3 dogs with 3 legs in 3 days

In Mesquite it is illegal for children to have unusual haircuts. But it seems that it is just fine for their mothers and fathers.

And so it goes. . .

On the third day of the week I counted my third three legged dog. At least it was not after 2:00 p.m. But it was a rich portent of things to come. And unusual things have come. . . small plastic bags of dill pickles in a convenience store, snow, and $90 cajun turkeys sold by a man with exactly eleven hairs standing four inches from his scalp. His name is Ken.

When considering a name for your business in Lancaster, TX it appears after some amount of amatuer study that the more obscure names do not help draw customers in the door. Take for example, "$1.59 Cleaners." The place had weeds coming up through the sidewalk in front that were at least as high as my waist. "Barbershop." There was no hair cutting, trimming, or shampooing going on at all. But dominoes games around a card table gathered a small pile of cash. "QTP." A nail salon in which not one person spoke english and was of an undetermined oriental ethnicity.

And I met the world's angriest florist. A woman with a mans name who instructed me to "be quiet" twice while she took a funeral arrangement order. And with all the speed of a bi-polar serial killer, asked me to come back Friday cause she was eating her lunch--a cheese sandwich pulled from a Fritos bag stuffed in a drawer of a desk.
Followed that with a smile and a, "Have a nice day, ya'll."

The ancient greeks may be responsible for Texans love of tragedy. Even a scene of an abondoned, injured child provokes equal and opposite actions. Ignore the cries and the problem does not exist or help the child and become betrothed to the ugly daughter who lives in the basement. Make my hemlock a double. . .

Wermacht in the Waffle House

Lunch at Waffle House lead to mention of speaking 14 different oriental languages and discussions of blue tooth hands free sets. Strange when you consider my companions were classic "Bubbas" and they asked for extra butter.

Texas is the true land of enhcantment. A dead republican legislator still recived 62 percent of the vote to retain her seat in the house. I would imagine she could be propped up for a time and Disney animatronics could be used for her voting hand.
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Old men discussing the relative joys of Honda theater seating and the challenges of comb-overs will commence at 10:00 a.m. CST. They will have previously deposited urine samples in Euless, TX. I am certain there will be plenty of talk of how they had to kick the PCP habit they picked up in Nam.

Liver spot in the living room

The Dallas Stars are off to a great start to the season. (Hockey, for those of you trapped in adolescent role playing games hidden away from your children in basements) The team boasts an imoressive liveup--Marty Turco in goal and THE Eric Lindros. Argue that he may be a bit passed his prime, but he lit the light twice last evening in their 4 to 1 win. And now on to other business. . .

Yes, this is a public record of stupid ramblings from your humble blogger. I get it. Get it? I. Get. It. (and I am still sitting/standing behind what I write)

A very large man named Tim spoke to me in a mumble today about his business. He had stains on his tie. Not a few dribbles, but instead it looked like he mopped gravy off his plate with it and then slurped it up into his mouth. He had on a khaki suit. I would have pointed out to him that despite the relatively high temperatures, it is still much too late in the year to be wearing it. But I didn't. He was rather large and I wanted him to like me. I had no less than five minutes to be in his office, so the tie thing got a free pass.

Three floors below me, and outside these walls, is a strip of grass that people use to walk their dogs. It isn't so much about the walking as it is about the dogs reliving themselves from being cooped up inside all day. I was attempting to identify this peice of grass in conversation over the weekend and it kept taking on a different descriptor each time it came back around in the exchange. This was follwed by a few indicative hand gestures to clue the listener in on what area I was referring to as I spoke. Problem.

My proposed solution is this:
Hereafter said strip of grass will now and evermore be referred to as the President George W. Bush Parkway. And in Texas, for this to be legally binding, it (the name)must simply be used in public three times to take on official status. I do not anticipate the Texas DOT or Park and Rec to issue an official sign in the near future. In fact, I hope against it. Too many gawkers may congregate to take pictures of it and thereby disrupt the dogs from their business and me from mine. It would also raise the cost of living in the neighborhood--high enough as it is--and bring in even more yuppies in their Land Rovers.

Bobcats live in the woods behind the office I write this from. They chase the rabbits but never seem to eat them. Or is it simply that there are so many rabbits I just don't notice? Possibly.

There are also coyotes. This particular group (what do you call a bunch of coyotes?) have developed an odd relationship with the local firehouse. When an engine leaves with its siren on, they all take up the call as if they are the vangaurd. Curious bit of evolution, this coyote adaptation.

ss

Pocket full of pennies, dumptrucks, and crime

Coyotes do not ever like the sound of rescue vehicles' sirens. It gets them agitated.
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So, men named Russ do not find themselves in good standing with me at the present. It is one thing for me to have a convoluted (some would say, delusional) thought process. It is yet another thing to presume to try to explain my thinking to me. Frankly, it is insulting. And when I stopped him to explain that he was insulting me, he kept talking right over me. Can you imagine how I feel about him right now?

It devolved into him wanting to foist a bill of goods onto me "to allow me to make my own decision" with the caveat emptor that I would then be required to sign his contract.

And while the turnip truck rolls passed, he will not find me roiling in the ditch in its dust. Shameful.
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Anorexia nervosa. Has a nice ring to it, no? It appears that daughter has finally acknowledged that she has a serious problem. Seems she is tipping the scales at a whopping 90 lbs. How does this happen?

Chalk this one up to what is being called "Your father abandoned you" syndrome. Frightfully inaccurate, but with a note of objective truth. May the mighty men and women of the APA suffer ingrown toenails for the rest of their days. That, or the sweat of 1,000 camels in their armpits. . . .
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Rest easy, chicken livers. I am alright and doing more than fine.

Hardluck Hardware

A few things you will never hear a Texan say:

1) I think that song needs more french horn
2) Is that tuna dolphin safe?
3) The tires on that truck are just too big.
4) I beleive the proper word is "African American."
5) Fried pig rinds are disgusting.
6) Come to think of it, I'll have a Heinekin
7) You can't feed that to the dog.
8) No kids in the back of the pickup; it's just not safe.
9) We don't keep firearms in this house.
10) Wrestling is not real.

And a Texas bumpersticker seen on the North Texas Tollway riding proudly on the bumper of a big ol' F-350:

"And Jesus said unto the Mexicans: Dont do anything until I get back."

Last night a gentleman shot a woman to death in a Dallas park. He attempted to "flee" the murder scene by getting on a bus. However, when he stepped on to the bus, he was still holding the gun in his hand. The driver told him that firearms were not allowed on the bus. The man stepped off and disposed of the gun before reboarding. The driver then drove to the next stop where the police where waiting to take the shooter into custody.

Texas is a magical devil

But before I begin. . .when did Don Smith decide that what had previously retailed for $.39 need to become $.49? Is inflation cathing up with the warehouse liquidation market? Is the stock of Hershey's Trail Mix single serve pouches that in demand?

Had you been around recently you would have caught the smell on the wind of my imminent departure. Reminiscent of toast topped with rotting flesh, it should have signalled the end for all of what was and should not be again (until the staute of limitations expires, that is).

This Texas. This magical devil.

Texas has taken me in. Of course, one has to get past the many gatekeepers known as Rolla, Joplin, Muskogee and the like. Just over $75 of dues paid gets you membership in the warm embrace of the hill country, the gulf coast, or the prairies and lakes.

Your dues also allow access to her crumbling slums, eery emergency rooms, and the Texas State Fair (addition charges may be incurred for access to some attractions).

Waco gets thrown in as an additional bonus if you register online between the hours of 8:30 a.m. and 11:45 p.m. There might not be any Branch Davidians lurking around looking to buy ammo or Mountain House meals, but there are plenty of burritos, apple cinnamon danish, and your choice of chicken or steak fajitas. And Waco will ask you silly questions as her own price of admission at the gate (located just off of I-35 East/South adjacent to the T-340 Loop). Waco wants to know things like, "Do they have fajitas in Wisconsin?" and "Can you get connecting flights to Iron Mountain out of Austin Straubel?" Waco is a not shy about being dumb.

And the magic that is Texas just keeps coming back for more pro-longed encores. Need to get hit my a rock-hauling semi and burn to death cause you can't be removed from your car that is lodged under the rear wheels of the trailer? Then Texas wants to meet you. Enjoy having your local sports anchor on the evening news look like a 70's pornstar and not seem to mind that his real name is Babe? Texas has a place in front of the TV reserved just for you.

Consider this: The grass looks less healthy in Texas after 24 hours of rain then after 3 months of drought. Magical.

Texas grocery markets have bought into the Disney concept. Employees wear name badges with the employees home city and state printed on them. Strangely, the Mexican employees all seem to be from Texas while the other ethnic groups seem to span the continent with the same spledor as our many majestic purple mountains do in that one song. . .

Texas does not seem nearly as proud of her latest son turned president as the rest of the republicans in other states seem to be. Since navigating some 500 or so miles in the last few days on her treacherous and poorly marked highways, I have not seen one W bumper sticker. Think about this the next time you drive wherever you may live. Texas has put her head in the sand and some distance betwixt and between her native son. Maybe Texas is scared that he could come back for good.

Now $1.90 for a gallon of gas sounds pretty good, right? Kroger will even give you an additional $.10 of per gallon if you use their card. But Texas is just charming you to sleep. She will do that if you are not careful. Texas like the 8.25% she can squeeze you on all purchases requiring sales tax. Magical devil, this Texas.

Texas wants your soul. Texas is willing to pay top dollar. Texas has mouths to feed and no legalized casino gambling. Texas is even willing to drive over to your house to get it, but not during normal business hours.

Rucksack of rat bastards

It is really not so much about getting things done. . . it is more about why things get done the way they do. You know.

So, a little word association game:

band:frequency::opaque:__________

Now, more about the "why" of how things get done. Our motivations arise from a million little sensory firings in the otherwise gelatin like mass in our melons. We feel pain. We feel depression. We feel arousal. We feel rejection. We feel nothing.

And that is all well and good when it comes to being human. But does it ever explain the quid pro quo of the "why?" How many of us can say that they are constantly awake at the wheel of their lives? When so many of us are careening across the Nebraska of our days with the cruise control locked at 80 mph. and the trucker speed still sealed shut and dropping into the crack of the seat--next to your discarded screws, a penny, and a few crunchy pieces of french fry.

What is the motivation for getting things done? Is it about avoiding consequences or about creating consequences?

Was the creation of the atomic bomb about avoiding consequences or creating consequences? And what of cable television?

Rasputin did not concern himself with the "why." He was all about the "what." Seems to make that much more sense.