About

I’m the letters page editor for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. I’ve battled IBS and severe depression for a long time, and I recently had a stroke, but my family, my cat and duck butts help me keep everything in perspective … and chocolate … lots and lots of chocolate …

My regular posts are on Sunday (always something that makes me happy) and Wednesday (my column, which covers lots of topics, including grammar, research and politics). I also occasionally post additional entries irregularly as the spirit moves me.

Most of the time, this will be funny/weird stuff, which, along with puzzles, music, photography and making jewelry, helps calm me down, cuz, ya know, I internalize, and that’s not good. For anybody.

I see your duck butt and raise you ...

I see your duck butt and raise you …

79 thoughts on “About”

  5. This NOT aimed at Voices…not even sure it belongs anywhere but tis TRUE, so just for your entertainment.
    Note: All typing is being done with one arm/hand, and a left one at that. Corrections are a bitch, so attempt to bear with me.
    …
    I must confess, I thought ‘baawaa balls’ was an urban myth. (Eudora Ark. doesn’t provide an extensive background in adult toys).

    For the last 6 days I have been shuttling between NLRock and either Marion Ill or Charleston Mo..10 hours/700ish miles.
    A real wasteland for radio, so I have been re-listening to Atlas Shrugged on CDs.

    Yesterday, the truck had no CD player and I was forced to punch through eightyleben booble thumping stations, then finally touched down upon WYPL. W Yore Public Liebarry.
    Classy..carrys BBC, and learned book readings and reviews..

    At night they (being a Memphis station) have a number of blues programs and that awful Sonny Burgess clusterhump.

    Airwaves had NUTHIN other than spittle spewing preachers.

    I tuned in to WYPL 89.3 and sorta listened to their OLD, scratchy blues records…the combination of scratchy and mumble-mouth diction splashed over with screechy instruments made it nearly impossible to figure out the actual lyrics.

    Given the station’s rather prissy and square reputation,I was aghast when an old recording of “Vagina Beans” hit the airwaves.
    I was not familiar with the song, but like ALL blues, the line is repeated twice followed by the wrap up line.
    Male singer:”Baybee..put on dem Vagina Beans…yeah, put on dem Vagina beans.
    “You KNOWS how I luvv dem Vagina beans.”
    etc.
    My hearing is less than acute. I was driving a particularly noisy truck. I had never run into Vagina Beans before so I listened more carefully……maybe Beads…flash dem Vigina BEADS??? Makes no sense…but, neither does Beans.
    I wondered if mayhap this referred to a new sort of thong. Beads or Beans, neither one made much sense but singer wanted his lady to climb into a pair and shake strongly.

    “Honey you makes me WILD when you is in dem Vagina Beans” Yep it HAS to be beans.
    I must confess that I was shocked…SHOCKED, as I come from an era when the word “pregnant” was grounds for instant and painful results.

    I recalled, well before dirt, our awful rock band listened at night to Gene Nobles at XERF Del Rio Tessass to all the R&B songs..we would struggle to copy the lyrics down to install at our gigs. We baldfacedly (???) claimed them as our own as they were WAY underground.

    “Annie had a baby…cain’t wuk no mo.”

    At 15, I found it sad that Annie would not be able to be a salesgirl/nanny/cook/laundress because there was no one at home to keep the baby.

    Never occured to me Annie was leading a sordid second life .

    We rolled our young eyes when a rock artist punched “Rocking and a rolling” as Uhhh-uckin an uh rollin”.. Jerry Lee?

    I listened more closely to Vigina Beans. Definitely Beans not Beads, however, whilst it SOUNDED like ‘BEANS” my visions fit “BEADS” into my creative visuals.
    Recording finished .
    Pigmented host of countdown program: “You benna hearin’ XX XX doin’ his job and gittin dat woh-min to climb into does tight “Designer Jeans”.

    MUST get new batteries………..for my hearing aids. Or closed captioning for radio.
    Feel free to remove or butcher in any fashion which suits you.
    dp

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    • OMG!!!! That is at least as good if not better than many of the misheard lyrics I’ve come across (Someone shaved my wife tonght, ‘Scuse me while I kiss this guy), I’d have a hard time keeping a straight face if I heard that song! 😀

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  6. Made a run up to Cincinnati and back. There is not a ‘gooder’ “shorter” or faster route..642 miles each way whether you got to Nashville-Louisville or L’ville, Western Ky Parkway to I-55.
    total 1.2 miles difference.
    LR-Memphis-Nville takes you by the Corvette museum where the 60 foot sinkhole devoured 8 priceless Vettes, but otherwise a LOT of traffic, accidents, trailers missing a wheel or bearing and gut busting bumps in the Interstate.
    The quiet, peaceful route runs from about 60 miles south of Louisville onto a KY. parkway, all the way across Kentucky to Dyersburg Tennesee, across the river (THE river) to I-55 south to Memphis and home.

    The only interesting points on this route consists of: corn, milo, rice and trees…with two exceptions.
    The big dams, Barkley and Kentucky Lake…and the rest area in the center of Pkway which boasted a T.J. Cinnamon shop.
    I had to take my newly required 30 minute break at the sticky bun shop.

    (Dumb s***s don’t heat the sticky buns any more 😡

    and the Arby’s takes your order, takes your money and screams out your name 15 minutes later to you may pick up and be permitted access to the coffee dispenser.

    This leaves a hunk of time to inspect the inhabitants of northern Kentucky. The last place on the planet where mullets are the norm and missing teeth a badge of honor. (Think: Deliverance)

    The dudes with their plaid cowboy shirts with the arms cut off and greasy ball caps planted atop the mullets failed to hold my interest…BUT riding around in their clapped out pick-ups were a wide range of flashy trashy young ‘ladies’ sporting bleached hairs with a wide dark stripe crying for a root bleach.

    And as it WAS Labor Day, the troops were out for water sports and copious beer consumption.

    They matched the guys with one outstanding example of I-should-have-thought-this-out-more promotional display.

    Picture her: 20ish, sunburned, armpit hair,hair arranged like a dog riding with his head out the window, scruffy cowboy boots, cheap costume jewelry rings on 8 or ten fingers and a mis-matched bikini, black on top half, orange and pink plaid on bottom.
    The entire acreage of bikini could NOT exceed 7 or 8 square inches. Not quite a thong behind with a postage stamp sized front.
    I was enchanted.
    She was adorned with numerous tattoos which seemed to be commisioned by the local chamber of commerce.
    There were: speedboats, stars, Harleys, Hummingbirds and a colorful Confederate battle flag sprinkled about her pudgy flesh.

    But the most eye-catching display was inked full frontal.

    It showed two military parachutists suspended below her mammary glands with the bikini tops acting as ‘chutes (Nearby Fort Campbell?)
    On her solar plexus was a cartoony map of the Kentucky Lake region tagged,”Heaven” replete with angels, golden gates, cherubs flinging flowers and a few faded to illegibility ‘jailhouse tats’.

    When she faced me, I tried to look as if I were studying the menu and not the flimsey scrap of fabric keeping her from arrest.

    Follow this:
    On her left thigh/ hip to just above cowboy boot-top was a labeled drawing of Lake Barkley (dam-cooling towers etc)…On her matching right thigh a map of Kentucky Lake…and a banner scrolled side to side just below her ‘inny’ navel, proclaiming in Old English (?)calligraphy:
    “Area voted America’s BEST playground” and nestled along the flimsey top of the bottom of her bikini..
    “Land between the Laigs”.

    I could not help but imagine how the landscape would be altered over the next 50 years. Would parachutes dangle dangerously low? How to explain the “playground” to grandchillin?

    Would the play on Land between the Lakes ‘work’ should she move to Des Moines, or Lansing…or Poland?

    Would a later, mouth breathing Harley captain cheer her ‘art-work’?

    ……………..
    Odd tats must be the very THANG in that area..another customer at Arby’s had 10 inch long palm trees inked running up from ankle to just at her knees (both laigs?) ending in a profusion of inky foliage palm tree tops composed of big patches of vericose veins…

    Must have been the Miami C. of C..

    CARPE CASHEWS (SEIZE THE NUTZ)

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  9. Dear Ms. Looper, your column in the Arkansas Dem Gaz is always a favorite. A columnist with intelligence and common sense is so rare. Did you see Mark Pryor’s comment that he felt that $200,000.00 might be the high end of earnings for Arkansas’ middle class. This proves to me he is totally out of touch with the average citizen in Arkansas and that he needs to get out of politics and get a real job.

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    • Hi, Dorothy, and thank you! I’m blushing!

      I hadn’t had a chance to see that particular quote with trying to get back up to speed after last week’s craziness, so had to go check it out. You’re right, of course, and that number is far too high, especially for here (I WISH I made that much.) Perhaps if he’d been a struggling small-town lawyer in his past he’d be a little more apt to know the plight of the average Arkansan.

      However, among the current candidates, I think he’s the lesser of the evils and at least closer to understanding his constituents. If he does win another term, he’d probably be wise to hang it up after completing it.

      Races like the ones we’re seeing now make me pine for the return of actual public servants. Though they were already dying out by the time I started paying attention to politics, I saw enough of the good ones (like Dale Bumpers and John Paul Hammerschmidt) to know we need more of their ilk. Sadly, I don’t see that happening.

      Thanks for reading!

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  10. “”Did you see Mark Pryor’s comment that he felt that $200,000.00 might be the high end of earnings for Arkansas’ middle class. ..””

    Leave us examine this a bit .
    A lowly trucker, grinding away at 32 cents a mile might well think that 200K might not fit his (her) circumstances, but what he said was “HIGH end” of MIDDLE class”

    Take a moment and arrive at the figures YOU would apply to “UPPER end of LOWER class, and Lower end of UPPER class.
    I don’t consider it ‘off base’ to stick any of the Waltons or J.B. Hunt’s widow into “HIGH end of upper class…hundreds of millions. Looking at it in this light, upper class spreads a WIDE range of Green Stamps. (WOW! Remember them?”)

    Also, I can’t imagine using my income, and my favorite wife’s to slide us into class pigeon holes independently. If so, she would be low upper class, I would be middle lower class…..Not to put words into Mr. Pryor’s pie-hole, seems reasonable he might be referring to a household income. 100 grand each. NICE, and not quite so outrageous..

    Remember, we are dealing with CLASS levels, NOT average income/wages.
    Let’s construct a middle class.
    Lower Middle Class, hereafter LMC:
    Maybe college, modest house or rental, 4-5 year old Chevy, and a 12 year old Civic Pick-up,chows down @ Chinese buffet, Makes Branson every year.Cable TV. household Likes Corona as a treat.
    Arkie income=$24-50K

    MMC:More likely to have gone to college, Edging towards west LRock. Eats OUT more often, average bill for 4 $45-$50. A Furr’s or IHOP. 2 cars, a beater and a nice Accord.
    46″ flat screen and some pay channels. Goes to Tunica often enough to have comps.
    Rumchata or latest novelty drink.
    She is a nurse/teacher, He has a small service business. She hauls home around $40K, his is more flexible, but around $60.
    MMC Annual HOUSEHOLD income= $50k-100K

    UMC=Both made it through U of A, parents covered college expenses, Leawood/Pleasant Valley. He’s a lawyer $110 K, she volunteers and holds a $70 k job with a government agency.
    He
    had a $4,000 dental reconstruction and she,a $9,000 boob job @40.
    He has a newish Volvo and a nearly restored MG-B in the garage, She fumes as the MG keeps her Prius parked outside. Serves guests inexpensive scotch (But pours it into single malt or pricey bottles kept for that duty.) They recently paid big bucks to put rocks in the kitchen. (granite counter tops)…Landscape company cuts the grass. She spends a frighteningly amount on hair-nails-skin-clothes-shoes but flashes knockoff name purses and a $50 Hong Kong Rolex. Go on a cruise but skip the balcony.

    He fools around a bit but keeps it low budget, friendly and discrete.

    Your mileage may differ, but these are reasonable generalities. $200K for UPPER MIDDLE CLASS doesn’t seem so outrageous do it?

    Gone to buy bride matching undies with taut elastic;-)

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  11. For the record, I, too, find you a rare treasure.
    Your primer today on Opinion-Fact was clear and to the point. I fear it will go sailing over the heads of those who confuse the two.

    I once found myself in a very similar situation, substitute radio waves for piles of newsprint.

    Most frustrating trying to get that very point across, A listener gave me a quote which begat the name of the program…”Singing Pig”… I will impart to you the pithy blurb,:Never try to teach a pig to sing, it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

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    • Thanks, Dick! Love the story. I did my time in radio in college, then TV immediately after … which is why I’m in print journalism. 😀

      One of my colleagues thought I could be a little meaner, but I just couldn’t do it. But I did get my first research request, from someone who thinks I’m biased. He’s sure I’ll find more liberal letters in the past three months; I’m sure I’ll find the opposite. We shall see! 😀

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  12. No more robo-calls! No sleazy mailers! No more slimy politicos! Whatcha wanna bet within a year, all these elected will prove to be just as phony and self-serving as the booted group?

    Now we may expose ourselves to ART!

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  15. I find it most intimidating to share my priceless prose with a ginyewine editor-person.
    What with no spellcheck, and the mental ravages of several strokes, I would spend all my of-so-valuable time with corrections.
    Be kind and overlook the results of a one armed, three fingered pecking away to brighten your new year.

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  16. When we got married, (1979) I was sublimely content with a cheapest base model COrvette made, a 1941 MB Jeep, and a 200 cc Kawasaki. I dwelt in a 12’x8′ foot (cabin) homemade houseboat. My cup runeth all over the place.

    Pat found my squalid houseboat unacceptable..BUT allowed as how a CAMPER would be different.

    I bought my sixth, VW campmobile, pop up roof and a mighty 36 horsepower power plant.
    The seats in the Corvette cramped her (then) scrawny backsides…and besides it looked like a midlife search for youth…sold it.

    The topless Jeep disturbed her hairs..we.stored Jeep under SHMH’s front porch to accumulate less than a 1,000 miles over the following 20 years…sold it to “HANK’S fine furniture for his grandgirls.

    Of course the motorcycle had to go before the wedding cake was stale.

    Pat installed “a few little things” in the VW until the motor was gasping and you could hardly see out the windows.

    Up until this point she had shown NO interest in ‘roughing it’ ‘camping’ or RVing .
    BUT, her best friend bought a class C RV…we visited and got wine from the built in wine cooler….Immediately Pat began reading up on rolling tents…dragged me about the countryside…comparing this one and that (with NO idea what she was comparing..”Oh, I LIKE that one…it has a built in flower vase!” (and a smoking diesel with large, growing oil spots underneath. But it had “cute” light bulbs and electric steps….oh, wow.
    She wore me down. bought an old (1980ish) Southwind.$12,000..27 footer which SURPRIZE!!! Didn’t get nearly the gas mileage the VW got 🙄 .

    No complaining about the “Z”…I want it to be right.

    We took it to the river a grand total of perhaps 6 times…10 miles round trip.
    5 years…mildew from sitting closed up…after 5 years I had NEVER filled the 60 gallon fuel tank…not only not filled…had not added any.
    Note..5 year old fuel is similar to sorghum molasses.
    Faced with renting a sailboat for vacation southern FL. (when I had one tied up on Lake Maumelle) and flying family down and back..I rebelled at never using the damned rv..stuck the sailboat on a trailer behind, loaded family in and set out fora seaside rental in Clearwater. We were there for 7 days…there was not a single puff of wind the entire week…and whilst scouting out the canals to the ocean from the house I discovered the only wet route had a bridge…which was less than 3 feet over the water, to tight to pass even if you removed the (unneeded) sail and mast.
    The RV developed a substantial humming clunking bumpy vibration. a U-joint on the verge of destroying itself. Spent two days scouting for a repair shop to fix the U-joint (s). It seems in spite of having thousands of retired, blue-haired folks…NO ONE works on RVs. 😦
    I bribed. I begged. I cajoled. I finally talked a shop into replacing the 3 u-joints…needed 4 days to do the repairs…and $650.

    “Do it.” said I. Notice I did NOT say,”Fix the awful vibration.” but rather,”Replace the U-joints.”

    Four days later I shelled out the $650 plus tax and a case of beer..(the bribe I mentioned earlier)
    Vacation blown, time to return to Arkie-land. I pulled out from the shop and quickly noticed the exact same noise/vibration.

    I reversed, back to the shop before they had had time to pop a top.

    “I have the same horrid vibrations!!!”

    “Oh…yeah…Enif yew want THAT fixed, you gonna need four new tars.
    The same folks who would not work on RVs, also wouldn’t mount “tars” on them..

    .Wallyworld to the rescue..replace all four. Quickly. and they happened to be on sale. Lowest quote I had gotten was nearly a grand…and Sam’s guys did the entire replacement, balanced, Ardemup. Note: that is what one DO in Florida, “Are uhp dem tars” And only $650!!!

    Inserted family into RV, hooked still bone-dry sailboat to rear hitch and smoothly pointed toward LRock.

    Everything went swimmingly…until I arrived back home where I stored the boat when not wetting it…I-30 and 65th street.
    Back in friendly Arkinsaw..lots of folks waved and honked…LOTS.

    I pulled down to the foot of the off ramp…no sailboat…no sailboat in sight.
    I retraced our path to find the sailing vessel ARK-ARK slid over against the concrete wall where it had bounced off the ball and ground to a halt without hitting anyone or doing ANY damage.

    Pat did NOT say this was the result of my sloppy hooking up…or some mechanical failing of the hitch/ball/boat/road/angry angels…It was because the Southwind was not the proper RV

    . Besides,”You can’t walk around the bed to make it!!!

    We need an RV with room to make the bed.

    At this point I wanted no part of ANY RV. I called my eldest who was swatting mosquitoes in the Louisiana swamps, living in a tent (no AC) until the pipeline made another 35 miles or so.
    “Come to Daddy” said I…”I will give you a surprize”

    I know, I know..I LIKE the Z.

    Gone. No hulking ,overblown, wheeled enemy…

    A week later, Pat the Pure sprung a lagniappe on me.

    “Come LOOK, You can walk all the way around the bed!!!

    “I get the Winnebago, but YOU get the toad.”+

    This did not refer to an amphibian, but rather a tiny Saturn coupe which came WITH her RV!!
    Note* Called a TOAD as it is towed behind the new, hulking. 30 foot long aluminum bedroom.
    We were quickly leaving my happy little VW…and the Southwind in the far gone memory closet.
    I gritted but came to love my Toad…and to tolerate her outrageous toy.

    We had inherited a hilltop, in the woods, to store the Winnebago.

    I found the need to tighten the fan belts. I removed the doghouse inside, between the seats/over the engine..spent hours coating arms/hands/ears/lips etc with black gritty grease.
    The belts outlasted me.
    I retreated house to remove battle scars.
    I did not look forward to more mechanicin’. I confess I procrastinated.

    I made up excuses to avoid more wrenching. and I confess while I closed the RV up…I failed to replace the engine cover.

    In the woods.
    Home of woodland creatures.
    Like raccoons.
    Who had (several times) chosen to use Pat’s RV recliner as a portopotti.

    I hailed an upholstering and rug cleaning friend who toiled for hours and got MOST of the poop removed…but not before Pure entered and declared it unfit for habitation.

    And water had gotten into the tank, which rusted the fuel pump and caused multiple weeping holes in the 80 gallon tank.

    Labor to remove the 500+pound tank was (Tad-ah!) $650!!!

    the contaminated fuel was removed, and the tank was rebuilt at Carter’s radiator shop…$650…and a replacement fuel pump was finally found and installed.
    By now you KNOW how much THAT cost :

    More cleaning. More poop scraping.Removed RV to back hillside and placed classified ads.
    We will sell that gas guzzling mother and be free of these damned rolling headaches.
    I was happy.

    Content.

    Relieved.

    Not rich, but not bled dry.

    Until 1/1/2015.

    Pure has been busting her tail on salvaging a high dollar ,accounting screw-up.

    Millions hanging in the balance.

    I’m worrying about raccoon crap whilst she is matching wits with greedy lawyers intent on soaking Pure’s client for massive bucks.

    She WON.

    They rewarded her with an unexpected bonus.

    Twin results…Inside Pure’s head

    .1. “I am too old for this raccoon shit”
    and
    2: I DESERVE a treat.

    We still are harboring the Winne out in the woods. BUT, we cannot struggle through our “golden years” without an even more voracious mechanical beast
    ..
    Latest Very unwise mistake.

    http://www.ebay.com/itm/351259186816?forcerRptr=true&item=351259186816&viewitem=&sspagename=ADME:B:WNARL:US:1123

    I pick it up at the airport in Sarasota tomorrow morning. :oo)

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    • I feel your pain, especially as I just got rid of my Gertie (a Chevy Metro) last month … she was on her last legs, and I just couldn’t keep paying to fix her. Never really been tempted to buy an RV, thankfully, though my youngest brother did … and it sat in the front yard for about three years. 😀

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  18. Whilst I am normally concise and to the point, today I feel even more ‘gabby’ than is my norm. I shall post in segments the easier to cut and dump.
    1:Having been exposed to both newsrooms and around folks surfing the radio waves, I find most (rooms, not the populations therein) to be peopled with a combination of old grizzled dudes and dudettes, and pink cheeked recent grads of assorted journalism schools.
    These provide fertile fields for both honest mistakes and practical jokes.

    It is apparently the dream of them, what have toiled in the high pressured pro ranks, to one day leave the big city and open or purchase their very own small town rag or radio station.
    They appear (wearing TIES for gawd’s sake) filled to over flowing with NEW! Innovations! Which are guaranteed to set the ratings on fire while lighting same beneath the posteriors of the small time employees who have been plugging away at just keeping the doors open.

    Case in point: Big time pro retires from fancy Chicago killer station…retires to small Arkie village barely big enough to HAVE a station.
    Immediately calls staff meeting(s) and in one, proposes to ingratiate the statin with the local by flooding the airwaves with pithy LOCAL announcements.
    He provides a box of 3×5 cards and urges air folk to make note of important activities in and around the burg.
    These will be read (and very occasionally updated) on all shifts, including morning drive, which, OF COURSE, is the proper and fitting slot for the newly arrived from the windy city broadcast genius.
    He asks Marie on the front desk,”Whut is an F.F.A.? He was doubtless thinking “Ya mean we has future FARMERS listening to my pearls of wisdom?

    The late night jock, wearer of a gin-yew-ien John Deere cap, filled out one of the 3x5s and inserted into the little holder atop the control board.The message read:

    For sale or trade.
    A young, fit stump-broke filly. 14 hands tall and having a loving disposition. Comes, quickly when offered green treats.
    Answers to “Sweetheart” Call 501 XXX XXXX.

    Every employee,and surely every listener in the county knows this refers to a horse, female,which will stay put, before a stump, while a youthful, horny, rider approaches from the rear with romance on his mind.

    No employee, nor any member of the townfolk or radio audience found it necessary to explain while hotshot first read, then bemoaned that no listener was interested or willing to take Sweetheart on
    Moral: Beware of rustic locals who do not feel respected nor appreciated by the new Hot-Shot.

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  19. The honest to gawd true story above came to mind when I opened today’s Ardemgaz (Jan. 13- Style- above the fold feature story with pictures.)

    The pictures, Known as “Ladies’ Hour at Corn Springs” according to the historically astute Bill Worthen which provided two images for a stereo view, showing 5 or six Victorian ladies, barefoot, ankle length skirts hiked above knee level, with their legs dangling in a Hot Springs version of a primitive hot-tub.

    The picture itself is inscribed,”CORN HOLE”

    I pursued the article with raised eyebrows

    The text explains that this group dunk was to facilitate the removal of corns.

    SURE.

    “This exhibit gives us insight into 19th century Arkansas”, says young and eager Hattie Felton who used the picture as part of her post grad research at UALR.

    I do NOT for a minute believe Bill Worthen would stoop to ‘loading” Hattie’s equivalent of a 3×5 card holder with a straight faced reference to a Victorian Corn Hole.
    That is doubtless what they called the barnyard fixture designed to thwart pesky growths on their modestly exposed body parts…..
    Perhaps, due to being raised in a coarse and lascivious family, I have maintained a totally different meaning and fear that in BURST OF CHARITY should I invite a modern day lady person for a therapeutic corn hole visit, she would likely NOT remove her shoes but rather employ them to disturbing my tender and sensitive areas.

    Is Hattie laughing at us up her sleeve?
    Were Victorian ladyfolk THAT gullible?
    Am I just a dirty old man?

    One of the above is SURELY accurate…(and don’t call me ‘surely’)

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  21. A member of our olphart forum asked a New Zeeland member about earthquakes there.
    Part of his answer triggered the following:
    [quote]the most devastating quake that populated NZ has experienced. 256 killed and hundreds more injured.[/quote]

    That sentence takes me back..(not to the earthquake, rather to early broadcast days.)

    WKRG-AM Mobile Alabama back in the days when we had live local news every hour. Our program director, Jack Bitterman fancied himself a DRAMATIC news dude…LOTS of heavy emphasis…Jack came into the control room to do 8 a.m. news. The DJ USUALLY was very quiet during the news
    There had been a deadly train wreck somewhere in the south..Big fanfare…Serious Jack to the mike,”WkRG has just received the word regarding the derailment of the XXX passenger train which left the tracts about 6 miles outside of Hicksville…Pregnant pause…WKRG staffers on the scene reported..(VERY SOBER)
    “In the wake of this horrible disaster, SEVENTEEN LOST THEIR LIVES!!! LONG DRAMATIC PAUSE “SCORES MORE SERIOUSLY INJURED”.
    WHEN WRITTEN. IN THE NEWSROOM. IT WAS INTENDED TO READ
    ,”Scores MORE…, seriously injured.
    Unfortunately Jack was reading the news story ‘cold’..and it came out .”.Scores, more seriously injured.”

    DJ sitting next to Jack as he delivered the line reacted without thinking, “Jesus Christ, Jack…how much more seriously injured than DEAD can you get.??”
    And started giggling…then Jack started giggling..killed his mike, sweated bullets and stopped the news with 4 1/2 minutes left…dead air.

    Btw: for collectors of radio trivia; Jack was the guy who was transiting over to TV downstairs. His first duties consisted of being the ring announcer for in studio wrestling. During his first broadcast (telecast) he looked at the air monitor and was horrified at the glare off his shiny bald scalp..something that had never been a problem on radio.

    During a break he rushed into the men’s john and applied a series of black majic marker to appear as strands of hair…unfortunately, he only appeared like an Italian Zebra.
    The radio crew were all watching our fearless leader beginning his new career.
    After first inspection after application of Sharpie black bars, Jack began to sweat…Lots…back then the Sharpies weren’t waterproof and as Jack sweated more and more rivulets of black ran down his cheeks..it got worse and worse and every time the camera came back onto him he looked more and more like the wolfman in transition. He removed a hankie from his sport coat pocket and wiped his head, this only made what were previously thinner black stripes turn into the look of a workman behind the asphalt wagon..
    The hankie was totally soaked, after the last fall he shoved hankie into pocket, and stormed into the station john to scrub up…the wrasslers razzed him a bit. Radio type, Fred Scott quietly removed the handkerchief and replaced it with a racy pair of leopard patterned silky panties.

    I have no idea how they were procured.

    Jack departed for home, dreading facing his wife…hoping she didn’t know of his disaster…Prior to his arrival Fred called Jack’s wife and related whole story. Good natured gal was was, she entered into the fun..greeted Jack at the door,”How did it go honey?” chit chat..then,”Did you get your handkerchief messed up?” (all innocent)..Jack grabbed in his pocket and yanked out the substituted drawers. She faked HORROR…wide eyed..mistrustful…she didn’t admit the ruse until breakfast the next morning.

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    • Lord, that brings back memories … we had an overdramatic announcer for some of our ASU newscasts … luckily he couldn’t hear us laughing outside the booth. Then there was the time just before one of my news cut-ins when the DJ on duty was signing off with teasers, including the next DJ in the lineup. Let’s just say that he didn’t say his actual name, which was Brick …

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  23. I once worked for a broadcaster who ALWAYS seemed to have trouble coming up with the proper paycheck amounts.
    After payday, if you juggled figures you would arrive at an amount you considered proper. It was almost always a small discrepancy…couple of bucks. But it was ALWAYS in favor of the house.

    When you, once again, dragged your figures to the bookkeeper, she would nearly always quickly repair the damages. I felt like an idiot spending 15 minutes and a trip to the office for a couple of dollars.
    It was sort of a fun game to chat back and forth with co-employees and match stubs to quess whose check would be the most creatively short.

    We agreed to quietly keep OUR records for two months.
    After 8 checks, our band of 7 drudges came up with FIFTY erroneous amounts on our pay stubs!
    I took our finds to the owner, who, at first, brushed it off as a piddling arithmatic slip..”These MINOR things happen, JUST LAW OF AVERAGES. He got a lot more serious when I pointed out that of the 56 paychecks, 50 were for a wrong amount…and EVERY ONE OF THE ‘MISTAKES’ WAS IN FAVOR OF THE STATION. Like rolling dice 50 times and coming up even number EVERY time.

    We never found out if that was a plan by management, an unruly employee, a miraculous fluke.
    It WAS a piddling amount, 50 cents to about $42…at a business which had about 125 hourly employees.
    Strangly, immediately thereafter cheks were perfect

    Which brings me to a similar accounting phenom here in LRock.
    I will admit to being a lousy gift target. Don’t want or need anything…especially if it is large (no storage) LOUD, no tolerance, ugly, no taste or clothing, too large ot too small.
    Folks who feel obligated to swap useless crap, on each “special” day, despair of an appropriate goodie with which to waste money.
    Folks who KNOW me know like the old Whitman’s Sampler “Ya can’t go wrong with a Whitmas’s sampler”
    Books will ALWAYS be my top choice, however, I know of no breathing person who can nail my weird tastes in reading material.
    SOLUTION: Do NOT pick out the “Latest thing” No 50 shades of porn…Gimme a gift !!
    Bookstoes getting a bit hard to find.
    Ain’t many left, but one, which shall remain nameless, fits the bill.

    HINT:(Name of biz=a rough and smelly homes for farm animals and member of aristocracy.)

    I have a healthy backlog of unread stuff, but go by bookstore after Xmas and my birthday with a number of $25 cards.
    I then go straight to the “Bargain” shelves and stock up.
    No crowd yesterday…as in only me.
    I picked out 5 of my favorite authors (all $5.95) and as a game I play with myself, I blindly reach out and grab one anonymus book, by some author, about some subject, which I will not look at until home.

    I went to check out, handed the clerk two $25 gift credit cards..He rang up al six and said,”$7.52″
    I didn’t do a lot of math in my head other than to ruefully figure my blind pick must have wandered in from the pricier shelves.
    Mental shorthand= 5 books # 5.95, round up to $6.00-$30…plus mystery book $57.52 minus $30 made the stranger book about 27 bucks.
    While I make it a practise to not cheat on unknown (biographies of unheard of people unearth surprizes such as “Under the waves” or “Below the surface” written by an olympic, gal swimmer whose name escapes.

    Nope, gonna break the rule; back in to return to pricey stranger and get more $5.95ers.
    At the register, I dug out the mystery title intent on cashing in…it was marked,”$6.95″ of 20 clams more than MY addition came up with….lot of tax?
    Slowly handed one by one each of the 6 books, register came up with a +- $20 difference.
    Clerk at supersonic speed is refunding cash…and swallowing a lot…with no eye contact.

    Ya can’t help but wonder if any of HIS mistakes benefit the buyer ..
    p.s. Should I take all this brain trash elsewhere? Don’t wanna be a boor.

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  24. Seen Time magazine 2/15/2015 “The culture” Pop chart.

    54% of singles who used ’emoji’ in 2014 had sex.
    Only 31% of singles who did NOT use emoji had sex.
    As these are startling figures, I attempted to ascertain what the hell emojis were/are…Four pages of google..all sorts of references to it/them…but nuthin’ relating to what they are/is. ???

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  25. I is been eddycated. emoji apparently are Japanese emoticons. And to be used at the risk of rampant carnality.

    I place ‘cutsey’ posted sayings from the mouth of a precious grandchild on a par with gamboling kittens and flatulent zoo dwellers.
    However, I will lower my standards here (due to the existing feline coverage)

    But can’t resist sending you an Isabella quote.

    Nearly five yr old, she finds mysteries every day.

    Pure and I picked the girls up from daycare yesterday. Bella hit the kiddy chair and wide eyed shouted,”NANA!! I found something wonderful…It’s called PEANUT BUTTER. I love it and you can eat it with CRACKERS!

    I should mention the girls mom, the ever lovely ABell is a health food nut and has raised the girls to drink water with meals, eat brussel sprouts, green beans, no salt or red dye and all sorts of healthy crap.. TOFU for god’s sake! They PREFER all that rabbit food and still consider pizza a strange and exotic twice a year dinner.

    Nana/Pure,”Oh, you like that? Well, we will just have to BUY some.”

    Innocent reply,”Nooo Nana, you don’t HAVE to buy them…YOU CAN MAKE THEM YOURSELF!!”

    Gawd knows how they would respond to a Snickers bar

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    • Or Reese’s cups … homemade peanut butter is far too much trouble for not enough pleasure.

      I could not live on tofu and brussel sprouts. I shudder just thinking about it … and now feel the need for chocolate … lots and LOTS of chocolate!

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  26. People continue get their undergarments in a wad when they feel the newspaper is not being properly run.
    For some inexplicable reason, the press room seems intent upon ironing the pages which has had the unpleasant effect* of removing the previously enjoyed ,upper edge roll.
    All of the benefits of that graceful roll have been watered down.

    Square and flat is much harder to separate pages or to peek around an upper corner.

    Voices was* cluttered with complaints regarding MLK and REL sharing a single day.

    Now, scant days later, I find Old wooden-toothed George sharing his day with Daisy Bates.
    At the risk of being racist…father of our country-really big phallic monument-face on most plentiful currency bill…equal billing with…..Daisy?

    As this seems to be a growing trend,here are some suggested pairs who may be somewhat connected.
    Henry Ford and Evil Knievel,
    Mama Cass and Twiggy,
    Jim Jones and Charlie Manson,
    Winnie The Pooh and Tiny Tim,
    Jack Cousteau and Sweet Connie, (both known for going down to record breaking depths)
    John Holmes and the EverReady Bunny,
    Telly Savales and Liz Taylor (both thoroughly bald)
    Al Einstein and Paris Hilton,
    Cassius Clay and Bobby Brown,
    Tom Edison and Jackass (dim bulbs)
    Simon Legree and John Walker,
    Madonna and 57 Buick
    Taylor and Jonathon Swift
    And perhaps as an annual menage, Lizzy Borden, John Wilkes Booth and Tiger Woods (used questionable judgment with harsh outcomes.)

    btw: Bloop, you may correct Effect/Affect above or delete John Holmes in the interest of respectability, but Puhleeze leave Connie alone.
    I squirm to not make ‘was’, ‘were’ after Voices.

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  27. Bloop:
    Thanx so much for NOT heeding the “Nuthin’ personal” advice.

    I wish someone had spread the same info a few years back.

    I was to be best man at the marriage of my eldest son on VERY short notice.

    1976.

    I borrowed my silver haired mon honey’s spankin new Corvette and drove non-stop from Colorado Springs to Mobile..1,500 miles..arrived dopey and punch drunk unable to find motel.

    Confused. Drooling.Seeing double.
    Had a bit of trouble transporting a coffee cup from table to afore mentioned drooling mouth.

    Arrived Friday night late, wedding Saturday, return departure Sunday morning.

    I foolishly ignored all but the seeing double and after finding no vision repair folk available,
    set out.

    It is possible I should have thought a bit more deeply when I found I was seeing double with one…either eye closed.

    I have and had NO recollection of the 1,500 mile return trek. Only clue was a summons from a state trooper in Springfield Co. who informed me I had zipped by his front bumper at somewhat above 100mph. Oblivious,

    I recovered without ever knowing I had had a stroke or seeing medical help. Speaking got OK.
    Scant motor skills problems.

    Re-atained single vision.

    The only permanent reminder of the incident was a severe effect on my math skills.
    Went from easily handling algebra/trig/calculus to wrestling with figuring a 15% tip.

    I consider myself very fortunate that I pretty much sailed thru the incident without much hassle.

    (Waffle House waitrii get a $2 buck tip, Denny’s $5, Copeland’s $10…all others proly ponder the odd amount;-)

    Rambling as usual.

    VERY pleased you are on the mend.

    Do NOT overlook the posibility of blaming social gaffes as “from my stroke”.

    Feel free to delete this from “ABOUT”, but wanted to attaboy you, and not aware of an off-line e-mail addy.

    Fellow brain-damaged cohort
    dp

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  28. Ahha! Here is a chance for you to pontificate.

    What guidelines does style book have on when to use ‘that’ and ‘which’?

    My volunteer editor covers anything I write with myriad ,red, ink strike outs whenever I use ‘that’.
    She also abhors my desire, to continue, regardless of her screeching, to insist on scribbling confusing, to people who fail to connect my speech to my writing, split infinitives.

    Perhaps, you could explain whut they IS, and how or why to avoid ’em.?

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    • I’ll look into it! Off the top of my head, I don’t know of any hard and fast rules governing that/which (that/who, on the other hand), but I could easily be wrong.
      It also could be that she personally really hates “that” … maybe it insulter her mama …

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  29. How pleasant to read your screed today with NO hint of permanent brain damage.
    May we consider your recent episode as a passing fancy? In any case happy to see you don’t require a bib…
    Yours in shared dementia.
    dp

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  30. Dear favorite Bloop-person:
    I understand joisting with bobble-thumpers is the duty of scribes on the ‘other side’ of the editorial section
    They, fearless champions of right and fairness will doubtless make comment soon about the ill-advised plan to erect a ‘harmless and not-in-any-way religious granite billboard of the ten commandments.
    Even though they are being pitched as non-religious, I suspect I should capitalize Ten Commandments.
    I see it is to be erected and maintained by independant, well meaning folk.
    I will stipulate that following these commands will result in scant disaster or even discomfort…matters not, unless the good Xtian folks out in readership land would be equally happy with symbols representing other schools of thought to be displayed.

    A tastefull depiction of a decapitation or stoning come to mind. Perhaps a diorama backed by a series of smokestacks with tap dancing storm troopers. I might draw the line at genital mutilation but as long as this “does no harm” and is totally funded by private peddlers of religious dogma on land belonging to unaware taxpayers. Hey, let’s see if we can get it by before anyone notices.

    As an alternative; I submit my own selection of Ten Suggestions.
    1. Driveth not at the exact limit of speed occupying the inside lane.

    2. Pluckith not thy pocket corners in an attempt at disloging material from thy low, rear cleavage. (ALL will knowith what thou art attempting)

    3.Avoidith all confrontations with they who have the correct information on ALL subjects.

    4.No killin’ (lifted from the ‘other’ ten, but not bad advice unless they are not followers of TRUTH, don’t wear funny clothes or happen to inhabit lands covering oil.

    5.Limitith thy intake of cabbage, beans or other dangerous vegetables for obvious reasons.

    6. Strewith not thy newspaper in a semi-circular manner around thy recliner before thy wife and hand-maiden hath perused both Dearith Abigail and shopping flyers.

    7, Welcome thy mother in law into thy dwelling if thee would ever expect carnal congress or tasty meals.

    8.Dropith not thy soiled and repugnant underclothing onto thy floor in the expectation that the laundress and mother of thy offspring will retrieve and clense them.

    9.Develope a profound deafness should your mate EVER inquire as to the appearance of:hair, skin flabbyness, wrinkles or (This should be NUMBER ONE) the appearance of her nether regions in comparison with any other female’s.

    10.Practise speaking the phrase,”Yea Verily” to be uttered at any time a spouse APPEARS to inquire as to the rightness or wrongness of her position….on any subject.

    These may not seem to be the equivilent of the more often quoted 10…but like chicken soup..can’t hurt…

    Is “chicken soup” a thinly disguised religious reference? Where art Rita Sklar when thee needith her?

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  32. Favorite Blooper:
    On my birthday, I dump all old crap in computer…IF I sent this to you last year, forgive.
    Sorry, I have no voices fodder.
    iF TOO LONG AND BORING, JUST POST SOMETHING LIKE, “hOW ABOUT THAT”

    A friend is moving his family to Florida and is apparently unaware of some of the less than delightful “benefits”
    Two of the live benefits are “love bugs” and “Palmetto bugs” Forget about a marauding ‘aggulator’ or abandoned, Everglade python…the real enemy is not skin cancer, blistered noses or northern tourists.

    Be warned, ye who would relocate to the tropics!!

    Huge flights of connected ‘love bugs’ can completely block a windshield in minutes if you hit a flock.

    Love bugs acquired the name as they are NEVER seen ‘single’ , rather sets of 2, engrossed in providing us with MORE love bugs.
    The other creature which the Chamber of Commerce disavows is their industrial size roaches called Palmetto bugs.

    We lived in Cocoa Beach FL. right on A1A and had a big corner lot with a large palmetto palm smack in the middle of the front yard.

    Palmettos are the palm which retain their fronds and when they break off, a foot long remnant is left pointing up. these circle the trunk, unlike the other many palms which shed the fronds and have smooth trunks.
    One morning I was out in shorts and flip-flops, beating the sunny heat and picking up the yard carrying a light rake-sweeper thing.

    For some insane reason I walked by the palmetto and in a flight of idiocy I swung the rake and whopped the trunk a solid hit.

    . I don’t know WHY.

    …It was just standing there needing a wallop.

    It was unharmed by the blow, but it triggered an unbelievably dense cloud of swarming, flying “palmetto bugs”…which Arkies would call bodacious cockroaches. 2-3 inches long, all over, and buzzing in my nostrils..or skittering through the bedclothes,really a nightmare horror.

    Mostly they are out of sight, however, anyone flipping on their kitchen light after dark will be greeted with scurrying critters.
    This is NOT a function of slovenly housekeeping. Everyone in southern Florida has em.

    This is not accepted by Yankees (who prefer to “visit” for a cheap vacation, but who roll their eyes and gossip when they spy one (or 50)galloping around your house.

    I was between wives when I moved to the Cape and had bought a boat from SHMH (My silver haired Mom honey) and was living aboard at the Patrick AFB yacht club.

    As a slovenly bachelor, I tended to sprinkle crumbs, leave food remnants out and be otherwise a sloppy oaf.

    This lifestyle is not recommended in Florida. (I suppose it is frowned upon in other areas but is particularly unwise in the tropics)

    I found the MarKaDa to be an excellent venue for attempted seduction.

    Telling a newly met maiden that you lived “at the YACHT club” produced imagined images of palatial, floating,maritime mansions.

    Aside:* In keeping with the nautical tradition of NEVER re-naming a vessel..bad luck..I imagined MARKADA to be a jungle princess or some other exotic and mystical reference….years later I found it was named for the three children of the original shrimper/skipper. MAry-KA-tie-DAvid…so much for romance.

    This was an extreme departure from reality as the Markada was a
    36′ cruiser,
    narrow beamed ,wooden craft, built around 1930 and which had suffered from harsh tropical hurricanes/neglect and the ravages of time.

    It’s faults were glaringly obvious in daylight

    Still, if we arrived late (and dark) climbed on board and cast off toward the nearby Banana River where I would proclaim excellent conditions to view the night skies….AND…with a straight face explained stargazing was best viewed from atop the cabin on the flat deck forward…and to avoid getting a crick in our stargazing necks, we should recline upon the deck…with pillows and to protect us from the night breezes, take along a down comforter.

    This resulted in the ONLY romantic ploy I had ever devised and implemented with success. Nubile maids who would not DREAM of retreating to the back seat at the drive-in movie, found themselves:off-shore, reclining, warmly covered, softly pillowed, in the dark Florida night with no distractions other than an occasional shooting star and the unseemly panting next to her shoulder.
    .

    Ahhh, those were the days ..but I digress.

    My evil plan became less effective when one…then several potentially frisky partners were decidedly turned off by the appearance of scurrying palmetto bugs.

    Believe me, NJUTHIN” squelches romance like having a cockroach trot up your partner’s
    hopefully bared body parts.

    As my previously effective, romance enhancing, device now stumbled and finally worked not at all, I decided something to restore romance MUST be implemented…starting with getting rid of the offending critters..I was infested with several…on occasion I spotted 3 or 4 AT THE SAME TIME in the lower galley.
    I swung by the local hardware store, inquired as to remedies and was sold a couple of aerosol bug bombs with the warning to NOT stay in the vicinity when killing off my 6 legged visitors. (8?)

    A word of explanation regarding boat construction: The entire inner hull was built to avoid rot by allowing ventilation.
    The bulkheads (walls) were semi-covered in strips of horizontal wood planking with 1/2 inch wide open gaps.
    Access to bilges was beneath ‘floorboards”. (decks)

    In the bilge, lived an automatic bilge pump which would come on whenever a small float indicated the hull had allowed a small seepage.

    ALL wooden boats “seep”or “make water”.

    I buttoned her up (boat , not maiden) tossed in the bug bombs and set out for adventures.

    We left Friday, flew to West End, drank potent rum libations, danced for gawd’s sake and delighted in the Bahamian equivalent of deck star gazing.

    I am told my dancing is a frightening sight to behold

    In deference to safety,whilst fumigating I arranged to invite one of the cockroach shunning maidens, to a weekend frolic in the Bahamas which should have, and, in fact DID produce results, but which cost more than a bottle of cheap rum.

    Delightful…but a LOT more pricey than home editions or basically same operation.
    We landed back home, bid farewell with appropriate warm hugs

    I motored toward the PAFBYC, arrived at my dock and viewed the mighty Markada sparkling in the sun…looking sleek and racy…The Marcada was many things, but sleek and racy tweren’t the first thing which came to mind 🙄

    I had carefully closed up the boat and tossed both bug bombs inside.

    I opened hatches , retreated to the dock and again viewed her lines…one of the lines I inspected was her waterline…a dark blue stripe which was now 10 or 12 inches BELOW the surface of the water.
    I hopped aboard, tripped over the now floating deck panels from inside, and stretched my arm down into the lowest bilge to find the pump float jammed and the bilge pump inoperative.

    .Clogged shut with the bodies of not dozens, but rather what appeared to be MILLIONS of dead, floating cockroaches.

    I attempted scraping their lifeless bodies away from the float mechanism. It would allow the pump to squirt a bit of bilge water and then stop.

    I rigged the float to stay jammed open and water continued to flow as the pump pick-up was at the extreme lowest point of the hull. As the water receded, MORE carcasses (carcii?) slid down from inside the bulkheads until after about a half an hour I found myself standing barefoot in the slimy bilges with cockroach bodies well above my ankles.

    This was NOT a dozen or so critters…it seemed to be the full Florida quota.

    To arrive at a fair estimate of their bulk figure: Marcada=36 feet long and approx 10 feet wide (beam). Rounding off for some amount of narrowing in the bow, let’s say 360 square feet less 50 square feet of bow narrowing. Say a total of 310 square feet of surface with a MINIMUM depth of 6 inches of now dead bodies.
    If my poor arithmetical skills are accurate, this equates to about 155 CUBIC feet of “palmetto bug”.

    I shoveled scoop after scoop of bodies over the side. They floated. They made a broad trail several feet wide winding atop the water to plaster themselves to the hulls of the really and truly yachts.

    The dock master arrived in response to many fastidious marine complainers.

    Eventually, the mighty Markada re-attained her proper floating depth, the breezes dispersed the trail of shame and though I was now ready to re-institute my earlier seduction plans, unfortunately, word of the buggy infestation, spread to apparently all Cape females between 13 and 70.

    Back to candy and flowers.

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  33. i don’t think a properly raised lady person discusses the use of conundrums in a family newspaper.
    Only a flaming thespian or closet philatelist would dare.
    ……………
    So happy thou art mending.

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  34. But at least you didn’t say condiments
    .
    Well, of course not..that’s silly. Everyone knows the condiment market is frozen solid..especially along the Florida east coast.

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    • 😀

      Long time, no hear! I is good, though still contending with short-term memory lapses, headaches and the occasional not-being-able-to-find-words. I remain, though, endowed with a weird sense of humor, so on the whole, I’m doing pretty well.

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  36. Thoroughly enjoyed your “hate” scribblings this morning..seeming proof that your recent cranial malfunctions were trivial.

    I am planning to complete my monthly ‘shave and shower’ today and expect to be socially acceptable, if not sparkling.

    I am expecting to support the new Pinnacle Restaurant out by (SURPRISE!!!) Pinnacle and am offering you an all expense paid soiree’ sometime around lunchtime. Other cohorts of yours are welcome, but advise number to car seats required.

    This presumes you open “About” prior to making other plans and are not daunted by any of the myriad newspaper stories about nutcases and assorted weirdos.

    dp

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    • Well, dang it! I just now saw it (my alerts are sent to my home email, and I didn’t bring up the blog till just now).

      Oh well, I’ll just eat my protein pack (chicken with ranch sauce!) and Funyuns. 😉

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  39. Back trucking. This temporarily ends my 14th? 15th? retirement 🎉
    .Dallas today and Charleston Saturday…it gets very POOR out when unemployed.

    Pure’s retirement , set for July, seems to be retreating into the mists of time. She is burying herself in gov’t reports stretching into the spring.

    We finally managed to commit the trial run of new (13 year old -new) Winnebago shake down cruise…total of 23 miles, house to Murray Lock corps of engineers campground and back. (It has been sitting depreciating since February)

    Buddy Don also came with bride, Janan,
    in his 1959 Greyhound resurrected bus.
    Betwixt the two of us, dozens of systems gave trouble including Don’s engine quitting middle of Hi way 10, rush hour..sat blocking one lane for NINE hours. AAA couldn’t seem to be able to face the difficulties involved in transporting it home (under AAA camper tow service provisions)

    Don was a service manager for Arkansas for 20+ years and pointed out to them that if they DIDN’T supply transport, HE would hire Wreckers to do the job and sue club for reimbursement…(he was quoted $3,500 for the job) Current suits at auto club are apparently unaware that we both had towing services are all long time friends and KNOW the rules of road service…Upshot, they ,bean counters, allowed
    skilled auto recovery folk to make recovery under automotive disaster rules, and got in one last ‘nasty’ of limiting any future tows till renewal time :oo)

    I managed to rub it in as I managed to get almost all systems operative on new/old Winnie…all except releasing the leveling jacks…I ended up with all 4 jacks working great leveling rig, but leaving me with the right front one stuck down…stayed another day at c-ground, service dude came and used a pry bar to raise jack…today I ordered a repair/operator’s manual on ebay and bought a 6 foot pry bar from Lowe’s…$31.00 pry bar seemed more prudent than replacing a $600 jack :beer:

    Major Zitz is in Kuwait/Iraq job recon…back in about a week…then home till Oct 4th then back to sandbox for a year.

    I seem to have entered the company of the chosen few who posses multiple Uugs…Uugs, for the uncool, are suede, sheepskin, booties..wonderfully warm and comfy but suffering from a sissy image for guys.

    They sell MEN’S Uugs, as well as ones for gals. It seems it is like earrings, gals fine, guys only if very light in loafers.
    Screw it, I LOVE em. NOT enough to pay the outrageous purchase price…$145 to $195!!!

    I bought my first pair, lightly used, (Ebay) for $20 +$5 postage…Last winter I lived in them and they bore the marks of outdoor usage,

    They are only marginally suitable for all round use…NOT ice-snow-mud-grease.

    I found replacing less painful than attempting to remove spots and smears…I bid on another pair, again Ebay, these a bit taller, size 10, Nice condition…$17.00
    I “won” the auction while camping and returned home to dunning notes from seller..got on computer and Paypalled the purchase price…got more dunning requests for payment…I shall spare you all the connected emails and resultant confusion..suffice to say I NOW have two pair of Uugs in 10″ and 2 MORE pair in 12″.
    Whilst I DO like them, I suspect no one needs a second pair, much less THREE ‘back-up booties.

    Gone to Dallas…anyone (size 10) need girlie booties? 😎
    As many raised eyebrows as the Uugs ae causing, I suspect acceptance of my pink and purple tutu is out of the question.

    btw: As my return to driving has enriched me, expect a lunch invite to appear soon!

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  40. Wow! 10 months to have brain re-engage.
    With all the Trump eting about the advisability of relying upon celebrity to protect you from embarrassing consequences, I dredged this up from my dissolving brain cells.

    One of my earliest and most vivid memories had to do with unwanted grasping of genitalia.

    SHMH was barely 17 when I arrived. Whilst later in life she attained a more robust profile, until she was in her thirties she never exceeded about 100 pounds.
    We were living in Toledo Ohio. I was about 5 or 6. We had a standing “date” every Friday afternoon at the Lighthouse Bar and Grille.
    Damn, can you imagine, cleaning up a six year old, sending him alone to the bus stop on the corner to ride to downtown, where I would get off, walk a block and enter a bar to find Mommy?
    After a snack (Oysters on half shell) we walked to big department store (Either Lampson’s or LaSalle and Kock)) would ride their elevators and watch the plastic tubes shoot through plastic pipes bearing the money-receipts.
    On the occasion memorable, we entered the elevator,along with 7 or 8 other shoppers. We were facing the front of said elevator holding hands. As the elevator began it’s ascent I noticed a slight jerk (well, TWO slight jerks…one in my palm and another standing directly behind us) and muscle tightening in MH’s arm…She slowly turned her head and scowled at a gentleman/slight jerk standing behind us, who was staring at the elevator door.
    Elevator stopped, swapped riders , had the door close and continue on it’s vertical trip….At which time MH slowly turned around and in very slow and measured tones hissed at the man behind us,”DO NOT DO THAT AGAIN….” And we continued on our ascent…at which time the rear facing gentleman elected to deeply “check Mom’s oil”.

    Full elevator.
    she re positioned my hand to her skirt, turned around nose to nose with the prober, reached up and yanked his tie VERY tightly, twisted the tie around her left fist, and reached down and took a crushing grasp onto his manly equipment and yanked. Lots of gasps and wide eyes and a very redfaced to say nothing about surprised gooser.
    She had quickly rearranged so that her fists were pulled close together…left fist full of tie…choking noises…right hand full of sensitive ‘package’. :cussme:
    She slowly arranged his nose closely inclined with hers and very quietly and slowly asked,”DID YOU NOT HEAR ME SAY,”don’t do that again??? sHE ARCHED HER EYEBROWS AS SHE INCREASED PRESSURE.
    Released him, reattached me to her now free hand…and we left to muffled laughter from elevator riders and gasping/moaning from our ill-advised gooser.
    100 pounds….22 years old…straight face….what fun we had growing up together. :cheer:

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  41. Just musings waiting for the drugs to wear off

    On a trip from Cocoa Beach to Anchorage AK, we were in a 1953 school bus, new wife and 5 kids..in the wilderness (highest point of the Alaskan hiway) we ran into our first snowfall…wet and heavy..soon snow blocked the wipers which just spun on their shafts.
    After trying to tighten them gave up and stationed oldest boy, Sans, on the hood with a spatula to keep a hole open..went 15 miles an hour for 45 miles..when we stopped he looked like a snow igloo, no way to tell there was a person there…we had tourists taking pictures

    Same son, roughly same area in a 1941 Jeep..out in the middle of nowhere lost fuel pump. Thankfully, the weather was a lot better
    Pulled the air cleaner off, folded the hood open (Which blocks the driver’s vision) perched Sans on the two radiator positioning rods, with a 1 gallon fuel Coleman can with a small hole punched in the bottom.
    We filled the can, experimented with regulating flow by easing the screw lid open/closed making a vacuum..and drove back to civilization dribbling a tiny stream of gas into the carb throat, In third gear it only required a very small stream to keep lurching along.
    8

    When Silver Haired Mom Honey took a job on Guam, I took possession of her 36′ Wright built Wheeler. 1941 cabin cruiser with one Chrysler six marine engine, a compass and a iffey tachometer…no life jackets, radio, depth-finder, charts (but with a spiffy white yachting cap which didn’t stay white long 😦
    Intent on transporting it from Key West to Mobile. Didn’t have the nerve to go straight across the gulf, but by keeping as much as possible in the ICW( inter Coastal Waterway route), our exposure to blue water was just the run from Yankeytown to Appalachicola..a run of about 150 miles.

    No gas gauge, no very accurate way to determine fuel consumption.

    Faced with a fairly long stretch of open water with no idea how much fuel I was using, elected to replace and supplement the fuel tanks. I salvaged a 40 gallon hot water heater tank and rigged it cross-ways under the rear seats. To save effort and in blind reversal of Coast Guard rules, screwed the outlet fitting to the bottom of the tank. I was to discover later that the REASON this is prohibited is if the line fractures all the fuel will leak into the bilges…NOT a good condition.

    I also rescued 2 55 gallon barrels, stood them at the rear and fashioned a 1/2 inch copper tube to reach the bottom and brazed a metal screw top so that when one was depleted you just pulled off the rubber feed to engine and slud it onto the next barrel. btw: I sketched out plans to do this by carefully measuring the barrel height and making the copper tube to fit.

    Upon leaving the west Florida coast around Fort Myers, I used the barrel for the first time.
    Made 50 miles of so without disaster.
    Then the (only) engine quit…no sputtering…just stopped.

    It started immediately and ran for about 3 or 4 minutes…and stopped… this continued all afternoon…we limped into a marina and hired a mechanic who topped the barrel we had been running on tied the boat to the dock, started it and let it run,,,,for several hours…”ALL FIXED!!”
    We clum back aboard, cast off and set sail…(well, set motor), and it ran smoothly for a couple of minutes,,,we could still read the marina sign when it quit.

    Back to marina…lots more straining fuel, fiddling, when we left…again…we got a mile or so then limped back…filled all tanks and it ran great…departed and took off into the open Gulf of Mexico.20 miles off shore, out of sight of land…it quit.

    We discovered that if you hunkered on the deck with a heavy wrench in your hand and banged the tank, it would resume running…for awhile..
    Strangely, as the waves built up, the engine ran OK…and every time the engine stopped and rolled back and forth it ALWAYS restarted. we managed to go about 50 miles off shore.

    Exhausted, we tossed the anchor over, tied it down and fell into a much needed sleep…Nine hours later, woke up to find the anchor rope was vertical and obviously unattached to any bottom. and we had been blown somewhere by last night’s storm.
    Started engine and began again to bang on tanks when the engine quit.
    Unsure of where we now WERE, I figured Florida was north of us, and if we went due north we would surely hit it . As it turned out we had been blown over 50 miles toward our goal but not knowing this we sought Florida 180 degrees off course.

    Eventually reached the Florida panhandle and sought out skilled repairs…we found a grimy old salt who wandered aboard, fiddled around and asked if we had a hacksaw…(Oddly I DID)…ancient mariner banged around below and then pronounced
    the good ship Marcada fit to sail…and asked for $10.00. this seemed like a bargain as we had spent 40 times that much at various latter day marine pirate’s dens.

    It turned out to be fairly simple. The barrels were say 40 inches high..I had carefully cut the copper tube that same length…however the filler and the barrel bottom were about 1/2″ shorter, so that when you tightened the top plug with attached tube, it jammed the tube HARD against the bottom…and made a very small crack in the pick-up end.

    My makeshift tanks were reclaimed junk and when gas was introduced, a lot of silt sifted to the barrel bottom and plugged up the fuel opening. when that starved the engine, the boat stopped and began to rock as boats are wont to do. This dislodged the silt and allowed the engine to run again…for a short while.
    By cutting off a half an inch from the tube it ran fine.
    At another time I will regale you with what happens when your bottom affixed fuel line breaks and floods bilge with 150 gallons of gasoline.

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