared us to death at the time.  No need for color.

I started thinking the other night/early morning.  How many black and white movies or television series are still available to be seen?  A not so quick scan said I could watch an episode of The Lone Ranger from 1949.  No, that’s not a mistake.  I didn’t even know there was television in 1949.  How about an episode of Dragnet from 1951?  Just the facts, Ma’am, just the facts.  Sorry, couldn’t resist. Andy Griffith?  More episodes than you can watch in one night. Whatever your favorite show or the one you have heard your parents, or heaven forbid, your grandparents talk about…”they don’t make ‘em like that anymore”…is on some cable channel someplace.

And now the granddaddy or grandmother of them all:  I Love Lucy. Every episode ever written, filmed or produced is playing someplace right now.  To set the record straight.  I am not a fan of Lucy. It gets even worse.  I think people who commit treason or crimes against small children or ding my car door with theirs in the parking lot should be placed in a room with nothing but a straight back, wooden chair and be forced to watch reruns of old I Love Lucy programs 24/7.

I thought that was the worst punishment a person could undergo until last week.  It was about 3 am and I was flipping channels in a half sleep/half wake mode when I hit stop on my remote.  “This sounds interesting” I said to myself.  I’ve seen a lot in my life, much of it not so good and I don’t like to talk about it, but this one trumped everything I had ever seen. Living color.  Full sound.  No beating around the bush.  It was right out there for everyone to see and she was proud of it.

Doctor Pimple Popper has taken the lead over Lucy and I may never change channels again without being damn sure of what’s on the other side of the remote.

CHRISTMAS CARD, OH, CHRISTMAS CARD

It’s that time of the year again, and I’m ready.  Sorta. Kinda. My tree is up.  My lights are on.  My balls are hung, uh, you know what I mean…my stocking is ready to be filled, the gifts are wrapped and beneath the tree, and there is some Christmassy stuff in the front yard.  All that has been ready for weeks.  The only thing left was the annual mailing of Christmas cards.  Therein lies the problem.

For years when I was growing up and we got Christmas cards at home, my mother very carefully opened them, read every word, saved the envelopes and taped the cards to the doorway leading from the living room to the dining room.  She never questioned the motive behind the card.  It was Christmas.  A card.  From a friend or family member.  Deck the halls…or the door.

But now, all of that has changed.  Back then she went to a store, bought a box of cards, pulled out her address book and the cards from last year to make sure she didn’t miss anyone and she mailed out cards.  Not any more.

Now when we pick out cards we have to be sensitive.  Politically correct.  Conscious of others feelings.  Instead of a box of cards, we have to be aware of the message, the cover, the sentiments and what is wished.  Can’t send a Christian card to a friend who is Jewish.  That I understand and we have some cards that wish the recipient a Happy Holiday so they can pick the one it relates to for them.

After a career in the Army and moves all over the place and more schools for my two daughters than I can remember, and a wife who is from England with relatives all over the world, for years at Christmas time our mailbox looked like a mail drop for the United Nations. The cards had stamps from countries all over the world.  One friend who worked for a government agency known only by their three initials, always had a return address in Washington, DC no matter where they were in the world.

This year when we did our Christmas cards my wife put then into a stack and told me to take them to the post office.  The rest of the directions were lost on me, evidently. I went to the post office, saw a line around the block and decided to just drop them in a nearby post box and go home.  On the way I called home for some unknown reason and my wife asked if I got stamps for the cards going to England, Australia and New Zealand?  Oops…Have you ever gone in a post office at Christmas time, waited in line for an hour, got to the window and asked if they could go empty one of their boxes so I could get my cards and buy stamps for them?  If you do, you will find that the Christmas spirit, like Elvis has left the building.  While they were digging through the box, my wife called and told me I did not pick up the stack needing stamps so I didn’t have to go through the box. Christmas or not, I was told to never come back.

In case you’re in the same quandary with regard to what cards to send to whom, I have a great suggestion.  Do what I do. For my friends who celebrate in ways at times I don’t understand, like my Muslim, Buddhist, Shinto, Cao Dai, Hoa Hoa, and others, I address a very nice envelope, put their name on it with a non-offensive stamp and leave the envelope empty.  Let them figure out what the card would have said if I had sent it.

Remember When…

It seems this time of year is defined by the music we hear. It’s on the radio and television commercials use Christmas songs as background music or as a way to sell the consumer everything from cars and exercise equipment to catheters and incontinence supplies delivered discretely to you home and charged to Medicare.  The songs are supposed to remind us of times past, or friends, or places or something pleasant so we are in the mood to spend money.

That got me to thinking. I don’t sleep much and I’m usually awake around 3am.  I may go back to sleep around the time I need to get up, but from 3 to 6 I do what I call my “creative thinking.”  This is when I remodel my bathroom, tell that guy at the grocery store back in 1973 what he could have done with that cart he thought I hit his car with and important things like that…or…I watch television.  Have you ever watched TV at 3am?  I have every cable channel known to man and the best I can do is fifty channels selling me everything from oil-less fryers, to cosmetics guaranteed to eliminate wrinkles to a course on how to make a million dollars in the stock market. If I don’t watch those, and I’m lucky there is an NPR station showing an old rock and roll review between pitches for a fifteen CD set of all of their music, or a CW series or Celtic or Soul or some other decade of music.  Now to the point of this.  I knew you were waiting.

Those songs immediately bring back memories for me.  I didn’t realize how much of my life was tied to a song.  I hear one and I go back to the memory that song evokes, and I’ll bet it happens for you as well.  What song reminds you of your first love?  How about the one when you realized he/she didn’t love you as much as you thought? My parents were the Great Depression and WWII generation and when they heard an old song on the radio or the Lawrence Welk Show (not me…they watched it, I just suffered through it) they would always comment about “remember when…” and it was usually a pleasant memory unless it was a popular tune during the war and was a favorite of a long lost friend.

What did you listen to in high school?  College? What did you dance to at your first prom?  That song you played on your record player, 8 track, cassette player or CD when you and he/she always…fill in the blank.

For me, and I’ll bet two songs that have a universal meaning for anyone who served in Viet Nam.  They were almost as popular as the National Anthem. It didn’t matter if we heard it on AFVN, on somebody’s cassette player or from a band with singers who could barely pronounce the words, when WE GOTTA GET OUT OF THIS PLACE IF IT’S THE LAST THING WE EVER DO, or I WANNA GO HOME came on we stood, yelled, sang along and generally made fools of ourselves, but we meant every word of it.  Most of us got out of that place, and got home but many didn’t and those songs will always remind me of them.

My good friend Lieutenant Bill….was a Charlie Pride fan and drove us nuts playing his songs all the time. Bill was captured alive one day and when the prisoners came home I looked for him. I scanned the names of those who had died in captivity.  He wasn’t on either list.  Someday, I hope and pray that he gets to GET OUTTA THAT PLACE…

A Christmas Secret

 

For anyone who was ever in the military from 1941 through 1990, one of the highlights of the Christmas season was the possibility to a visit by Bob Hope and his USO troupe to your base.  He started stateside in California in 1941 and from then until his last trip in 1990 he brought a little bit of home to the troops in some of the most desolate places on earth during each war or conflict where they were deployed.

He did shows on aircraft carrier decks, in open fields at army bases and in rear areas.  He was always accompanied by several other entertainers and most important to the thousands of men, (my apologies to any lady who reads this) a couple of beautiful female dancers, singers or perhaps those with no talent who just looked good.  The shows were free, open seating, no pulling rank to get a front seat, however if he was at or near a hospital you could always find a row or two of wheelchair and other medical devices down front.

I never got to see a show in person, but I did hear two of them live on a radio during Viet Nam.  In 1968 I was on a four day patrol and at the designated time, we were just setting up an ambush site when he came on the radio.  I turned our PRC 25 (if you have to ask….) to the right frequency and listened for a few minutes until it got to be too dangerous to have him on the radio and not have it on the right frequency.  My RTO (see above) wanted to listen through a set of headphones but since I was a Lieutenant and he wasn’t, I won.

The next time I got close to a Bob Hope Christmas show was in 1970.  I was in the Mekong Delta in Viet Nam and got called in to our Corps Headquarters for a Top Secret briefing.  I had no idea what it was about.  We’re invading North Viet Nam?  Cambodia?  It’s over? The President was coming to town?  Nothing as mundane as that.  We were required to show our identification cards, secured in a briefing room, and waited for a 2 star general to arrive.  Once he came in, his briefing officer put a slide on the overhead projector (again, see above) and the TS briefing began.  We were being given Bob Hope’s itinerary and travel route.  Five days later, a helicopter flew over our outpost at the end of the world in the Delta and the pilot informed me that he had Bob Hope on board.  Hope had a call sign which I can’t remember now, but he did not use his name for security purposes.

Years later, I had to pleasure of meeting him in Los Angeles and he was a genuine gentleman in every sense of the word.  The reason for this trip down amnesia lane?  Today was an incredibly powerful day as President George H.W. Bush was laid to rest.  I not only met but I worked for 41 in Washington, DC.  As I watched the funeral, it was hard not to get emotional and I thought of the Bob Hope show.  He always ended his show with Silent Night. To this day I can’t hear that song without a tear in my eye.

No joke.  No cute ending here.  Just a fond memory and a fond farewell to two icons. 

They’rrreee Herree

They’rrreee Herree

Every generation is told the one behind them is the future and in most cases that future generation has been looked on with great pride and anticipation of their taking over and doing a better job than the one they replace.

No matter how old you are or what your generation is called, you and unfortunately I, are on our way out. We are going to turn things over to those behind us whether we like it or not.  We see on the news how the country and the world is shifting.  The direction its shifting depends on your political view.  It’s happening all over the world and not just here in the US of A.

Okay, I’m off the soap box now and getting to the point of this blog.  I have mentioned it in the past, but a quick review. (There will be a test at some point)  I have been teaching at the college level for several years in Washington, Florida and now here in Georgia.  My class has always been a writing class, either screenwriting or fiction.  The students have ranged from entering freshmen, a few high schoolers who were dual enrolled and a couple of graduate students over the years. Based on this I feel I have a good handle on the upcoming generation.

At the University of West Florida, I taught a course called Writing for Television, Film and Radio. Notice the first word in the description? That will make sense in a minute.  The name of the class was in the school catalog, on the door to the classroom and on the syllabus I handed out during the first meeting.  

Wait….do I see a hand in the back of the room?  Young man sitting back there on the very first day of class.  “Uh, ‘scuse me but will there be any WRITING requirements in this class?”  Let that sink in for a second.  My smart-ass response?  “You’re in analytical geometric algebraic geography.  How much writing do you think you will have to do?”  “But..but…it say’s right here that this is a television and film class?”

Two weeks later this same individual handed in his first writing assignment.  I brought all the papers home to read and grade.  When I got to his…well…my 12 year old granddaughter was doing her homework alongside her 7 year old brother at the kitchen table. I handed the paper to her to read. Her response?  “Papa, when did Logan learn how to type?”

Moving right along to the present.  I went to a local supermarket last week to get a few things. When I got to the cashier, it was a young lady I recognized from a class next to mine where I now teach. We exchanged pleasantries and when she totaled the order, I said I wanted $20.00 back. “I’d like two tens’ please.” She looked in the drawer.  “Sorry, but I don’t have any tens.”  I’m not hard to please, so I said, “Okay, just give me a thirteen and a seven.” Wait…wait…it gets better…She looked in the drawer and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a thirteen.  Do they really make them?”  There is a small branch bank in the store, so I suggested she go to the bank and ask them for one.  In the meantime, I said, “Just give me a sixteen and a four.”

I didn’t realize the manage was standing nearby and heard the conversation.  “Sir, if you need specific change, please ask for it at the bank.”

I stopped by an adult beverage store on the way home, bought a bottle and paid for it with a brand new fourteen dollar bill. 

Remember When We Had No Choices?

Remember When We Had No Choices?

I went to the grocery store yesterday and I was completely confused and it bothered me.  I just needed a few simple, or so I thought, things.  We were out of milk, eggs, soft drinks, mustard and I thought I’d reward myself with a small bag of candy and a cup of coffee from the Starbucks stand in the store.

I didn’t realize you can’t just buy a quart of milk, a dozen eggs, a carton of Cokes, a jar of mustard and a bag of M&M’s without it taking at least an hour and that doesn’t count standing in line to check out.

When I got to the milk case, I wanted a quart of milk. I didn’t want to decide between 2%, 4%, Skim, Low Fat, Non Fat, Organic in each of these varieties, whole, soy or almond.  This didn’t count the choices from free range cows.  Do some cows have to pay for their range?  I grabbed the one with the longest expiration date, and headed for the dairy case for eggs.

Eggs?  Brown? White? Organic?  Free range (they should get with the cow and make a deal) Dozen? Eighteen?  None of them had a picture of a chicken on the carton which made me suspicious.

Two hundred feet of soft drinks on one aisle. Bottles or cans?  Big bottles or small ones?  Glass or plastic?  I just wanted a six pack of Cokes but…Coke Zero, Diet, Diet with Lime/Lemon/Splenda, how about made in Mexico.  Twelve pack? Twenty pack? I ran to the mustard aisle.

I felt like I was in the movie Groundhog Day. Yellow mustard.  Brown mustard.  Spicy mustard.  Mustard with horseradish, Grey Poupon, jars, squirt bottles and best of all:  Stone ground.  I pictured two people with rocks grinding little mustards into a yellow paste.

By this time my blood sugar was in the toilet, and I won’t even talk about toilet paper, so I went to the candy aisle for my M&M’s.  I give up. When M&M’s added peanuts, I thought it was the first sign of the Apocalypse.  Now with all the choices, who knows

I finally got to the check-out line.  Self?  Less than 10? More than 25?  Alcohol and cigarette in a special, over 21 line and don’t try to fool us because we make you show your ID if you look under 97. And speaking of cigarettes.  My dad smoked Camels.  Just plain, non-offensive, middle of the road, Camels.  At my store there are twelve types of Camels.

After I got a cup of coffee…don’t even go there, I went home and dropped on the sofa and told my wife that I wanted to relax and watch some television.  Gracious lady that she is, she offered to turn it on for me.  Did I want to watch, local, network, cable, HBO, Showtime, Skinamax, music channel, Hispanic, Korean, or what?

I gave up and decided that it was time for me to go, so I thought I’d just shoot myself.  Then I couldn’t decide if I wanted to use my .45, my 40, 38, shotgun, deer rifle, that little 22 I won in a poker game or….

Thank You 

to 

Royal Tea Pot

For allowing us to host our book signing party today!

And Thank You All Who Came Out and Supported Us!