Woe Is Me...

Hi everyone...
I just had a complete computer crash from a virus that I picked up somewhere. It made it past 2 firewalls and a slew of anti-virus programs, and a proxy server. Right now it appears I've lost everything I've accumulated over the past 10 years or so.

Update all of your virus software as well as your firewall(s). Whatever this sucker is it got past everything. The only thing I can figure is that it adapted itself to one of the programs or files I was running and mimicked it. I dunno, I have never had a virus get past the iron wall I've built.

Be careful!

Guest Column: Monkee On Stink Eye/Dead Eye

Stink/dead eye. The true meanings.

From Monkee at www.monkeychapps.com

No, this is the good one! Thats the joke I like to play on those that seem a bit uncomfortable asking me about my eye. Its actually a replaced cornea that was badly scarred. I wish I had a good story about how it happened like I was injured trying to find Ossama Bin Laden or it was injured during a fight with ghost pirates. Alas nothing as glamorous. The iris is stretched and it looks like a cat eye. I usually hear “thats cool” and I reply with my old standard ” how cool, cool enough for you to want to give me cash/ make out/ wash my car”? No takers yet, but I am patient. I digress.

The shape of the eye sometime give an ominous look leading people to think that I am scowling at them. I found out this was known as the stink/skunk/evil eye. My usual jocularity and silly antics put people at ease and I no longer am placed in the “mean guy” category. With that said I will now retell a story, a story of pain. A story of disgust and trauma only seen by trauma surgeons and homicide detectives.

It was a glorious spring day. A day that could put the most devout curmudgeon and Nair-do-well in the best of spirits. A day when I took no offense at doing one of my least favorite chores. Mowing the lawn. I hate all the prep work and extras that one does just to cut grass. Shovel poop, empty the catcher, fill the garbage bags and so on. I call shenanigans on all that! I’m a free spirit! I will just forgo the catcher and that other drudgery that keeps me from the sweet sweet smell of fresh cut grass.

I mow. I mow sans catcher(the little rocks that gently pelt my shins are not bad). The grass will fly out the catcher attachment, dry up and blow away. No problem. I mow over the dog doody. It’ll scatter all over and not be a problem.

Halfway though I see a pile, take aim and run over it. I never thought a piece of poo could exit the catcher hole, catch the wind and hit me. The odds of that are huge. Even greater are the odds of that same poo making that turn, catching an updraft and flying at my eye! The stink eye non the less. It was like a scene from the matrix only with dog poo. It was horrible and I still carry the scars. What I can’t figure out is why I felt running around like a mad man yelling “poo” would help me.

So now when I am asked about my “stink eye” I do have a good story.

Jumping Into History!

Back when I was a kid, Evel Knievel ruled. He was the ultimate testosterone rush before I even knew what the hell testosterone was.

Of course, everyone wanted to mimic the crazy sonofabitch, including some adults. We heard a story of a guy somewhere that got completely wasted and tried to jump his Harley over his wife's car using a piece of plywood propped up against the car. Needless to say, when the weight of the Harley hit the plywood, it snapped, sending him into the car, then into the hospital. Some people have no business drinking. Or procreating for that matter.

Anyway, the Evel Knievel craze had hit the young and impressionable kids on Thrall Court. This was an unfortunate turn of events for the parents...But a boon in business for the hospitals. Before you knew it we were jumping homemade ramps made out of, well, plywood and two by fours. At first we just jumped into the air with no objects underneath. Then, we worked our way up from air to a couple of kids to garbage cans.

Another kid on the street, Brian, decided he wanted to go first when we built the "Big Ramp" to jump two cans. As he raced toward the ramp from the top of the hill he must have had second thoughts because at the last minute he slammed on the brakes. He was way too close to the ramp and subsequently just kinda rolled off the top of the ramp and into the garbage can. He wasn't hurt too bad, except for the fact he racked his balls on the bike. Besides hurting his twins and his pride, he really dented the crap out of the galvanized can.

I decided I wanted to try it. I went to the top of the hill, turned around and stopped. The ramp looked like it was about the size of a matchbox. I was thinking there was no way on God's green earth I was going to be able to make that jump, but I had to try. After going head to head with the '68 Catalina, I had a reputation to keep. I then thought about Evel Knievel and remembered him talking about one of his jumps where he had crashed and broke a few bones. He told the sportscaster that he didn't have enough speed when he hit the ramp, which caused him to come up short. I knew that I had to have speed...and lots of it.

I started off and cranked that bike with all I had. I was hoping that the combination of my leg power and the grade of the hill would propel me to victory. I was cranking like hell, white skinny legs a blur, and focused completely on the ramp. I could see nothing else because of tunnel vision. As I got about three-quarters of the way to my destination, I hit a rock that was in the middle of the street, causing my bike to start wobbling out of control. Everything else was just a blur at that moment. I thought, "Man, I'm in some really deep shit here", followed by, "Man, this was really a stupid idea". You know how they say your life passes before your eyes right before you die? My life was on a wide screen, in stereo and in Technicolor.

As I hit the pavement, I went over the bike face first into the pavement. The only thing I remembered was the wobbling of the bike, BIG blank space, and getting up off the ground, dazed and bleeding like shit. That was my first taste of being really hurt. Man, I was screwed!

I immediately went into the house, with all the dipshits who concocted the crazy idea in tow, and told my mom I needed a band-aid. When she looked up, all she could say was "oh, shit...SHIT!". She took me into the bathroom and proceeded to clean me up with a wash cloth. I looked in the mirror and saw that I had ripped my top lip open, as well as having road rash to the rest of my face.

We went to Dr. Austins office at John Peter Smith Hospital. When Dr. Austin saw me, he asked my mom what the hell happened. She told him what had happened, adding that we were copying some crazy guy on TV who was trying to kill himself. He looked at me and said, "Evel Knievel fan, huh?". Anyway, he looked me over, stitched my lip up and told my mom that I would live to fight another day.

I would, indeed, fight another day.

About two months later, I was ready to try the jump again. During my healing time, Albert Dunlap invented the Redneck Chopper. Any of you who are old enough to remember, the bikes back in the seventies had banana seats with sissy-bars, butterfly handlebars, and curved forks on the front. Albert, who obviously by now was following in his dad's footprints in tinkering with everything he owned, had figured out that if you cut the forks off of one bike, they would fit right over another bike's forks, making a copper bike. He had cut the forks from an old bike, removed the front wheel off his bike and hammered the cut forks over top of his. He now had a Redneck Chopper.

I decided to try it out, by jumping a ramp of course. I went to the top of the hill, but as I went this time I made sure there were no rocks impeding my success. I started cranking (Not quite as fast this time) and as I hit the ramp, the forks snapped in half right where they were hammered together. Off the bike I went again, this time over the freakin' handlebars. Now, if the first time nearly killing myself got me into trouble, I was dead for sure, either from the crash or from my mom. The last thing she told me from the previous wreck was, "I don't want you doing that shit anymore, your gonna kill yourself".

The crash resulted in almost the same injuries as the last, with one exception: The left handlebar, which had a worn grip exposing the end, went into my arm just below the inside of the elbow.

After that, I decided that although getting hurt wasn't that bad since I had beaten the Grim Reaper three times now, I was retiring due to the fact that my mom brought me pretty close to death with the ass-whoopin' that followed. But, as they say, pain goes away but defeat always stays.

Besides, there were other things on the horizon that would beckon me...

Perma-Press One

In the early seventies, my family moved from Rosedale Street in Stop Six to Thrall Court in Polytechnic Heights, or Poly as everyone called it. When we lived on Rosedale we didn't have neighbors, so my brother and I never really played with any other kids. We never really played with each other, come to think of it. We usually just argued and beat the shit out of each other when we weren't exploring or destroying things.

On Thrall Court we had friends, or at least we had other kids around to play with. The first kid from the neighborhood I can remember is Albert Dunlap. Albert was a couple of years older than us, and he's the first one to approach and welcome us to the 'hood. We thought he was either the scouting party for the group or the one that had lost a bet. He seemed like an alright guy, kind of stocky with an Elvis Presley Haircut. He had a younger brother, Tommy, and a sister, Rita.

Albert's Dad, Gene, was quite a peculiar person at first blush. He stood about six foot four and was thin. He had wavy hair and long side-burns and would always have a toothpick in his mouth. He worked for the water department and always seemed to be wearing his work uniform no matter what was going on. He drove a Toyota sedan, which was very uncommon in those days. It was like a swimming pool blue color and was small. It struck me as a clown car, with him having to wedge himself in and out of it.

Gene was cool though. He was always joking around, doing goofy stuff like winking both eyes, making hen clicks while strutting like a chicken, and crap like that. But the coolest thing about Gene of all: He had the toys!

Gene was one of those guys who were always working on something. He had a motorcycle (Honda or Yamaha) and was alway tuning it to try to make it run better. When he would get it to where he thought it was running perfect he would go out and race it up and down the street, sometimes popping wheelies. Gene also had a Cushman three-wheeled truck, which was used by the Post Office back then in Fort Worth.

He had taken this thing and stripped it down, painting popular cartoon characters on the sides and back. Foghorn Leghorn, Casper, Daffy Duck, The Flintstones...They were all on there. On the front above the windshield, it proclaimed "HERE IT COMES!" and on the back top "THERE IT GOES!". He would take the kids in the 'hood for rides down to the store and we would just have a blast seeing the looks on peoples faces.

Gene also built everyone in the neighborhood skateboards. He had acquired quite a number of boards somewhere and then purchased the trucks to go with them. The trucks were metal and, unlike the later polyurethane wheels, were very rough and unforgiving. But hell, we had fun!

The thing that Gene was probably the best at was taking something and making it better, or just coming up with brilliant ideas at the spur of the moment. He taught us how to make go carts, kites, sleds, etc.

WHOA! Sleds? In Texas?

Yup, sleds in Texas! Being in north Texas we weren't immune from snow and ice. It didn't happen often but it did happen. White death would visit us about once every three years or so. It was always a joyous occasion when we did get snow. (Now that I live in Ohio, I just wonder WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!?!) Of course it didn't last long, so we had to make the best of it in short order. You can always tell when someone hasn't seen much snow. They act like they know what they're doing, but really don't have a damned clue. Trust me, our snowmen were genetically defective and anatomically incorrect.

My first year on Thrall Court was welcomed with an ice storm. We had no idea what to do with ice except fall down and bust our ass, but we did do that with glee, inventing ways to fall down. When we weren't actually trying to fall down, we would walk real funny...shuffling our feet and holding our arms out like a Penguin. Come to think of it I think Tommy Dunlap had a black coat on, unzipped with a white shirt underneath. Anyway, my brother and I slid on down to the Dunlap's house and we were immediately confronted by Albert, who appeared to be way too excited about something. Albert informed us that we were going sledding! He took us into his garage and there was Gene, tinkering with an ironing board. I asked him what he was doing and Albert, hardly able to contain himself, said "He's making us a sled!" I was looking at the ironing board and thinking, "Boy, Mrs. Dunlap is really gonna be pissed off when she gets home".

Thrall Court was a fairly long street, about fifteen houses long from the beginning to the cul-de-sac at the end, and it was a slope from beginning to end. That slope got me into more trouble than anything else in the neighborhood.

We took the "Sled", which we knick named "Perma Press One", to the top o' the hill and began our adventure. Me, My brother Jerry, and Albert loaded onto the board and off we went, using the legs of the ironing board for handles. It wasn't until we were about midway through the ride that we realized we had no way of steering this thing. As we veered to the left we noticed a '68 Catalina, one of the largest cars of that era, parked on the side of the road and approaching us at light speed (Metal + Ice = Supersonic Speed!). When we dove off ol' Perma, we slid about fifty yards or so. Jerry and Albert ended up in a field to the right, while I ricocheted off the Pontiac, into a bush, finally coming to rest in a neighbor's flower garden.

According to Jerry, they thought I was dead. Well, obviously, I wasn't dead, but at that time I wished I were. I had just lay there for a minute, looking for the angels and completing the Rosary. When I didn't see any angels and realized that I was in some amount of pain and my ass was freezing, I got to my feet and started walking back up the hill. About that time Jerry, Albert and Gene came running down and asked if I was alright. As I told them yes, I slipped on the ice, causing me to go down face first into the icy road, resulting in a bloody nose and a cut lip. They decided to carry me the rest of the way before I could kill myself or somebody else.

Alas, the legend of Terry Ellis, the one who would conquer any challenge or be maimed trying, was born. At six years old I had faced death and won...But that was the last time in my life I went sledding on fucking ice without a football uniform on.

Just Who The Hell Is Ron Paul?

To one degree or another, I'm sure you've heard of Ron Paul. To some, he seems like the little pain in the ass who will not go away. To others he is associated with conspiracy theories, a presidential candidate who is being blocked out by unseen forces in the government because of his stance on the Constitution of the United States. Just who the hell is Ron Paul and, more importantly, can he become a serious presidential candidate?

Personally, I like Ron Paul and what be stands for. He is a strict Constitutionalist and, if you actually take time to read or hear his message, makes a lot of sense on the issues we face today.

Known as Dr. No, he has demonstrated time and again his willingness to not only follow the Constitution but also the willingness to listen to his constituents. He believes, as I do, that the Government is abusing it's Constitutional authority by passing laws and regulations, levying taxes, and generally disregarding American sovereignty by entering into foreign trade agreements and being members of organizations such as the United Nations.

The problem I have is not with the man, but the loonies who have jumped on his bandwagon. I have perused personal websites and websites of organizations who support Dr. Paul, and I have to tell you, "THEY" are definitely coming out of the woodwork. The most prominent I see are the conspiracy theorists. These are the people who believe that our country is being run by some shadow government, people who are behind the scenes and call the shots.

Alex Jones, a second rate underground journalist and talk show host based out of Texas, is the kind of people Ron Paul is attracting. If you don't know who Alex Jones is, go to his website and see for yourself. I am acquainted with Mr. Jones from his guest appearances on the overnight talk show Coast to Coast AM. This guy believes in just about every conspiracy theory you can imagine, and then some.

I have also heard Ron Paul supporters call in other talk shows with their talking points. While there are a few who actually make sense, most are the type who will call talk show lines and when it's their turn, they go off topic and spout off about the government conspiracies against Ron Paul and how he will gain the most votes but mysteriously will never win because everything is predetermined by a shadow government.

So far, from what I can tell, Ron Paul hasn't made a serious effort to distance himself from these whack jobs. Why he hasn't baffles me. He is a man with high intelligence, a straight-forward and no nonsense message without a hint of conspiracy. Candidates who are serious about a run for any office will seek out the supporters who they think will do the most damage and do everything in their power to distance themselves from them.

I believe that Dr. Ron Paul would make probably the best President since Ronald Reagan, if not the best president in modern times. He has the right message, the right attitude, and the correct knowledge of how government works. Would I vote for him? Barring any major stumble in his candidacy or his message, I would. Would I campaign for him, or publicly support him? Probably not. Being in public service I would have too much to lose by supporting what the public perceives as a campaign shrouded in conspiracy theories. There is a light of lunacy to his campaign, and even though it's not necessarily his fault, diminishes his chances for even making it out of the primaries.

With supporters like the ones I've mentioned, even George Washington couldn't get elected as president.


Drop a comment and let me know what you think.