The road that isn't as traveled as much upon as the other road

This is a late post. I've had these pictures on my computer for more than two weeks, but never got around to posting them because of the move/job search/nearness of Braum's/etc.

The story is that I spent my last Sunday in Hico looking for some of the area's touristy stuff that I'd always planned on stopping by to see, but of course never got around to it. My overall goal was to go to Clifton, the Norwegian Capitol of Texas, or something. It's about half an hour away from Hico on Highway 6, but the idea was to get there via the backroads.

I started off going South, then made a turn at Hamilton. This is a direction familiar to everyone in the area, as it's the quickest route to beer and whiskey. I had always seen the sign in the picture above while making my beer runs, and was curious as to what a Lutheran Church out in the middle of nowhere would look like.

Basically like this:
That the thing is still active is pretty cool. People were coming in, and there was a pretty good mix of old folks and children. Had I thought about what the picture would look like, I'd have gotten more of the area around it. Nothing else is out there. It's a sentimental image I've always liked: The church in the middle of nowhere. Buy my photography skillz were on display for this trip, unfortunately. I shot about four churches, all at the same damn angle.


The primary direction-finding device I used was strange names for the old hamlets that are all over the area. (Best name I saw all day: "Pancake.")

This sign was a doozy. Ohio, or the mysterious confines of Purmela?

Purmela. Obviously.

There wasn't much there, but I got another shot of a church. Yes, fascinating.

After some more stumbling around some more country roads, I eventually came into Gatesville. It's a town I'd heard of before, but had no idea where it was or how to get to it. I still don't, come to think of it.

But it had some interesting stuff.

This is a bridge built in 1904 over the Leon river. Wooden slats make up the surface. This pass over the river featured heavily in the old Georgetown trade route, which was established in 1854. Neat.

And this is a detail from the courthouse in the middle of town. They were pretty ornate with this thing, I can only figure someone in this place had some serious money at some point. The statuary on the other side was for Liberty. It was a pretty good illustration of two symbols I'd never bothered to put together. Justice has the scales, a sword, and wears a blindfold. Liberty carries a torch. And maybe some other stuff, but she was high up.

Also, both women tend to wear greek robes and look really hot, so long as they're appearing in an illustration for a story in Maxim. Those are the rules, generally.

On to Clifton. (I was beginning to get bored.) But before I got there I reached the highlight of my trip. Following a small road, I noticed a sign for "St. Olaf's Kirke". I eventually came across this:

It was built in 1878 by Norwegian immigrants, out of hand hewed-rock. No services were going on, so I drove up for a closer look:
The yard was empty. No cars were moving on the road in front of the place. The only house I could see looked deserted. So I tested the door for the hell of it: Unlocked.

There was nothing modern about the place. The wood floor was rough cut, and the pews looked like they were made out of the same material. I walked around for a bit, nervous that someone was about to show up and arrest me.
This was the church's sole source of temperature control.

After enough of looksee, I grabbed a donation envelope and took off, finally arriving in Clifton about 20 minutes later. And sorry, no more pictures. The camera was full and I was bored with taking them.

Anyway, Clifton was bit of a disappointment. I did manage to find the Bosque County Museum, where they have a 10,000-year-old man on display. And a whole lot of early ninteenth century Norwegian stuff. I just happened to walk in on a Sunday when they happened to be open. It was random, because they usually aren't.

But the most interesting thing at the museum was the guy who ran the place. He was obviously of Norwegian descent. Stocky build, pale complexion and this shock of ultra blond hair. I was tempted to ask him about his Norwegianness (Norwegiannicity? Swedish?) background but never did. In my experience Nordish folks are friendly but get way sarcastic with the "Where y'all from?" questions.

I thought about looking for authentic Norway food but stumbled upon a recipe book at the museum. The first dish I thumbed to was called "Asparagus Sauce." So I bought a T-shirt with the word "Bosque" on it and headed for home.

Checking out the kit

Spent Friday applying for all of one job (I had planned to hit four). I ended up in Grapevine, filling out an interminably long application to work for the city. Among the questions: Fill out all felonies and misdemeanors you have ever pled guilty or no contest to, including traffic tickets.

Traffic tickets? Going back to when I was 17 and got too much mousse on the steering wheel? Screw you guys.

But I didn't go home. I filled out what I could and got back on the road. Traffic was crawling on route 114. The cars, two by two, crawled down the hill in front of me, over the next hill and over the next. I really started to miss Hico.

I headed out for a bit of therapy. "Therapy" being defined as going to Cabela's and checking out camping equipment and guns. Happiness is turning on the animatronic camping dude and hearing him talk about shooting elk. Another good thing about where I live: Cabela's is only 10 minutes away.

Another good thing about my neighborhood: The high school students of nearby Fossil Creek refer to my area as "Slummerfields." I am one with the people.

The world wise children in the neighborhood:
Three 9-year-olds walking down the street.
First kid: My girlfriend said it was stupid.
Second kid: You are in a world of hurt, my friend!

Movin' movin' movin'

I haven't been able to think of much these past few days. Everything is either about the house or looking for a job. Too busy and monotonous, and I don't want the posts to be like this, one after the other:

Today my wife opened her fourth cargo box full of shoes. Somebody stab me with a Zulu spear.

Oh well. Needed to update a few things around here. How do I get to the profile thing? It's a been a while since I've taken the lid off this box.

And the meeting got going when I pulled out my +3 battle ax

Sometimes I really miss Dungeons and Dragons. I think I'll ask for an XBox 360 and Everquest for my B-day/Christmas, so I can spend about an hour a day in a drooling cocoon, trying to figure out how to break the lock to the Temple of Cocoluchia.

I'd organize a playing group, but few people above 25 can play without laughing at themselves.

Notes:

• I'll be watching Friday Night Lights tonight, but I won't be live blogging. I now have NBC, but I also have a fear that the thing will just blow, and I'll feel obligated to keep watching. ("Find out what the critics are raving about!!" Usually translates into "Jump on the bandwagon of societal fluff disguised as serious blah-blah!!") Maybe next week.
• Losing sucks, sucks, sucks. But, while unhappy about the Tech-Texas game, I can at least take some solace that this team is getting better, not worse.
• Castor bean plants and elephant ears are poisonous, but try telling that to your dog.

In house

The locksmith, who came over to re-key the doors, was an Israeli immigrant in a woefully beat-up car. He immediately started making fun of our color scheme.

So, three days of moving, and we still gots a hellacious amount of work to do. On top of things like finding a job, doing about 20 different emergency house projects. And now we're broke.

Anyway ...

We're happy with the house. It was owned by a couple of gay men who wanted some place bigger to live, and is in more or less decent shape. They did some good things with the house: Pirgo on the kitchen floor, a nifty painted concrete floor instead of carpet. They also did some bad things. Some very bad things, as you'll see.

Here's our street.

We're out of view, but we're right across from the beat-up pickup truck, which does not move, ever. I've seen some people come out and work on it, but with much the same expression as someone playing solitaire. Progress doesn't seem to be a goal.

Here's the house.

A front-on shot isn't practical, as there's too much bushes and junk in the way. Daddy needs a chainsaw.

Everything's in but we've still got a lot of unpacking.

And for the most visually arresting aspect:

I was warned seven times before I saw it. "It has a purple fireplace." At the time, I didn't care so much, I was desperate to move. Now, it pretty much sucks all your attention to it. It's a living thing. Man.

So just to go over the house:

Yellow walls, purple fireplace, and a surprisingly subtle burgundy curtain.

Here's Kibby checking out the backyard, and wishing for something evil to happen.

How do I know she's hoping for evil? Because she's a cat.

The dudes who used to live here were heavy into gardening ...

I mean heavy. It's probably the best thing about the place, so far.

The only concern is trying to keep enough stuff alive for the time being, until we know what we're doing.

And for my favorite part. They left this behind in the garage. My geek blood started pounding into my brain when I saw this.

I just gotta figure out which end to look through.

No bloggy bloggy

Folks:

Me and the wife will own a house within the next 24 hours, and the moving preparations are taking up most of our time. I won't be able to do much here for the rest of the week. Until then, enjoy life. It's fun.

The Metaphorical Football League

Lead-in music queues, camera zooms into two men seated at desk. "MFL" logo behind them on TV Screen.

Announcer One: Hello and welcome back to the Metaphorical Football League. We have an early kickoff, so we’re taking you right to the first game of the day: the Vikings versus the Dolphins.

Cut to a field with a lot of obviously puppet dolphins lying there making precious squeaky noises. The horde of Vikings storms onto the field and proceeds to chop the dolphins to pieces with various pieces of medieval weaponry.

Announcer One: That was a fast game.
Color One: You know, I went out to Sea World this week, and saw a couple of dolphins tossing a little rubber football around. I gotta tell you I thought they would do better.
Announcer One: And we have an interview on the field.

Cut to field. A reporter is standing there with a Viking, who is holding a large ax, jovially talking to some other vikings.

Reporter One: Coach Skullbiter
Coach Skullbiter (Nordic accent): Yah
Reporter One: We notice that Thorn Lunderssongaaard, son of Broskander, sister-son of Hrothkin, was really tearing it up out there today. I mean, he killed a lot of helpless dolphins.
Coach Skullbiter: Yah, vell, you can always count on Thorny to play in every fight to the death like it could be his last.
Reporter One: Thanks coach. And congratulations.

Coach Skullbiter lifts ax above his head and moves to attack reporter one.

Skullbiter: AAARRRGGGHHHH!!!
Reporter (cringing in terror): AAAEEEEIIII!!!

Cut back to studio.

Announcer One: And for some highlights around the league: The Jets/Seahawks game came to a tragic end for both teams today.

Graphic shows a picture of a bird and a plane engine.

The Seahawks’ next opponents plan to change up their offense and buy one of those loud birdcall speaker thingies.

And another game, the three-team contest between the Lions, Bengal Tigers and Bears was cancelled when it was hit by what some forecasters are calling a monster-sized tornado.

Graphic pops up showing Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, both hands hitting cheeks in gesture of surprise.

Color One: Oh my.
Announcer One: And now we’ll take you to another game already in progress, the Saints versus the Cowboys ...

Cut to scene of a bunch of dudes in hats and boots shooting their guns in the air, yelling yeehaw and kicking the crap out of a bunch of guys in monks robes.

Play-by-play One: And we’d like to welcome you to the Saints and Cowboys game, and what you’re seeing has been going on for thirty minutes.
Color Two: Not a pretty sight, Bob.
Play-by-play One: You’d think that ... (Lightning flashes) Oh, it seems that the Cowboys have earned the wrath of God ...

One cowboy bursts into flame. Maybe another one is hit by a meteor or eaten by some guy in a cheap lion suit. But most of them simply grab their hearts and fall over. The monks get back up and dust themselves off.

Play-by-play One: And they’re dead.
Color Two: That keeps happening.
Play-by-play One: I think the big question is, What happens in the post season, Dan? The Saints tend to fade, and by "fade" I mean get burnt at the stake or torn apart by horses running in opposite directions.

Cut to studio.

Announcer One: Thanks guys. And before we go to our feature game of the day we have a report from the Patriots game. Last week the Texans were able to dominate the Falcons, ... (Graphic shows a bunch of big men in cowboy hats and construction gear and motorcycle jackets) ... but it seems that this week’s team ... (Graphic changes to a group including a cheerleader, an extremely fat person, and dude with a surly look and "Keep Austin Weird" T-shirt) ... has not been that strong.
Color One: Yeah, the suburbs just aren’t pulling their weight down there.
Announcer One: And now we have some footage to show you of the Browns/Charges game. (Holds hand to ear) Wait, OK, we don’t have any footage. I’ve been told the stench hospitalized our entire crew.
Color One: Shoo-eee.
Announcer One: And now we’ll take you to our featured game of the day - the Buccaneers versus the Pirates. These seem to be two evenly matched teams that have posted similar records. So it should be a real fight. Let’s go there now.

Cut to scene showing two mobs dressed like pirates rushing towards each other on a football field, screaming and brandishing knives. When they meet at the 50-yard line, they began to aggressively make out with each other, though a few pair off to admire each others’ outfits. Cut back to studio.

Announcer One: Yeah, I think we all saw that coming.
Color One: Thank God they aren’t playing the Bronchos.
Announcer One: And thanks for watching this week’s edition of the MFL, we’ll see you next week.

PBS at 3 a.m.: Watching black people farm

Stumbled across this show last night. It's like when you see something from a strange culture that doesn't translate. In this case, the strange culture was Britain:

Can the countryside offer a way out of dead-end urban life?

Young Black Farmers, a three-part series, follows Wilfred Emmanuel-Jones, one of Britain's few black farmers, as he takes a group of nine inner-city school leavers from ethnic minorities on a life-transforming journey on his farm in Devon.

In a bid to reverse the segregation in the countryside that has prevented ethnic minorities from settling outside of urban Britain, Wilfred is launching a Rural Scholarship. Young Black Farmers documents the first of his 'rural rookies' during a summer living in a converted barn on Wilfred's remote 30-acre farm and embarking on work experience placements in the local community.

Wilfred has prepared a packed schedule for his students, including 4am starts, buying and selling cattle, sausage making, farmers' markets, tractor driving and a host of other strenuous activities that make up his daily routine. And the stakes are high – if they make the grade, two of the lucky students will be offered a job working for Wilfred.

I don't know if taking poor folks and making them farm in a country where acres are bought by the square foot is a good idea.

Some other observations:

• A black farmer is so rare in Britain that the subject gets its own TV show.
• Considering the state of agriculture in developed nations today, I'm thinking there's probably some other way "school leavers" can use their time to find a job that actually exists.
• England takes kids out of the city and tries to train them to be black farmers. Meanwhile, millions of already trained and struggling black farmers remain unemployed in Africa because Europe, and to a lesser extent the U.S., subsidizes the wazoo out of agriculture.
• "Sausage making." Heh.

And I'm done here.

(Sorry about the political nature of the last two posts. The upcoming move has me stressed and I'm in a wierd mood.)

Quick review: Thank You for Smoking

I randomly picked this flick as a time waster for a rain day, and had a great time.

Not because it's a great movie: It more or less isn't because the story, which purports to be a polemic on Washington lobbying culture, likes to take turns into la-la land. Some examples:

• It assumes that everyone reads the Washington papers. In my experience, the only people who read the Post are politicians and other journalists.
• The lobbyist star of the show often sounds like someone sincerely telling it as it is. As a professional courtesy, you'd think they'd come up with something else.
• Senators in the show are often so stunned by the things said to them that they are left speechless. Yeah, right.

Now, if you're thinking, "But I don't want to see a Senator give his usual full of B.S. response," you'll probably enjoy Thank You for Smoking.

Despite its faults, the show moves fast and makes the points it's trying to make with nice and easy, blatant obviousness.

And it also deserves a libertarian high-five for making a big tobacco lobbyist a sympathetic character, while not shying away from the aspect of his job that is pure evil.

I thought later that the point of this film might have been to make you realize, in horror, that you supported the hero. If so, it's over my head, which isn't a hard place to get to.

Anyway, decent, often funny movie.

State Fair

With Mer wrapping up negotiations for the house and me tired of looking for jobs, we took a break on Friday and headed for the State Fair in Dallas.

I took a few shots, and they sucked, by and large. This camera is useless for night pictures, plain and simple. Still, I've got my two favorites.

The Magum ride. Yes, it is a ride based on (decorated with?) the 1980s TV series "Magnum P.I."

Seleck seems to have added some baby fat here. Perhaps he's smiling that Harrison Ford's career has finally stalled. He also seems content, as if accepting the fact that the next biggest thing Magnum's ever going to do is date Courtney Cox on "Friends." Also, I see no presence of T.C. -- Which is lame, considering they have some whiney-looking white guy to Seleck's right.

I then looked in vain for the "Simon and Simon" ride, but no luck.

Still, I did find:

"Indiago," which is apparently Indiana Jones in a horrible shirt. That shade of purple would not have escaped God's wrath at the end of "Raiders."

Some rides I'd like to see

The Archie Bunker: You sit in your chair, making racist and sexist remarks to the delight of millions. You then throw stuff at Rob Reiner.

The Love Boat: Becomes monotonous after the first spin. The actor who played Gopher occasionally provides comic relief, if he's not too busy running the ride.

The Happy Days: You're given a hydraulic-powered black leather jacket, which you use to beat up Scott Baio.

The Silver Spoons: You get to pilot your own miniature train. Damn that thing looked fun.

The Diff’rent Strokes: Parents demand you ride, then take all your money. Spooky "Katy" mirror transforms you from cute to dead in seconds.

The Gilligan: Based on that episode where they almost got off the island.

Battle of the Network Stars: You’re given a headband and short-shorts, then you beat up Scott Baio.

Feel free to add your own.

Comment response:

To Dave:

I'm not saying Lone Star Beer has no honor. I'm just saying it has no taste.

Also, I realize what alma mater your wife lays claim too. But I personally think Mizzou's in for a TCU-style letdown this weekend. I'll add that it's possible I'm wrong, solely to cover my ass.

As far as to what Texas Tech will do this weekend -- I don't know. You'll have to call her.

To anonymous lawyer dude (heh):

Feel free to move down any time. You can live in here:

You can fix it up as you like, but you have to keep the '70s-era polyester vibra-chair there on the right.

And I don't know if Hico has any attorneys. There's an law office downtown, but it's always closed and the names on the door haven't changed in decades. I've started to think that if you walked in, you would find two skeletons, sitting at their desks, trying to figure out how to sue Studebaker.

Rain

Here's a couple of pictures, taken during a lull in this morning's storm. Damn I'm gonna miss this place.

Note: I'll probably not liveblog tonight's "Friday Night Lights" at 7 p.m. For some reason, NBC is dead on the TV here.

This isn't a big deal. I have just seen others liveblog and wanted to try. Still, I'd like to at least see an episode. I hear this thing probably won't last that long.

I only think about this football season on days that end in "Y"

Tech loses focus, game 38-21

Miami loses, again
Cowboys beaten to death by Eagles

United Supermarkets falls to Dave's Texaco

Folks:

I have an awkward announcement to make. Me and this football season are breaking things off.

She has broken my heart one too many times. I'm left picking up the many, many pieces of what's left my dignity. Don't get me wrong. We're both good people, but sometimes the mix, like a sophomore quarterback and his attention span, just can't hold together.

Here are the rules I'll be living with for the time being:

• I will no longer initiate contact with this football season. If this football season wants to send me an e-mail from time to time, fine. It's better if she writes about how life is sucking.
• I will accept no 3:30 a.m., Wednesday night phone calls from this football season. We both know it'll be incoherent blubbering for an hour, and the next day this football season will act like nothing happened. No more.
• Absolutely no booty calls. Unless it's bowl time and I'm really, really lonely.

I wish this football season the best of luck, but we'll just have to be strong.

Now, excuse me, I'm going to my room. I'll be in my bed, pillow over my head, listening to the Texas Tech fight song over and over and over.

Fight Raiders fight,

Fight Raiders fight,

Fight for the school we love so dearly.

Sigh.

Friday Night Light on bad memories

Speaking of song lyrics, the radio station I listen to at work has been playing "The Great Joe Bob."

At least it has been during the late, late night rotation when you're aware that everyone else listening is either stoned or coming down from a post-armed-robbery high.

Anyway, chances are you've never heard it. It's not a great song. The tune is very ohhm-pa-pa driven, and the subject itself is obscure. But the wierd thing is that the subject is close to my heart.

Here's the chorus:

He was the pride of the backfield,
Ahhh the hero of his day.
Yeah, he carried the ball for the red and blue,
They won District Triple-A.
An' his name made all the papers
As the best they'd ever had.
Yeah, so nobody understood it
When the Great Joe Bob went bad.

The song tells of the downfall of Joe Bob. I don't really care.

What's cool is that it's Lubbock-centric. He goes to Texas Tech. And the "Red and Blue" refers to Monterey's colors, my high school.

The tune even ends with a portion of the Monterey school song, played in a minor chord. It's enough to send me into a fetal position under a table, unable to contain my old, old shame.

For those curious, the song lyrics I found on the net were listed under Terry Allen. I have no idea if what I've heard lately is his version or what. It's an old song that I first heard at a high school assembly. I remember it well.

(Shudder/dive under desk).

A small truth

Lone Star Beer would cease to exist if it wasn't so handy for song lyrics.

Ramble ramble ramble

I feel like I'm going off into nowhere lately with this blog. What's with saying I'd liveblog something only to sleep through the show? I realize most of you probably didn't see that, as I was talking about football. And I always promised myself I wouldn't ramble on about football. And I don't even know where "Living in Sin" came from, other than an old Bon Jovi tune.

Too many distractions right now.

I'm pulling back for a bit. Will be back within a day.

Notes

Living in sin:
Me and Meredith have found a house. In Fort Worth, in the Keller School District. I’ll write more on this as I feel more and more confident about the deal. Tho I will say the fireplace is purple. (Not for long, that’s for freakin’ damn sure.)

The show begins tonight:

I have huge amounts of doubts about Friday Night Lights. (Or, as Conan O'Brian referred to it: The show where teenage boys stand out in a field and pose.)
Still, not a whole lot of shows are based in West Texas these days. I can only think of five off the top of my head.

I think I’ll live blog it tonight just for the hell of it.

Poooor Aggies:
Really, to a certain extent, I have sympathy. Losing like that is tough. Their fans are typically good folk. They aren’t scum, like those deranged lunatics of Baylor (cursed be their name!).

I was the only Tech fan in the bar, and the A&M people asked me to join them. I refused, as I hadn’t slept for about 24 hours, had had about two beers, and had no idea what might come out of my mouth.

It’s been fairly interesting to watch the reactions of Aggie fans this week. I still think Fran could save his job with wins over UT and OU, which is like saying, “Fran is toast.” It’s funny. My first reaction when they hired him was “Oh crap.” The man was hot. In every way.

To do some armchair psychoanalysis, he came to A&M thinking that he had landed a sweet cushy job that wouldn’t be as hard as his days at Alabama. Tech fans still remember a press conference, when, asked about the difference between the SEC and the Big 12, Fran responded that the SEC had no easy teams to beat. “There are no Texas Techs in the SEC.”

Nope, I guess not.

Still, I owe the guy a debt of gratitude. I was in Abilene while Fran and A&M were in negotiations. A sports writer at the paper wrote this mind bogglingly arrogant column telling A&M fans that Fran was playing them for a fool: He was just trying to get a bigger salary from Alabama and they were stupid for not seeing that. The column appeared the same day A&M announced they had reached a deal. The writer said that he didn’t go a week without someone bringing that up. Sweetness.

Morning walk

I haven't hiked around the farm for months. Planning for the wedding took too much of my mind, and walking around in the rough in the middle of August is not something that the sweatiest man alive really looks forward to.

The weather has cooled down, tho, and I recently figured out how to work this digital camera thing. It isn't a great camera, but I wanted to take it out and play with it. First lesson I learned: Wait until there is light.

Still, here are some of the shots, with a few explanations.

I mainly took this one so that I could show the red flowers on the pomegranate bush (in the front, left). We recently discovered the plant while clearing an area close to where a cabin used to be, meaning the plant has somehow managed to live on its own for at least 70 years. Now we can eat pomegrantes all the time. Hooray.

The dead cow.

We have several landmark areas on the farm: The island. The Big Oak. The Camp. This is the Dead Cow. It's been there now for about four years.

We had a guy leasing the property for cattle grazing. A cow died right next to our cabin. She was there for about a month, before my Dad ordered the guy to get rid of it. The dude responded by dragging the corpse about a quarter-mile down the road, where she has been to this day. She's gone from a pile of hide and bones to a slowly spreading out group of bones, according to God's plan.

Here, Ginger takes a nibble.

It's been a dry year. This is the Bosque River. Usually this section at least has a trickle. Now, nothing but rock on the river bed.

Animal tracks

Swimming at the river

The dogs react differently to water. When I first got her, Ginger would take off and then mysteriously show up later soaking wet. She was that determined to swim. Jimbo's always been more cautious.

Base of the old railroad bridge

About the time I got here, Ginger managed to burrow completely into a hole along the bank. I'd been letting her swim without a leash, against my better judgment.

After a bit I hear some barking, and a bit later two critters come flying out of the hole and dive into a pool of water. They were moving too fast for me to be sure what the were. I'm guessing nutrias. Ginger burrows out of the hole and jumps into the water after them.

After much yelling, I manage to get Ginger back on shore, back in her leash. We start walking back. Later I notice she's got a red spot on her side. Somehow, she's managed to get a series of holes on her left belly, in the shape of either a clawmark or a really big bite.

I've been cleaning it and keeping an eye out for infection. So far, it looks OK. Just another mass of future scar tissue that'll make people think I torture my pets with battery acid.

Damn dog.

WHOOOOOOO!

This isn't a sarcastic post. That would have been "Whooop!" or some such.

Terry Berry: Chafe Not in Peace

Terry Berry died.

Run over by a train? What the hell? How come no one lets me on to this stuff?

To explain: Berry was an Abilene oddball. He walked all over town, usually without any rhyme or reason. He just walked.

But nobody would have cared save for the fact that he always, always walked all over in town in hot pants.

(The link above includes a link to a fine photo essay Ron Erdrich did on the guy. You need to check it out. Words don't do it justice.)

I recall my first sighting. I was waiting for my burger to get done at GW's on South First. Out the window, on a blazing hot May day, a man walked across the parking lot. His socks were pulled all the way up. He was wearing sunglasses and a cheap baseball hat (the kind with the foamy front). The rest of him was covered by a yellow and black striped shirt and a tight and high pair of jean shorts.

I stared a bit, then looked around to see if everyone else was looking.

Nobody else even bothered reacting. They'd lived in Abilene longer, and gotten used to it.

The thought later hit me that a Terry Berry sighting was one of those basic stepping stones to becoming an Abilenian, up there with eating barbecue at Harolds.

"I finally saw Terry Berry today!" was something I heard from a lot of the people in the newsroom.

One city candidate put Terry on his campaign web site. One high school held a Terry Berry-lookalike contest.

There were obvious questions as to exactly where he made his money, but no one ever really delved into that. He seemed like a nice guy (to those who met him, I never did), without any animus towards people.

He loved the attention. Hell, we all do (he wrote in his blog). But he mainly struck me as one of those eccentric types. The kind of people you see at the end of a newscast, when they stuff in a story about some old man who stood at an intersection every morning for 30 years and waved at every car that passed by. Just wanted to be friendly, make sure people knew about him.

Abilene's a little less without him.

Behold the mighty power of my picture-gadget

That's my mailbox. It's in the shadows and blurry, but what the hell -- it was taken five minutes ago. Getting this camera thing to work was hell. Brought to you and me free of charge thanks to the determined efforts of hackers, who'd I name but for the hacking thing.

Notes

And thusly the marriage disdt enter in to the limbo...

Maybe you've noticed that the living details I usually insert have gotten a little sketchy lately. (Or maybe you just tune in for my comments on Bon Jovi and don't care).

The deal is, as we're married and stuff, me and Mer have been trying to work out some details. I.E.: Where to live. And, What job I'll have.

So, as to that, we're looking for a house in the D/FW Metroplex, which is fairly difficult, save for the fact that I'm married to a licensed realtor and I'm sure we'll find something good. We also waited to get married until after the housing market went down, so you can see we're genuises.

As to the job ... Eh.

I went to a career development agency last week, and we discussed "forging personal networks" and putting together an "eye-catching resume." And I couldn't stop thinking how incredibly, mind-numbingly, poke-me-in-the-eye-with-a-cactus-to-keep-me-awake boring the whole process sounded.

More on this later.

Sick
Spent Monday in bed. Had to call in sick to work for the first time all year. Felt better by Tuesday. You don't want to know the other details.

College Station-izzle

This should be a fun week. Tech goes to A&M to do I'm not sure what. Really, no idea. Maybe the Raiders laid a big egg against TCU and will play better. Maybe three points against a moderately talented team is the best they can do.

Whatever. What's fun nowadays is the way Aggie fans have really started to hate us. It's like all that animosity we had for them back in the '80s is finally being returned, and we've moved to a nicer house in the college football neighborhood. And we're the ones playing the funky rap music while they keep whining to the cops about the noise. Etc.

(I was going to put in a detail about Frannchichonine waving his fist and telling us to get off his lawn, but I'll just stop there.)

A small truth

Fergie of the Black-Eyed Peas is not that good looking.

Hico livin

I don't have a lot of news to give here as to what's going on with life. Me and Meredith are working out various details, such as how we're going to live in the same house and such. Everything's in limbo.

The dogs are doing OK, though.

And then the dead came back ...
Driving to work a couple of nights ago, and I passed through a cloud of white something. It made no sense. It was too dry for fog. It had no chemical odor. It wasn't dust. It was just a cloud of God knows what.

When I was in Beaumont, I'd leave work some nights and smell this chemical haze, like a mixture of rubbing alcohol and new tires. I at least had some idea of what that was, and I knew I'd be leaving town before I started getting those strange facial bumps sported by about a quarter of the population.

This stuff in Stephenville, no idea.

Where everybody knows your name, damnit
Suddenly, half the people I run into in town see me and ask the question, "You're (name withheld)'s son, aren't you?"

I say yes, and then stumble through a conversation about how they know me. It's not a fun thing. I've always been, and always will be, horrible with names. The talk always goes to someone they expect me to know, who I don't know, so I have to give a fake, "Oh, yeah, him."

I liked the fact that I could live in a town of 1400 and be unknown. I preferred the strange and occasionally hostile looks I got from people as I rode by on my bike. I guess it couldn't last.

Coming soon
Photos. Taken by me. Maybe. I've promised myself I'm going to figure out how to work this bitch.

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, Rutger-Howerd Plaza, Los Angeles, California, 90210

Got to see about half the show Monday night before I had to take off for work. I thought it was well-written, well-paced and ocassionally funny.

And I doubt I'm going to get into it -- for the same reason I never got into West Wing -- rampant smarminess.

The West Wing, and Studio 60 (at least last night) both revolve around the premise of rich people holding meetings and someone saying something brilliant that solves the problem. Then people implement the plan, fight for the plan, and drink very expensive drinks in tasteful bars while wearing suits.

For my experience, this is not the way the world works. Problems are typically solved at ground level. Meetings are generally where hope goes to die and dumb comes to roost.

I also don't get Amanda Peet's character. How does someone that nice become a major network president in her 30s? Are TV executives some completely different animal than what we've heard?

Anyway. I bet the show's going to be a hit. It's a matter of taste. It's not like there are a lot of shows out there where the adjectvie "well written" applies.

I'll just stick with "Deadwood", a show about people jumping from one disaster to the next, or "Battlestar Gallactica" where the only smarmy characters are robots, and they get blown up all the time.

No, I don't want to talk about TCU/Tech

Three points? Three freakin' points?

It was a good thing I wasn't actually watching the game on Saturday. Otherwise I probably would have lashed out more than I did. My wife doesn't like me much when I lash out.

Was anybody in Red and Black even trying? My only thought right now is that Tech still has a not impossibly bad chance of winning the Big 12. Only problem is that, this year, that'll be comparable to winning the title "Best High School Football Team in Lubbock*."

And what's with Duante Culpepper? I decide I like your team and then you personally destroy it. And then the Cowboys win, even though we all know it's going to be the same sad fade at the end of the season. I don't want to talk about it.

* For those confused by the reference: Lubbock high school football tends to be weak. I should know, I played second-string placekicker there.

Random thought:
"The Thirteenth Warrior", starring Antonio Banderas, is underrated. It's easily one of the top 25 viking movies of all time.

A most wonderful time of the year

A very blonde crime

Watched about 5 minutes of NBC's Dateline interview with the teacher who slept with the 14-year-old boy. (Otherwise known as .... eh, don't feel like going there.) She talked about how she was having a tough time in her life and described the boy as big and flirtatious. The report also talked about how she used to show off her naval in class and otherwise she spent her time hanging around the practice fields "to support" the school coaches.

What hit me as the biggest lie: Lauer asked her if she was popular with the boys in school.

"Really, I always thought it was the girls who just adored me."

Yeah. You're a junior high girl, going through the most awkward time in your life, and some blonde teacher is letting her sex thang hang out and taking away all the boys' attention.

They must have loved her!

Cowboys up and out

Somewhere in my head the past few months there has been a chemical change. I just don't like the Cowboys any more. What's to like with these people? The team is just Jerry Jones' ego brought into physical reality. It's a big ego, but one that way overestimates its knowledge of football.

I watch these games waiting for these people to die on the field.

After almost a decade of feeling the change, it's finally dawned on me who my new favorite team is: Miami. They have my two favorite players and let Ricky Williams move on to his real passion of toking it up and Doritos.

Still, this doesn't mean I'm going to stop watching Dallas. They're usually the team that's on, and habbits that go back to infancy tend to die pretty hard.

Still, who do you love*?

This?

Or this?

The question answers itself.

* Meant in the good, friendly, only a little gay sense.

Notes

First off
My Dad is finally home from the hospital, after spending three weeks there with complications from the heart surgery. These were not serious complications, they were more in line with the car making a funny noise after the engine is rebuilt.

After the first surgery, his heartbeat kept dropping into some kind of strange five-beat jazz rhythm. The surgeons just gave up and installed a pacemaker. This had to be delayed because Dad's blood was hovering at around the too-thin level.

So he's home, sore, resting and getting used to an ABC of medications he'll be on for a while. But he's otherwise healthy and will probably be running around, preventing people from throwing away his garbage, in no time.

The 4400

Started watching the USA series the 4400 with my Netflix last weekend. And I dunno.

It's an intriguing idea (4400 people abducted over 60 years suddenly return without aging and with neat-o powers). The episode after the pilot was interesting, focusing on one guy trying to make a bad neighborhood better.

Where the show goes wrong so far is in the primary story lines. It's like the network demanded the show hit it's demographic plot points at the expense in reality.

Problems:
-- We have a high school student in a blossoming romance, and a rival who tells him, "You think you can disappear for three years and just waltz back in here, freak?" Uh-huh.

-- We have a young mother whose husband doesn't even bother to come by and pick her up after she re-appears. And acts surprised when she shows up, even though he lives in the same damn house that they used to live in.

-- We have a teenager whose been in a coma for three years. He still has his own hospital room so his parents can come and brood over him alone.

-- We have a child oracle. A cute little kid who glances at adults with a smile and says disturbing things about the future. I hate child oracles.

Chance of making it through the first season: 50 percent.

Book review: 1491

Some books provide you with exactly what you want to know, and have the added advantage of being factual.

I remember, growing up, that I was proud of my Cherokee Indian heritage. I read all the books I could read on the history of the Trail of Tears, and spent a good deal of time, like any other blonde kid, gnashing my teeth over the injustice of the white man. (Yep, that one-eighth bloodline goes a long way.)

In college, I knew an art student in the dorm who was also one-eighth Cherokee (like half the population of the United States). Hew was also proud of his indian lineage. "I take more pride in my Cherokee past than in my other heritage."

He was so proud as to make his own artwork and write his own protest poem about the Trail of Tears.

The poem was nothing memorabe. The artwork? Consisted of the angry, vengeful faces -- of three Apache.

Yes, his heritage was important to him, but he hadn't spent two minutes researching Cherokee, otherwise he would have known the men of the tribe wore turbans, not freakin' headbands.

Then came "Dancing with Wolves." Sheesh.

The thought has been forming in my head for a while about what the American Indian is today for most people: A shallow stereotype of a victim. A hippie with a bow, arrow, and magical powers to listen to what the earth is saying. ("White people are bad," says the earth. "Bad!")

And that image sucks. For starters, it's plain wrong. And secondly, it doesn't give American Indians their due as full participants in humanity.

If Indians are human, they will act as humans: Establish societies, make rules, exploit their environment, ponder the universe, etc.

And so I stumbled onto 1491 at the Hasting's in Stephenville.

It's a great book for amateur history buffs, written by a guy with no political aim other than to offer up what current research into early American history says. And it says some things completely different from what we learned growing up.

For one thing, the American Indian population wasn't a few roving bands with a few large tribes. It was more likely in the millions and on par with Europe.

What thinned their population is easily one of the greatest ecological disasters in history.

Some of the other revelations in the book hit close to home.

Doing a story about brush control in Abilene (wow), the guy I was interviewing noted that, before the area was settled by whites, the terrain was covered by grasslands. No mesquite, no brush in general.

I was curious enough to ask why, and was told that the plants migrated in from south Texas with cattle.

I didn't think to ask the next logical question. Why didn't it migrate in before with the buffalo? Deer? Bunnies on fire?

The answer is that Indians really liked to burn land. This kept the trees and brush back and the grass thick. This in turn kept the grass-eating animals they liked to hunt well-fed.

This type of cultivation wasn't done on a small scale either: think in terms of the entire Texas hill country. Or the entire U.S. great plains.

And I'll stop with the details there.

It's a good read, and pretty much a must for anyone who takes his American history seriously.

9/11

Was going to post something or other about some pop culture thing, but getting on-line and going through some of the headlines today killed the mood. Peace, everyone.

Of wood and nails and missing fingers

I was reading through this blog that mentioned shop class and directed me to this site called the New Atlantis. The essay in question is long, but brought an idea to my head regarding my career choice.

Here's a highlight:

"Much of the 'jobs of the future' rhetoric surrounding the eagerness to end shop class and get every warm body into college, thence into a cubicle, implicitly assumes that we are heading to a 'post-industrial' economy in which everyone will deal only in abstractions. Yet trafficking in abstractions is not the same as thinking. White collar professions, too, are subject to routinization and degradation, proceeding by the same process as befell manual fabrication a hundred years ago..."

"So what advice should one give to a young person? By all means, go to college. In fact, approach college in the spirit of craftsmanship, going deep into liberal arts and sciences. In the summers, learn a manual trade. You're likely to be less damaged, and quite possibly better paid, as an independent tradesman than as a cubicle-dwelling tender of information systems. To heed such advice would require a certain contrarian streak, as it entails rejecting a life course mapped out by others as obligatory and inevitable."

So, the question I'm left with is, "Have I wasted my adulthood trying to figure out if the councilman is dicking me around about the proposed 0.5 percent tax increase?" Or should I have been perfecting the world's greatest Oak Home Entertainment Center?

Kind of answers itself, I think.

In the 9th grade, I built a clock in the shape of Texas. It still hangs on the gameroom wall of my parents' house. I've never bothered to frame anything I've written.

On the other hand, I'm not graceful, and fingers are so useful.

Speaking of George Lucas

There are some things you absolutely must post.



Awesome is right. So very right.

Thanks to John.

Quick review: THX 1138

This film is probably well known to movie and/or George Lucas geeks, but sometimes I stumbles into stuff and has to talk about it. Sorry if I'm late to the party.

Anyway, I'd read a few articles about THX 1138, Lucas' first film, based on a project he did in college. He recently did what Lucas will do -- upgraded the special effects and re-released the sucker. My curiosity was stoked enough to put it on Netflix. I needed a break from all the MST 3K and cheerleader dance movies.

After seeing it, I can say interesting, but not good. (Jeremy once referred to a shower he took at the old Hico farm cabin -- no pressure, ice cold -- as "Interesting.")

The plot: Humanity has sunk into a corporate-owned dystopia that forces people to take sedatives and not have sex. Our hero falls in love and tries to get out.

It's the kind of movie only a beginning director would be allowed to make. The studios, in the search for someone hip, give money to someone who shows promise. They don't notice the film is attempting to marry the aesthetics of Stanley Kubrick with "Speed Racer."

And it can be an ugly marriage. It's often a dull film that doesn't bother with making a great deal of sense. Only Lucas could figure out a world that makes everyone a poor slave, yet allows for the existence of awesome rocket cars.

The most interesting thing to do in the movie is notice the stylings that later show up in Star Wars. Lucas really likes his shots of button pressing. And the bad guys in THX wear masks and wield these long baton things that sting.

Here are three reasons to watch:
-- Robert Duval stars.
-- The Turbo Spankamonkey 2000.
-- They use the word "Wookiee". (If you don't have subtitles on, you'll miss it.)

And that's it. Watch if you feel a jones to be mildly diverted.

Feelin' Nealon

Several people have come forth to defend Kevin Nealon, a comedic actor whom I described a couple of posts down as non-comedic. I'll make this addendum to the first post:

I think the guy is a capable straight man, who has plenty of success when people are acting off of him. But every time I've seen him try to carry the load, he trips onto Suck Street.

He only raised my ire with the recent TV publicity push he's made (I guess for "Weeds"). He's always introduced as the "Hillarious Kevin Nealon". He then comes out in a funny-colored suit and proceeds to prance around like an anemic Robin Williams before sitting down to go through his schtick, which isn't funny.

Yes, I realize this is in the eye of the beholder, but anybody who knows me knows it doesn't take much to make me laugh. Seriously, a 5 year old can have me rolling on the floor with a joke about Spider Man.

Diff'rent

Enjoyed a little garbage television last night, "Behind the Camera: The Unauthorized Story of Diff'rent Strokes."

I'm not going to guess how this was "unauthorized." Maybe the dead cast members were unable to give their permission.

Anyway, I don't watch this stuff because I usually don't care enough about it to sit through some lame movie. It inevitably ends in a bitter-sweet moment where some washed-up actor talks about how he misses being mega-famous but will somehow find a way to go on like all of us non-famous people who couldn't have afforded a decent coke habbit in the first place.

I had to watch Diff'rent Strokes, though, because it's one of the first shows I remember. (Outside of Zoom!, at least).

I can recall laughing hysterically every show. This was before puberty hit. Afterwards, watching reruns made me realize just how crappy the writing was.

During the Monday movie, Gary Coleman emphasized how much he hated the line. Said it ruined his life. And the one thought I took away was how the line had also ruined the lives of Gary Colemans everywhere.

I knew a Gary Coleman at North Texas University. He was, of course, tall and white. Wrote his name as "G.C. Coleman" just to avoid the attention. Still, everywhere he went, people begged him to say the line. He staunchly refused.

At least I never heard him say it. According to journalism department mythology, he did become drunk enough once to say "Watch-yoo talkin' bout, Willis?" I can't imagine what led him to lose control. Gary was a man who enjoyed his beer.

Speaking of ole UNT:
Read an article in the Star-Telegram about the impending destruction of some old buildings on Fry Street. Some Houston developer is going to come in and put up a drugstore and Starbucks and the usual stuff. A group has started a petition to stop it.

Fry Street is the U. of North Texas party center. It's the closest the university can come to Sixth Street in Austin or the Broadway/University intersection in Lubbock.

I had some good times in those old places, but I can't really make myself care much. My memories are kinda mixed:

-- You could usually tell the bar someone had been to just by their odor. "Whew, Opie smells like the State Club!"

-- Watching cockroaches skitter across the walls and floor was part of the entertainment at Cool Beans.

-- The Flying Tomato charged too much for beer and closed early.

I think I'll just honor the old places by doing what the majority of North Texas students have always done: Drive to another city and drink in another bar.