Happy New Year!

2018 slammed into us like the Titanic on a massive iceberg. The song "Baby It's Cold Outside" comes to mind! All of North America is gripped by an Arctic cold front causing people to make their faucets slowly drip water, heaters work overtime, and wives with hairy winter legs snuggle with their husbands.

Many of us will create resolutions which will be forgotten or ignored in a couple of weeks. Gyms will be crowded until the end of February with people intent on getting their beach bodies whipped into shape, while regulars wait patiently for the bench presses to be freed up. New sneakers will be broken in on treadmills that will soon double as clothes hangers. Beat feet, o' ye of rotundness (that's me)!

Some of us will swear off alcohol, fatty foods, and sedentary lifestyles. Y'all have fun with that one! As for me and my house, we shall be realists. I'm a believer in baby steps. Currently, I'm swearing off swearing things off. That is a form of progress isn't it?

With that said, here are my 2018 goals (you can call them resolutions, but I'm not a fan of that word):

• Be a better husband and father. I do what I can, but there's always room for improvement!
• Be a better friend to those who are truly friends.
• Write more!
• Publish at least one book (maybe two).
• Not roll my eyes when Cathy yells, "Hon?" from another room.
• Share more positivity, even when the subject matter is negative.
• Laugh lots, love more
• Make others laugh as often as possible. Others laughing makes me happy.

I think this is a pretty good list. As I read through it again, I realize it is not a living, breathing list, nor is it flexible. In my mind, these are all tangible, achievable goals that will remain in place, even when turds push my buttons. Was that negative? Sorry, I'll do better!

Things like, "I hope the new year brings you happiness and prosperity" are so cliché, but I honestly do want that for all of us. I will wish this for everyone on January 1st, throughout the entire year, and again on December 31st.

Let me close by saying this--I am happy that our paths have crossed. Whether we know each other on a personal level, in passing, or just online, you are all a part of my life and you make things good in a world that seems to tread in the deeps of evil and treachery. Thank you all for who you are!

My Final Blog of 2017

This is my last blog entry of 2017, so it seemed appropriate to take a stroll down memory lane. The year, at least for me, has been one of excitement and wonderful memories. There have been a few bad days and even some sad ones naturally, but by far and away, the year has been wonderful!

We swore in a new president, and whether you like him or not, the fact that we live in a country that has free and open elections is a luxury so many Americans take for granted. The peaceful transfer of power is envied all of the world, and while we enjoy talking about the cretins inhabiting the cesspool we call Washington D.C., we should be proud that our forefathers set up our system of government the way they did.

I was able to meet new friends and spend time with others that I have known for some time at a writers conference in Alabama. It was awesome to see my old friend Gary Gabelhouse, formerly of Nebraska and now living in Montana. He flew in from Lincoln to speak to so many aspiring writers about the "craft," marketing, and everything that should happen after a book goes to press. It was truly an inspiring talk!

I made a couple of business related trips and got to see former co-workers and, more importantly, friends that I had not seen for years! It was great seeing my old buddy Gordon Cordasco again, as well as Bob Ciriello who sadly passed away a couple of weeks after I left. These are/were great men that I have been fortunate to know and spend a part of my life with, even if we were in the Oreo trenches and struggling to survive. :)

While in New Jersey, I spent time with my daughter Courtney and her little family. It is always a perfect time when I get to hang out with them. A few months later, our grandson Rylan flew down and got introduced to country living for a week. Before he left to go home, the city boy had fired a few guns, caught a bunch of fish, and learned how to drive a tractor. The city boy was full on country!

Another stop made during the summer was in New Bern, North Carolina for a weekend of martial arts training. Getting to hang out with old friends, sweat, and train together is always a perfect time. I can honestly say that my karate training has afforded me a lifetime of friendships I would otherwise never have made.

Speaking of martial arts training, I flew to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania for an incredible weekend of training. When I left to go home, I was the proud recipient of about fifteen bruises up and down my arms. Sensei Terry Valentino and Sensei Peter Giffen are two exceptionally gifted teachers with world class personalities. The other instructors who taught sections are also wonderful!

Cathy and I made another trip to Asia in November. We returned to Hong Kong for a week where I got the opportunity to explore the island mostly solo while she was stuck in meetings. We did manage time together for a day long excursion to Lantau Island where we got to see the Giant Buddha, or Tan Tien Buddha. The site was so impressive, as was the beautiful monastery located on the grounds.

We left Hong Kong for Bangkok, Thailand to celebrate our anniversary. I have detailed this trip in an earlier blog if you are interested to read about our adventure, but I would like to stress that Thailand is a magical country filled with gloriously nice people. I look forward to the day that we get to return there. The Buddhist temples, the River Kwai, the food, the markets, the smells--I loved everything about the place.

Early December saw another martial arts related event when two of my students tested for black belt ranks in front of an assembled panel of advanced karate-ka. Deb Ginn, sensei, Mike Jones, sensei, Randy Franks, sensei, Chris Nelson, sensei, Jim Merriss, sensei, and Taylor Franks, sensei bore witness to the test and promotion of Watts and Moore sensei(s). It was so good to see that many of my closest friends in one place again.

Now, Christmas is almost upon us. To be honest, I have felt very Christmas-y this year. It seems like the holiday grows ever more materialistic, but I am probably just getting cantankerous in my old age. I suspect I will be more in the Christmas mood once the holiday is finally here.

I do hope and pray for everyone to have a beautiful Christmas surrounded by family and friends, and hope you all have a glorious New Year!

The Uneducated Southern Myth and the Punishment Meted Out for Over a Century

It is in our nature as a species to become defensive when attacked, especially when we are attacked at a relentless pace. Granted, I have a biased opinion about that which I am going to pen this blog/op-ed, but I implore you to hear me out before drawing a conclusion on the topic. And one other caveat to add: I have lived and traveled enough to draw my conclusions based upon observations, as well as historical fact.

I am a Gen X'r, or a person born into a family of Baby Boomers. Generation X is a largely forgotten one for reasons I cannot explain, except to say we were the beginning of smaller families after the raucous birthing after World War II. Our formative years were the 1980's--a decade of American prosperity, a Cold War, and an end of the Soviet Empire. We were also the first generation removed from the second largest, most disgusting stain in American history: racial segregation.

For those of us living in a post-racially divided southern state, schools educating blacks and whites in the same classroom was normal. As elementary school children, we knew nothing of racial segregation. In fact, anyone living through segregation would have confused someone from my generation by talking about removing one of our friends from a class because he/she was black.

Now, my generation has grown up and we have given birth to the next group--Millennials. This generation, no matter your opinion of them, have taken the "all people are human" to a whole new level of complexity, but whether or not you understand their approach is irrelevant to this topic. Although I will say, I can at least appreciate the love and generosity they try to instill on others (I will leave it at that).

The point of my previous paragraphs has lead up to the topic of this entry. Like many people, I enjoy picking and choosing Biblical scripture to quote. I really do not care what your personal religious preference is, but it is difficult to deny much of the wisdom contained inside its hold covers. One such quote is this, "Fathers shall not be put to death because of their children, nor shall children be put to death because of their fathers. Each one shall be put to death for his own sin." (Deuteronomy 24:16).

Since 1865 the southern United States, or more specifically the former Confederacy, has been punished and ridiculed by its northern counterparts on a regular basis. Despite President Lincoln's proclamation that the north would not do those exact things, the opposite has been true. How this has manifested itself is also noteworthy.

There is no doubt that blacks were not allowed employment in white owned companies in the south. This was a self-inflicted wound shot into the thigh of an already limping southern area. Rather than bringing labor into its workforce, many southern owned companies refused to hire blacks resulting in a poorer demographic overall. I shall not gloss over that fact!

Large corporations and manufacturing based companies refused to move facilities to the south, so as to avoid the stigmatism that came along with doing so. The same holds true today, although the tides have begun shifting somewhat, because southerners are willing to work for a lower wage than their union counterparts in the north.

Because of the disparity in economic factors between north and south, those individuals seeking an education often could not do so. A direct result of this disparity was a sense of "going it alone" and being self-sufficient. As southerners, the decision to figure things out on our own and do it ourselves became a point of pride.

Our dialect (distinctly different in each region of the deep south, but noticeable to southerners with an ear for such things) quickly became a subject by which the north would also ridicule us. The southern accent was described as quaint, unintelligible, and something only the uneducated would utter. In fact, the growing bourgeoisie of the north looked down their noses at such reprehensible forms of speech.

Let us fast forward to 2017 (almost 2018) and take note of how we, as a collective southern folk, are seen by our northern brothers. Still, we are looked upon with disdain; a region where white men wear pointy white hats and burn crosses in large fields while invoking God to protect us all, although most of us have never seen a Klansman, or haven't seen one in decades. We are assailed for our lack of education, despite having some of the most educated people (see Huntsville, Alabama as an example).

Have you paid particular notice to how the media portrays southerners, no matter their skin color? Let a tornado devastate a community and watch how quickly they find a trailer park with a toothless guy wearing a wife-beater t-shirt to interview (and before anyone is triggered by this remark, I spent a significant portion of my life living in a trailer, but my teeth are intact and every interview I've ever given has been with sleeves of some sort).

Do you listen to how politicians from the north talk about their southern counterparts? You would think our election process requires us to find the lowest, dumbest, most ridiculous cretin on the planet then place him or her in D.C. Note: check yourself and your own elected officials before jumping on this bandwagon.

The south continues to be punished for our fathers' indiscretions. By large, racial tensions in the south are good. We break bread together, we ride on buses with one another, we grow up playing with each other, and we attend church together. Why, then, does the north continue their ridicule? I suspect the answer lies somewhere between self-loathing and some underlying psychological issue that resonates with them alone.

In closing, what I find most disparaging about the punishment and ridicule levied by the north is that many of my fellow southerners now feel obliged to agree with them. Pummeling someone into submission is a disgusting act, but in many cases it appears to be working. To this I say to my fellow southerner (black and white alike): Southern man don't need him around anyhow. We think critically and are capable of being our own people. Your acceptance is not required.

Be well, y'all.

My Christmas Wish List

I'm not going to lie. I have been blessed in every way imaginable. So much so, that I cannot think of a single thing I personally want or need for Christmas. Friends, family, love, and laughter warm my heart and make me thankful for an incredibly rich life. Beyond those things, can a material possession really bring us joy? I think not.


In the world of good and misfortunes, there are obviously those who could use a little help or a hand with something. It is, in my opinion, a travesty to only think or act on helping (if you are physically and financially capable) during the holidays, but I also take into consideration how much more giving people are at this time of year. We should not be surprised by the number of people who dislike the holidays for one reason or other, so please keep them in mind should you decide to give someone a gift, a meal, or whatever. Oftentimes, people who dislike the holidays are the ones who have suffered the most, or grieve for loved ones taken around this time.


Recently, I learned of a friend's life that was unexpectedly taken. Just like that--a loving, friendly, outgoing person is gone. No material item will bring this person back. The only thing the family will have will be memories of their loved one now gone. This makes me sad on a level I cannot explain.


With that, I have thought about my Christmas wish list, and what I (or we) can do or give to bring a little joy to someone's life. How plausible is it to do something from the heart without thought of having something in return? After all, that is what the concept of gift giving and charity are built upon. Lest we take for granted all we have, please remember if you have a roof over your head, shoes on your feet, and food on your table, you are rich in comparison to the majority of the world.

My wish list is as follows:

• I would love for everyone reading this to call someone you haven't spoken to in a long, long time and tell them they are/were on your mind. If this person is someone with whom you have fallen out of favor with, or someone you feel has "done you wrong," make an effort to call them and wish them a Merry Christmas. Yes, this can be difficult, but being human isn't always easy.
• Take a small gift to a neighbor you don't speak to or really know. How cool would it be to make a new friend?
• Write a letter to a lost loved one and seal it in an envelope. This can be a very healing experience.
• Help someone you don't know. This doesn't have to be a money thing at all! Be creative.
• Stay off your phone while you are driving. Okay, this qualifies more as a pet peeve, but this is my list!
• Do not allow stress to get the better of you during the holidays. Everything you do, do with a smile.
• And finally, love your friends and family deeply. What better gift is there than that?

If you do one or all of these items, I congratulate you and love the fact that you are in my life. While I can come across as abrasive and cocky, as one person recently told me, I do have a passion for humanism and humanity.

Merry Christmas to you all!

Linear Thinking

For some time, I have pondered on the genius of Albert Einstein. In no uncertain terms will I ever claim to have even a rudimentary understanding of the math this man grasped. My brain aches any time I attempt to understand how Einstein was able to work through complex algebraic and geometrical math before breaking them down into a layman's philosophy.

As human beings, whether we grasp this concept or not, we think linearly. Even in our youth, teachers forced us to create "timelines" in English and history classes. For those of us lacking real math skills, those timelines also looked like integers that our math teachers made us map out; tick marks, positives and negatives, with zero always the midpoint.

Einstein's Theory of General Relativity opened a whole new way of thinking for scientists. Brother Albert once claimed that if the human could see far enough, he/she could see the back of his/her own head. He claimed that space and time were not mutually exclusive, but that one lived because of and with the other. In that context space IS time, and the rate of speed in which we accelerate through space dictates the passing and rate of time spent in motion. Is your head hurting yet?

 The curvature of the earth is a remedial example of this theory. If we look at distances between countries on opposites sides of the planet on a flat map, our brains see distance and time spent traveling in a linear fashion. However, a pilot will fly a plane in a wide arc up and away, or down and away, to save flight miles and time spent in the air to cover the distance.

"What does any of this have to do with my blog entry," you may ask? Well, I am of the notion that Einstein's theory was given to us to not only help us understand the finite universe, but to lend a hand to humanity in the way we think and see ourselves as creatures occupying an area at a given time. My belief that we are all interconnected through space, time, and our human-ness, runs parallel to my notion that we are also weaved together by our ancestors.

My point? If space and time are curved and spherical like everything in nature, is it unreasonable to believe the beginning of mankind stands immediately next to us in the here and now? If this concept is to be believed and understood, it should also be comprehended that we are indelibly connected to one another AND we are truly meshed with everything in space and time.

Yes, I understand the gravity (ba-da-bum) of this entry, but I honestly believe that we, as a species, must attempt to look at our world in a broader more spherical context, rather than distance (or time) from point a to point b. When we do that, we are forced to be kinder, more understanding, and *gulp* happier.

"Space by itself, and time by itself, are doomed to fade away into mere shadows, and only a kind of union of the two will preserve an independent reality." ~Albert Einstein

So Many Blessings

Cathy and I have been blessed beyond measure to get to travel the globe. I get that this is a truism and want everyone to realize we understand how blessed we are and continue to be. For those who have not had the good fortune to see other countries, or other regions of our own massive United States (or Canada), I entice you to take a trip to some place new, even if that place is close to home.

I have some personal favorites that come to mind both near and far (at least from my personal locale) that I have seen and touched and will share with you here in hopes that you might see the beauty of our own nation. Many of these trips are affordable and worth your time and energy to get to--so get out there and see stuff!

(Note: Yes, I am aware that I sound like a dime store travel guide)

Mt. Cheaha, Alabama

This mountain was a place very special to the Muscogee Indians who inhabited the land around it for generations. The highest point in Alabama, as well as the highest point south of Interstate 20, Mt. Cheaha is rife with hiking trails and campgrounds for those seeking time alone in the densely wooded area. I especially love this mountain and have spent countless hours hiking the Pinhoti Trail from the top down through the valleys below. From atop Cheaha you can peer down on the Coosa Valley and see the end of the Appalachian Mountain Chain, for which Cheaha is a part. The ridges of the mountain always remind me of a sleeping dragon, but I digress...

New Orleans, Louisiana

The Crescent City is both filthy and simultaneously beautiful. Tragedy and victory lie within the city's walls, as we all remember Hurricane Katrina and revel in the port's rich and dynamic history. Much has been written about the French Quarter, so I won't go into great detail here. I will say that it is a worthwhile trip for folks within easy driving distance to take in a place so rich in Americana. And the food--Laissez le bon temps rouler!

Shenandoah Valley, Virginia

Easily the most breathtaking views in the eastern half of the United States. The history of the area is tantalizing and the Appalachians to your west are amazing. Naturally, Fall foliage is something to see, but I prefer a drive through the valley during winter time when snow sits atop the mountainous peaks.

New York City, New York

I must profess a love-hate relationship with what locals call "the city." I enjoy visiting once in a blue moon, and despise the place toward the end because of the hustle and bustle, and much rudeness that abounds in the Big Apple. That said, there is no finer dining than NYC, and my favorite area of Chinatown is the largest of its namesake in the United States. You can't beat the fun of Chinatown during the summer. The East Village has very cool clubs and excellent food, but for an incredible evening, try the rooftop lounge of the Empire Hotel.

Moab, Utah

One of the funkiest towns I've ever visited. Moab sits in the southeast of one of the most beautiful states in the country and is also nearby one of my favorite places-Arches National Park. Hippies and wannabes comb the streets during the summer. Don't be surprised when a twenty-something white guy with dread locks waits on you at a local restaurant. Oh, and don't sit around the town and not see the Delicate Arch. It's worth the short hike up a steep rock hill to see that incredible work of nature!

Crescent City, California

You can keep San Diego, Los Angeles and the entire Bay Area. Those places aren't my cup of tea, but the small village of Crescent City is amazing. Nestled between the Pacific Ocean and the jaw dropping Redwood Forest lies a gem of a town. The locals are so very friendly. Take a couple mile journey from town to see the biggest trees imaginable standing proudly in the California rain forest. Yes, it does rain (constantly) in northern California. Don't forget to watch for sea lions on the rock walls next to the PCH (US Highway 1, or the Pacific Coast Highway).

Boston, Massachusetts

Boston is a very interesting city. It's small, as far as metropolitan areas are concerned, but it is rich in history and wonder. For a southerner, the people can be crude and callous, but don't let that sway your opinion of the place. Remember, we seem like backwoods folk to them. :)  If you visit Boston, I highly recommend taking a ridiculous ride on one of Ducks, the land/sea flotilla that is owned by the city that offers historical tours both on land and river. Friends took me on this tour a few years ago and I will never forget it. Great times, indeed!

Portland, Oregon

Portland is a strange town, in that bicyclists and pedestrians have more road rights than motorists. Be careful if you drive around town. Should you hit one of the aforementioned, you will likely be held for cause, even if it wasn't your fault. All that aside, hanging out in a town guarded by the glorious Mt. Hood is always fun. I loved Jimmy Mak's jazz club for an evening of soothing music and good food.

St. Augustine, Florida

I have often told people that St. Augustine is my favorite place in the United States, and that hasn't changed. I have walked the "Old City" so many times that I have gotten to know local shop owners on a first name basis. St. Augustine is the oldest, continuously inhabited city in the country. Founded in 1565 by the Spanish, the town still houses the Castillo de San Marcos: the Spanish fort built to protect the town from invaders. The lighthouse that sits a few miles from the Castillo is a favorite place of ghost hunters and Isabella's Cigar Shop on Cuna Street is one of my favorite haunts (no pun intended). If you stop in, tell Isabella that Cathy and I said hello. She's a wonderful Cuban-American lady with fantastic stories to tell.

These are just a few of my favorite places to visit in the U.S. I hope you have the opportunity to visit a few of them, or compile a list of your own personal favorites. You can't beat traveling and experiencing new places, and our grand country should be explored as much as any other place you favor.

Have fun!

Thailand--My Thoughts

Bangkok is a massive city teeming with Buddhist temples and canals to help drain flood prone areas during the rainy season. On its streets, taxis, buses, cars, and Mopeds zip from location to location--traffic lights and stop signs are mere suggestions. Back alleys support traffic and hawker stalls with food and trinkets for sale are available for the adventurous.

As in most third world countries, there are two classes of people: the very wealthy and the excessively poor. Single items such as small bottles of vinegar and other condiments are sold for twenty baht so the poor can afford them (currently, thirty-two baht is equivalent to one U.S. dollar). The homeless sit on platforms and steps begging for change, many of whom wear ragged clothing and have obvious physical disabilities. It seems to me that the world's poor have the same face no matter the region or country.

Like other Asian nations, the Thai people are extremely friendly, placing their hands in prayerful supplication and bowing when they finish a conversation or financial transaction. Broad smiles light up their faces; a truly happy people.

Many of the sidewalks are built with their version of paving stones. As you walk, it is important to be aware of the ones that have come loose or you will pay for your inattention by tripping and falling down. Conversely, the streets are in perfect condition--a testament to the level of importance the government places on moving traffic in a city of eighteen million people.

Billboards, the size of which I have never seen in my life, line bustling highways. Advertising everything from perfume to warnings about Buddhist statues not being used for adornment and decoration, the signs span a football field in length.

The Air Train is their public rail system that moves hundreds of thousands of people a day through the expanse of buildings and markets. People are very polite, but the Thai tend to be louder than many of their Asian counterparts.

Bangkok is a city paralyzed by its past and struggling to catch up to the rest of the word. Financially speaking, the developing nation reminds me much of the Philippines. Their greatest asset is their people and it shows in how they treat guests. The Thai people are very service oriented and tend to great everyone with a smile and a bow. It is so refreshing to be in a place where courtesy outweighs the need to get from point A to a final destination. Things move rapidly in this big city, but you get a distinct sense that if you do not arrive on time the world will continue spinning without reason for discontent.

The air is hot, even by Alabama standards, and moisture hangs in the air like a wet towel on a clothes line. Sweat drips off your body within seconds of stepping outside and anywhere there is shade, you will find a Thai lounging beneath. Bottled water is a must, as tap water is not to be trusted--this is the same in developing nations around the world.

A tour of Buddhist temples is a must if you visit. The reverence the Thai people place on their religion and on the monks who practice this way of spirituality is a part of who they are. Kindness and politeness are bridged by their religion.

While touring one of the many exquisite temples, a monk yelled at me, "Today is a beautiful day to see our temple, yes?" He beamed with pride!

"Yes, and your temple is glorious and beautiful," I responded.

He bowed before thanking me for my response, a huge smile showing a mouthful of teeth and even more pride that a foreigner would say something like I did.

How many times did I say something was beautiful, nice, or clean, only to be thanked by our tour guide? It is apparent that Bangkok is its people, and its people is Bangkok.

After spending so much time in the city, we ventured three and a half hours west to the Thailand/Myanmar (Burma) border. Lush jungles and pointed mountain peaks loomed as though warning onlookers to venture no further or face a hell they could not possibly understand.

We walked through one of the many tiny markets in a small town whose barely paved roads were filled with rain water and mud to awaiting railroad tracks. Our guide had us carefully walk on the tracks which stretched over the River Kwae (that is Kwai if you are a westerner) until we reached the side of a mountain with a man-made cave opened to anyone wanting to enter.

It was explained to us that during the Japanese occupation of Thailand, POW's were forced to chisel out the cave so Japanese soldiers had a place to camp and sleep. The size of the cave was impressive and a Buddhist shrine now sits inside for an individual to step forward to pray for the souls lost during the digging of the cave, or to simply ask for the Asian god for good luck and fortune.

Our next stop was Hellfire Pass. For those, like me, who do not understand what Hellfire Pass was, I will attempt to give you highlights. The Japanese, during World War II, wanted to invade India via Calcutta. Since that area of the gigantic nation is landlocked, they believed the easiest way was to force POW's to build a railroad through Thailand and Burma that would carry soldiers for the imminent invasion. POW's were forced to work eighteen hours a day in stifling heat, while being eaten alive by malaria laden mosquitoes. They were given two meals a day of rice and water with no protein of any kind. Their bodies withered to nothing as they hand chiseled through granite hillsides, the Japanese beating them if they didn't work hard enough. POW's too weak to continue were left to the side to die.

Slathered in mosquito repellent, we walked a mile and a half of what remained of the Pass. The mosquitos buzzed our heads, and a couple brave ones managed to bit me where I either missed putting a dollop of the cream, or they simply didn't care. Either way, I kept imagining myself laying in a Thai hospital while running a 105 degree fever. Fortunately, that did not happen.

Incredibly large groves of bamboo lined the old railroad path and large trees fought to reclaim that which was removed some seventy-five years earlier. The Myanmar border was just to our west, the mountains providing a natural separation between the two countries. Our bodies were dripping with sweat by the time we reached the visitor center; the railroad tracks had long since been removed and concrete steps moving tourists up and down the trail remained. Our legs were screaming for mercy, despite the short hike through the jungle.

Our van sat idle in the parking lot, and I cannot recall a time when air conditioning felt so good. After an hour drive, we stopped to walk across a special bridge. If you have ever seen the movie "Bridge over the River Kwai" then you are familiar with the wooden and steel bridges the Japanese again forced POW's to build during WWII.

Our short trek over the railroad tracks on the bridge took us to an awaiting boat that shot us up and down the river as we snapped photos and looked at shanties and luxury river suites. The very poor and rich shared the river's shores, a strangely bitter scene that was not lost on me.

Water from the river covered our legs that was splashed from the low seated skiff. Our river captain eased the boat to the dock where we exited and walked to our van. Once again, we understood why the Thai people value air conditioning like they do. Our driver handed us cold towels dipped in a sanitary concoction so we could clean ourselves up and cool down a little faster. I can't explain how good those little towels felt after spending time in humidity that felt as though it was embracing you like a long-lost family member.

The three remaining three hour drive back to our condo allowed us to see repeating scenes. Street after street, block after block, people sold their wares from small hawker stalls and make-shift carts. Food, trinkets, basic needs, everything a person required to live life could be purchased. Westerners are used to buying things in bulk, but the poor Asians sell single items. Things like a single egg, a tiny pack of toilet paper, a single cigarette, etc. can be bought from one of these stalls.

We stumbled into our place after the long drive, my eyes bloodshot and my body weary. I allowed myself a little time to process everything I had seen before drifting off to sleep. Allow me to say that I am so happy I got to experience this phenomenal country.

Hong Kong--An Introspective Look

As many who follow me know, I have been in Hong Kong for a short amount of time.. This is my second trip to this beautiful city and I would like to offer you a glimpse of life here. The city is a bustling hub of business and diversity, not so dissimilar to the United States biggest metropolises, most notably New York City.

It is always interesting, to me at least, to compare and contrast how I perceive an area and its inhabitant to our own in the U.S. Without offering a detailed, step-by-step, blog about our trip, I prefer to describe the place to you in hopes that you can have a glimpse into life here.

Hong Kongians (Hong Kongites--I'm really not sure) are addicted to their phones on a scale that puts the United States to shame. As much as it drives me crazy to see people walking around with their noses stuck to their miniature screens, the people of Hong Kong take it to a whole new level. When Cathy and I were here several yeas ago (2009), this was not an issue. With the progression of technology, people cannot put them down and focus on what is around them.

To be honest, this is my only real criticism of the people of Hong Kong. They are extremely gracious, very helpful, and incredibly friendly when engaged in conversation, as limited as it sometimes is.

Packed at all hours is the subway system with people moving about the city. When I say "packed," I mean people squeezed into each car like sardines in a can. Immediately, I noticed two things: a.) few, if any, Hong Kongians wear cologne or perfume, and b.) there was little to no body odor noticed, even with all the arms raised above head level while hanging onto the rails and handles in the subway cars. These are the things I pay attention to when I travel--sites, smells, tastes, sounds, and language (spoken and body).

Missing is the constant horn blowing that you hear throughout other large cities in the world, and totally absent is the sound of police sirens. There is no worry when walking down sidewalks during the day or night, even as people offer a quick glance your way because your features and stature, while not uncommon to them, are still foreign in a country that is ninety-two percent Chinese.

As with most metropolitan areas, the periodic smell of open sewers sometimes hits you like a baseball to the head, but it is brushed aside by the incredible aromas of restaurants cooking and offering their wares until the late night hours. Hong Kong's harbor teams with activity--sampan boats, ocean liners, and shipping vessels float its waters throughout the day. Gone is the smell I remembered eight years ago from the harbor, but I have not asked what has been done to correct the obvious pollution.

The former British colony is still governed by Parliamentary laws and policy, but the presence of the parental China is certainly seen and felt. Military personnel await foreign travelers in airports and in the subway system. The British influence is still felt by way of local vehicles, with their steering wheels on the right side while they drive on the left side of the road.

Another interesting nuance I picked up was the lack of interchange on city streets, subways, or in the markets. People avoided touching one another to the greatest extent possible, and rarely made eye contact with anyone around them (except me, the large quai lo).

Finally, I spent a little time in two Buddhist temples, one complete with a monastery on the property. It is tantamount, at least in my mind, to attempt some trite understanding of another culture's religion or spirituality when trying to understand them as a people. I do not know the percentage of secular peoples on the island, but I will say I personally witnessed some devout Buddhists while here. One lady in particular climbed the two hundred sixty-eight steps to the Tian Tan Buddha on Lantau Island. Every two or three steps she would drop to her knees and gesticulate in front of the large statue. Next, I watched her walk around the Buddha statue counter-clockwise three times, her eyes closed, palms together as she prayed. For me, this was a moving tribute for a religion westerners do not fully comprehend and struggle to accept.

Should you get the chance to visit Hong Kong, Kow Loon, and Lantau Island, I encourage you to take advantage of your time and take in as much of the culture as possible. The Chinese are beautiful people and I am happy to have shared a moment in time and space with them.

A Lesson for All

The tone of this entry will likely sound as though it is ridden with machismo and testosterone. Understand that is not the intent, as I will (hopefully) demonstrate in a few paragraphs later the redeeming value of this article. Please keep in mind as you read this that I am a generally easy-going guy with a jovial outlook on life.


Fresh back from a solo weekend trip to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Cathy, after she picked me up at the airport, and I decided to try a restaurant in our town that we had not previously visited. We ate our Italian fare before jumping into the car to drive home. Cathy mentioned that she needed to go to the store and asked that I go with her. Knowing how much I love going grocery shopping, I sluggishly pointed the car toward the store and gingerly pressed the gas pedal.


After purchasing our items, we sauntered toward our car, which I had parked at the back of the lot because of the number of other people who apparently had the same idea as we did. Cathy often laughs at me because my eyes are constantly scanning our surroundings. Call me paranoid if you wish, but I prefer to think of myself as one who has a heightened sense of situational awareness.


Parked next to our car was a black Chevy Silverado pick-up truck, complete with a large American flag standing proudly on a pole that was mounted in the center of the truck's bed. Plastered on the back windows were various decals, the most prominent being a rendition of a Confederate flag--usually a tell-tale sign of someone with little or no hope at being successful in this life. Now, before some of my Confederate loving friends levy hatred on yours truly, let me assure you that my great-great grandfather served in the Alabama forty-ninth infantry division of the CSA, so my ties to that time period are direct. I do not run from my history, but that does not mean I have to appreciate the newest perversion of that flag that many have embraced (usually those with little historical context).


Standing next to the truck was its owner, a man roughly my size, wearing a black t-shirt and camouflaged pants. After all, nothing says "I love grocery shopping" like wearing forest print. Next to him was a portly woman with blond-ish hair, presumably his wife. This is where it started to get a little interesting.


I watched as this "gentleman" glared at Cathy, my wife of Asian decent who stands roughly five feet tall. Next, he turned his attention to me and attempted the same glare. All of this was processed in my mind in a matter of a nano-second. The truck, the stereotypical outfit, the flags, et al. I realized I was dealing with someone who felt his skin tone made him superior in some bizarre way. What he did not realize at that moment in time is that my body had suddenly gone into attack mode, my heart rate actually dropped, and mental crosshairs were already on his torso positioned exactly where I intended to attack had he elected to make a ridiculous move.


My eyes locked on his, and as he tried to intimidate me, I recall talking to myself, repeating the phrase, "Breathe, breathe." Controlling my breath and heart rate when a dump of adrenalize falls into my gut has always been something my body has done. All the years I spent bouncing in bars and trading hands with those who allowed the alcohol, and whatever else they ingested make decisions for them, gave me a profound advantage in stressful situations.


My gaze followed his as he continued to walk. Was he thinking of saying or doing something? Possibly, but something on his face changed and he continued walking toward the store. I exhaled then popped the trunk of the car where I deposited the items we purchased. I turned my head one last time and watched as the tough guy walked through the automatic doors and disappeared inside the shop.


Cathy and I got inside the car and began driving away. She remarked to me, "Did you see that guy staring at me?" Unaware of the soundless discussion the man and I shared, I replied, "I sure did."


I recalled for her the little stare down the gentleman and I shared to which she replied, "He was obviously a white supremacist."


"Yeah, and not a smart one either," I said.


Why detail this little episode for you, the reader? Because I want to stress the importance of a few things!


1.) Do not show or feel fear in the face of someone attempting to intimidate you. Chances are the individual knows little about much and is merely trying to scare you.


2.) Control your emotions and remain focused on the situation. Protect your loved ones at all costs.


3.) Be prepared to rain down extreme violence when necessary.


Cathy (and my beautiful Mom) will be the first to tell you about the impact she (Cathy) has had on me. In my younger days, I would not hesitate to engage with someone like this fellow, but my lovely wife does not approve of me losing my composure. I work hard to maintain her approval even when I feel the old me creeping in.


All that said, I have levied my rage at men before, and have no qualms doing so again should the need arise. Fortunately for this guy that was not required, and I am happy for it. The thought of Cathy's disapproval is much worse for me than sitting in a dank jail cell.


My final thoughts on this episode are simply to reiterate what I wrote above. Do not allow anyone to gain entry into your mind and heart without your own consent. Remain in control of yourself and do not allow adrenaline to take over. This is difficult to do, but with some training it can be managed. Lastly, as a last resort, do not hesitate to inflict violence on someone intent on doing the same to you or a loved one. I do not, and I will not.

Pray for peace, but prepare for battle.

An Adventure to be Had

In just over a month, Cathy and I will climb aboard an airplane en route to the Far East for a second time as a married couple. We will be staying in Hong Kong before taking a hop to Bangkok Thailand. For the first time in several years, I am excited about a plane ride and a visit to a foreign land.

Several years ago we flew to Seoul, South Korea then into Manila, The Philippines. After a few days in Manila we jumped on a plane to Hong Kong. We did a tour of Bruce Lee's former city, suffered from an illness, and boarded the Turbo Jet to Macau, the Las Vegas of Asia.

During out stay in these Chinese lands we experienced life on a scale not understood by those who have not had the opportunity to leave their own borders. I saw what real poverty is, beyond the scope of American "poor." I witnessed a county that forbade the use of four wheeled automobiles without issuance from the government, which made itself the most two-wheeled traveled country in the world.

The Philippines is home to millions of people on seven thousand plus islands. Some of the nicest, most humble individuals in the world walk their streets, despite a lack of industry to support a populace in need of work. I cannot stress enough the beauty of the Filipinos and the glorious landscape that makes up their country.

Cathy and I then traveled to Tokyo, Japan where we experienced a culture romanticized in American movies (and for good reason). Japan is a country where politeness is expected and rudeness shunned. I watched thousands of people walk around without bumping into one another, and once, while standing in a store, a lady asked my forgiveness for standing next to me as she looked at an item on a store shelf. Can you imagine?

As I said earlier, we are both excited about our upcoming trip; I am most excited about traveling to Thailand and experiencing the sites, smells, and lifestyle of the Thai people. Experiencing how others live and operate within their own country's boundaries is what I most enjoy. Yes, I'm certain I will do "touristy" stuff, but my focus is always on the people of the land.

More to follow...

I Am Overwhelmed!

When I first started this blog a few years ago, it was simply to relay stories of my past; specifically, things I found humorous. Sometimes, stories I heard people tell, or things I heard on television prompted chuckles from deep down, or perhaps a tearful memory would crop up. Regardless of the emotion that was beckoned, I would say to myself, "That reminds me of a time when I..." and the trip down memory lane would begin.

From those memories this blog was born. I had no more than a few readers at first, some topics not garnering more than fifteen or twenty "hits." None of that mattered to me because I was only interested in cataloging those stories for family and friends. In fact, if one or two people "liked" one of my blogs, I would smile. Those likes encouraged me to write more!

Next, I turned my writing to politics, a topic I realize turns a lot of people off. Since there were only a few readers gravitating toward my blog, I wasn't too concerned about upsetting anyone. I mean nothing from nothing is still nothing, right? :)

But something strange happened along the way--more and more people began reading some of the meaningless ramblings of a man who just enjoyed the craft of writing. I was astounded when people began sharing my blog with friends that I was not connected with on social media. Soon enough my little counter topped one thousand readings. "Wow," I thought, "there are people who really read this stuff?"

In short order, a small but loyal following linked their Google+ accounts to mine, and many people subscribed to my blog. The only investment a person had to make was a minute or two of their time to read it, so it was easy I suppose. After all, that is why I invest my time with other people's blogs. The only commitment I have to make is giving myself over to their writing for a few minutes, so why not?

The point of this entry isn't necessarily to take another trip down memory lane. On the contrary, I wanted to take a moment to thank each and every person who reads this blog. Recently, we topped 35,000 views and I was once again amazed at its reach. Many people in the U.S., Canada, various countries in South America, throughout Europe, Russia, Japan, The Philippines, Australia, and several others take the time to read my meandering thoughts and musings. Talk about a loving feeling I have for humanity!

In closing, I want to thank you again for reading, debating, commenting, disagreeing, agreeing, enjoying, or hating the things I write. Your feedback is invaluable, and you make this all worthwhile.

Peace and love to all y'all!

The Indelible American Spirit

Sometimes I fear America has lost its way. Hearing and watching people decry our way of life, specifically, those blessed and fortunate enough to live here, bothers me to my core. Without a doubt, I follow politics, have my own opinions on various political topics, and, if you follow me on social media you know already that I have zero problem sharing my take on things.


When I watch the news and see idiots out protesting various events, or watch as people take positions on topics that do not align with American values or our way of life, I feel my ire rising like steam off an Alabama highway after a good rain in July. Like many others, I struggle to bite my tongue when I see people tearing at the very fabric of society and questioning our laws. Want to change things, do it the right way via legislation!


Then something like Hurricane Harvey occurs and we witness people helping people regardless of race or social station. We've seen neighbors pulling neighbors out of raging and dangerous waters, flotillas of private boats arriving in droves to help, and an outpouring of money, food, water, and clothes to help our fellow Americans.


In order to preserve our way of life, we must embrace this resilience and dependence on self and neighbor, rather than on government or elected officials. The backbone of our nation was built on hard work, drive, and a never-say-die attitude. If the rest of the world has decided they do not like us, that is fine. We love one another and will have each other's back in good times and bad.


As we watch with great fear the next natural catastrophe close in on us, let us remember to hold the people of this country in our hearts and prayers. After the storm has passed, let us rush to aid our fellow Americans get back on their feet.


Forget the fringe drivel; none of that stuff is relevant, and I know we are the greatest country on the planet because of our willingness to help one another without question. We are rich because we have one another. We prosper because we care. We love because that is what we are called to do.

A Post For Those in the Path of Hurricane Irma

Leave.

I'm Tired of It

I am going to channel my inner Andy Rooney for a minute (if you're too young to remember Andy, just go to youtube and search his name: you can thank me later) and attempt to offer up a no-nonsense op-ed, sans emotion and conjecture. I realize that is out of the ordinary for me, but don't call 9-1-1 just yet--I am certain I'll be back to my old self before you can say neo-Nazi.


I used to fall victim to the "here comes the next Civil War" rhetoric espoused by anyone not paying attention to the nation as a whole. The media has always attempted to drive a wedge between Americans--for different reasons, and some that are more speculation than hardened fact--mostly because derision and division drive ratings, and with ratings come corporate sponsorships, and with sponsorships come a flood of money. You guessed it, a river of dead presidents making a news corporation rich while the rest of us agonize and wallow in our own uneducated emotional fragilities.


It is pretty safe to say that less one percent of the population identifies, on any scale, with a particular hate group. By "identify" I mean, they are card carrying members of the KKK, some neo-Nazi skinhead group, BLM, antifa, etc. Most likely, there are a higher percentage of sympathizers (my estimates link between three and five percent of our population) who support these groups. If that is true, why do we allow ourselves to engage in the ridiculousness that seems to consume our social media accounts?


Sure, I'm a political junkie with opinions as strong as the next person, but my opinion(s) is/are mine, not someone else's. I have zero issue engaging someone in debate, and at least try to keep it civil. Yes, yes, I've lost my cool on several occasions, but I TRY my best to keep emotion out of it and stick to the facts as I know and understand them. My approach is often seen as confrontational or condescending; and perhaps this is sometimes true. More often, I believe, the person with the opposing point of view is emotionally charged and elects to either a.) resort to making the issue personal, or b.) slamming the proverbial victim card on the table because they feel as though I've said something offensive.


Back to the intent of this post--every day I trudge into work and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with black, white, Asian, and Hispanic co-workers. We laugh and carry on, protected from the outside world by the walls surrounding us, working together with common goals and interests. No one worries about a Klan rally, a Black Panther Party, or an MS13 gang shooting. We just work and try to make thins as fun as possible. Sure, we have disagreements about how to get things done, and we make fun of each other for the stupid things we say or do, but we are like a big family.


If that is the case for approximately five hundred people in a single location, I suspect the rest of us work and get along with those different (in many ways) than us on a regular basis. Why get worked up over a media intent on driving ratings by driving a wedge between us? Two days ago, we were talking about monuments, today we're back to Muslims killing people in Europe. Where did the outrage go? I'll tell you where it went--to the next story!

Y'all have a lovely weekend and enjoy yourselves. If you feel yourself offended by anything I've written here, then I appreciate you allowing me to live in your head rent free.  :)

Conversations That Matter

Sometimes, poignant conversations can and will transpire in the strangest of places, the weirdest of times, and with people with whom you have never conversed. Talks or discussions that resonate with us are also the ones that find a place in our memories, carving out a small niche in our mind where they dwell until we call upon them again. These are the talks that serve us well, that help us relay those life lessons to others, and are the things that make us human.


Recently, I purchased lumber at Home Depot, a rather innocuous event that I have completed without issue dozens, maybe hundreds of times. In my free time, I have been building a small shed in our backyard that will house my lawn and gardening tools. It is nothing massive, but it has been my little project that I am pretty proud of, and one that allows me to hone some basic carpentry skills.


I pulled my old pickup truck to lumber loading area then hopped out and grabbed my cart holding a couple of large pieces of press board and siding for my shed. The usual helpful workers clambering around the store were not to be found as I began transferring my small stockpile into the bed of the F-150. An older black gentleman stopped and asked if I needed any help.


"No sir, but I do appreciate you asking," I responded.
"You sure you're strong enough to pick that stuff up by yourself?" he asked.
I laughed. "I reckon I can manage, but thanks again."


I picked up the first 4 x 8 piece of press board and watched it slip out of my hands as I turned to put it into the bed of my truck.


"Alright, son, now I'll help ya'," the man told me.
I laughed again. "Well, thank you."


As we loaded the material he noticed another gentleman smoking a cigarette.


"You know, I stopped smoking in 1970," he explained.
"Oh yeah?" I asked.
"Yep. I regret I ever started smoking. Picked up another bad habit too," he said.
"What's that?" I asked as I slid another board off the cart.
"Chasing women," he said matter-of-factly. "I got married when I was sixteen years old and my wife was fourteen. Been married fifty-seven years now. I used to go out on weekends acting the fool, but my wife finally told me she didn't care. Said that was less for her to have to deal with when I was out on the weekends. After she told me that, I started staying home," he laughed.


I cackled. "Well, women certainly know how to put things in perspective, don't they?"
"They sure do, son. Do you have any regrets?" He asked me.
I stopped loading the truck and wiped a large bead of sweat that was making its way down the side of my face.
"I'm a grown man, sir, and I have a lifetime of regrets. I just try real hard to forgive myself and push forward," I responded.
He shook his head and laughed. "I know you're right."


Regrets, forgiveness, introspection, and good conversation make for real life.


As a wise person once said, "Live, laugh, and love."


Y'all be well.

Earn Your Own Way! (Political Rant...You've Been Warned)

I just received a robot call from an outfit called United Breastcare Foundation asking for a donation. Now, I am a guy and am united in saving all the breasts. Breasts are great and should be preserved for as long as possible. In fact, what man (MAN) in his right mind would not want to help save the beautiful women sporting those life-giving mammary glands that we enjoy staring at while hanging out on a beach, pool, work, while driving, standing, sleeping, watching television...yeah, you get the picture.

All humor aside, one of the great things that has made America great (again/always) is our giving nature. We help those incapable of helping themselves, but pick ourselves up by our own bootstraps and frown upon asking for help unless in great need. We're 'Muricans, dammit and we take care of our own.

With that said, it is important that we understand what capitalism means. From dictionary.com--

noun

1. an economic system in which investment in and ownership of the means of production, distribution, and exchange of wealth is made and maintained chiefly by private individuals or corporations, especially as contrasted to cooperatively or state-owned means of wealth.

Interestingly, our own Declaration of Independence, Articles of Confederation, and Constitution of the United States in no way outline methods or laws that require anyone to pay for someone else. If that is true (and it is), why are so many hell bent on keeping in place ridiculous laws like the Affordable Care Act?

The reason is clear to those of us with a defined notion of self-preservation and a desire to maintain The Constitution; laws such as the ACA are the antithesis of capitalism and freedom. They handcuff Americans by making them dependent on government (you know, those folks we vote for in hopes of keeping us free, but whose actions are exactly the opposite). Supporters of this nonsense are perplexing and strange. They scream about "freedom" while supporting those who desire to control us!

Of course, the ACA is only symptomatic of a much larger problem for those who support it. Many of these same individuals want to sit at home watching television or backpacking around the countryside while the government supports their whimsical nature. My question to these individuals--where do you think the government gets the money to support your laziness?

I will leave this here for your to chew on, ponder, and consider. If you have used the ACA to your benefit then I am happy for you. But before you respond, perhaps you could offer your thanks to me and the millions of others that paid for your care.  :)

Father's Day--An Emotional Day

I am forty-eight years old this year and blessed with two gorgeous biological daughters, and three exemplary step-children. The greatest benefit of being a man is being a dad. Dads will nurture, embrace, and protect their offspring in a way that women won't or can't understand. Yes, mothers are protective, but dads are willing to put their lives on the line for everything that is their children and family. We are conditioned to be that strong person that our kids want to emulate, and this conditioning is right and should be without question.

Mother's Day is a day of earth, beginnings, life, and love. Father's Day is a day of sun, toughness, and light. It's a day to celebrate one half of life-giving and compassion. Father's Day is a gloriously quiet holiday celebrated by families everywhere via grilling, beer, and laughter.

I have (as of Sunday) spent twenty-five Father's Days without my dad, but never a day goes by that I don't smile when thinking of him or some silly thing he said. My Pops wasn't the best carpenter in the world, didn't know everything about politics that others may have understood, nor was he man without flaws. He was, above all else, a human being struggling to make his way through life like we all do.

One dream my Dad always shared with me was to own his own business. He grew weary of working for someone else and doing what others told him to do. Dad was a dreamer, an American, a patriot, and a veteran. He embodied everything about a poor man trying to lift himself out of poverty on his own and without the help of anyone else. Dad was proud and made sure that hard work and a "never say die" attitude was emblazoned in his son's minds.

This Father's Day is a melancholy one for me. It's one that makes me happy to be a Dad...to be one who not only aided in creating life, but in shaping and melding my kids into good, productive members of society. They are what my Dad wanted his boys to be.

So, pardon me if I shed a tear while I think about my Dad and wish he was here to talk to me and see what has become of his grandchildren. I have no doubt about how proud he would be or how often he would tell his friends about their accomplishments. My kids are products of his teachings, however short they were, and I look forward to sharing time and stories with him once again.

Back on Track (I Think I Can, I Think I Can)

I am blessed that I do not suffer from writer's block, nor have I ever. Ideas for books, magazine articles, or my blogs come relatively easy for me. Like I said, I am blessed--this isn't intended as bragging. In some regards it's almost debilitating, as there is so much I want to share and find myself lacking focus on one project then jumping to the next.


I rationalize it like this, "I've got to get these ideas into my computer before they slip from my memory. If I do that, I can always come back to the previous ones and finish them."


Well, I have begun the last and final project until I finish the previous ones. There are four or five active titles that I have started and not pushed through to completion, but I have refocused and rededicated myself to getting those done!


One of the larger issues I face, and many, many other do as well, is having enough time to work on our written projects (or music, or gardens, or motorcycles, etc.). While writing my first two novels, I approached them in a businesslike manner: I would force myself to write "x" number of words per week. If I slacked off one day, I pushed myself the next to make up for the previous. In doing so, I managed to complete the second novel (rough draft) in a matter of months, go through the editing process, and watch the finished product be born.


So, I am back to approaching my writing as both a love and a business. I love to write, but discipline must drive the project. From a practical standpoint, dedicating a proscribed amount of time each day to write is the best way to finish projects. Now that I am forcing myself back on that path, I hope to complete at least one project by the end of the year. Another one that I began almost two years ago keeps nagging at me to finish--that will be next up. After those, I will return to the world of Bill Evers, bringing him and his adventures back to life. How I have missed writing about Bill, Buddy, and the gang!


There you have it--I'm back on this writing thing. The fire is reignited and burning hot. Okay, that's probably an exaggeration, but I am busy at the keyboard once again. :)

Forever Lasting

Once in a while there are iconoclastic events or movements that forever impact and change how humans think, perceive, or interact. When a bawdy William Shakespeare wrote and published his infamous Taming of the Shrew he could not have known the lasting impact it would have on future plays, movies (of course he wouldn't have known this), or the English language. There would have been zero chance that Shakespeare would have an idea that his comedic play about a man attempting to "tame" his would-be wife by starving her and depriving her of drink would be debated by scholars centuries later as to whether it was misogynistic or not. After all, while he may have wanted to drive home a point, there would have been no way ole William could have possibly known of the plays lasting impact!


Notably, other writers have created a substantial uproar with things they have written, but none, in my opinion, have gotten close to striking nerves, inflecting changes in language, or impacting the human race (purely from an artistic perspective) like William Shakespeare. His comedies, tragedies, and dramas are without comparison or competition. In fact, many movies and stories written today are based on those he created five hundred years ago.

Again in my opinion, there are creative, artistic visionaries who come along once every two or three centuries that have an influence over so many others; they make or do something that changes how future artists conduct themselves. It is with that that I proclaim The Beatles "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" as the musical equivalent of William Shakespeare's plays.

Fifty years ago this album was released and remains one of the most listened to musical ensembles of all time. This album has single handedly influenced musicians for three generations and will likely continue to do so for several more. Those four hippies from Great Britain managed to write music that was beyond meaningful--it resonates with the soul and stirs the human psyche. Some will argue their "White Album" was their greatest, but much of it was about marketing and branding The Beatles' image. Sgt. Pepper's was/is deeply moving, thought provoking, melodic, and entrancing.

Hits like "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" and "With a Little Help From My Friends" are known by most who listen to any music, but songs like "When I'm 64" and "Lovely Rita" should give anyone pause in appreciation of The Beatles musical genius.

Happy fiftieth birthday Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band! We are all so much better off with you in our lives.

If You Think You're Oppressed, You Should Unplug From The Internet

I am simultaneously amazed and appalled at the ludicrous "feelings" of oppression I read on social media. Women are oppressed, men are oppressed, blacks are oppressed, whites are oppressed, Asians are oppressed, Native Americans are oppressed, animals are oppressed, Indians are oppressed, Muslims are oppressed, illegal aliens are oppressed--ENOUGH ALREADY!


If you live in a western nation I have news for you--you are not oppressed, and most likely have no idea what the word means. In fact, if you have ever typed, spoken, or felt oppressed, you have no idea what the definition of the word is. If you have the freedom to type the word "oppressed" and you feel as though you are, you should consider some psychiatric help for whatever ails you.


You are not oppressed, nor have you ever been such. Perhaps things have not gone your way in life ('cause, I mean, it's life after all), and you have blamed others (IE. groups, genders, et al.) for your situation, then you should take a few moments and reflect on the true and very real reason you are where you are. Maybe you made a bad decision, or the situation changed and you had little or no control over its outcome. This is not oppression; this is merely a situation, and situations change in the blink of an eye.


So, here I am, a white male lecturing you, the oppressed, on how you are not being held down by "the man." Evidence that no one has their old, rich, white foot on your neck is all around you, but you refuse to accept responsibility for your own decisions, actions, or lack of both. I cannot count the number of successful (insert the minority, whatever that means today, here) people I encounter on a daily basis that are not old white men. Salud to you, my non-white male successful friends! Guess who is happy and ecstatic you are where you are in life? This old white guy, that's who.


There was a time, when I was growing up, that kids played with each other regardless of skin color, financial status (kids have no financial status by the way, their parents do), the bikes we rode, or the shoes we wore. The only sense of entitlement we had was who got to run down a trail in the woods first or who got to be on offense during the first dodge ball game of the day.


Social media and the internet are fabulous tools, but I fear it has become a detriment to society as a whole. Only on social media can you surround yourself with likeminded individuals without recourse, restraint, or recrimination. This is a shame, my friends. Having real face-to-face conversations is a lost art today. Putting your phone or laptop away long enough to listen (that thing you do with those two satellite dishes on the side of your head) to someone else's perspective is fading into the past like the sun at twilight. We have allowed people like Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg to control us, to take away our humanity and replace it with a keyboard and the ability to "block" anyone so retarded as to not respect or understand our personal point of view. Yes, yes, I realize I used the word "retarded" and it is not politically correct, is probably offensive, and will likely lead to someone feeling repressed or oppressed, but what the heck--the word is still in Webster's dictionary, so it is free game in my opinion.


I cannot recommend enough turning away from our electronic lifestyle long enough to talk to another human being. Go outside and talk to your neighbor. Do you even know your neighbor's name/s? Mow your lawn, burn a burger on the grill, but for God's sake--put the phone down and talk.


Note: Howard Upton loves the internet, voicing his opinion on various subjects, taking walks on sandy beaches, is a Capricorn, and a hugger. He is known to point and laugh when others trip and fall, but is quickly angered when others point and laugh at him when he does the same. You can reach him on his cell phone for a real conversation if you have his number, but you shouldn't get your feelings hurt when he is curt when responding to a text, because he despises texting and believes it is one of the downfalls of mankind.

Repairing My Own Stuff

It is not lost on me that there are those men and women incapable of repairing or fixing things around the house. Whether it be plumbing, basic construction repairs or updates, remodeling, etc., there are those who do not know how to do it, or where or how to even begin (youtube is your friend!).

Disclaimer: I do not claim to be the handiest of handymen, but I can hold my own with regards to most things requiring nails, screws, wiring, and PVC...or CPVC. I don't sweat copper--that falls outside my skillset.

Given, my propensity to doing things like this myself was originally driven by distaste of paying someone to do something I was capable of doing myself. Most especially, I began learning how to fix things in my early twenties because I did not have two pennies to spare. Yeah, learning to do DIY was a born of necessity, rather than just being cheap like my children accuse me of being (okay, okay, I'm cheap too, but that was also born of necessity).

I am huge believer in saving money, because you never know when you will need that extra five or ten bucks you put away because you changed your own lawn mower blade or figured out how to spray starter fluid into a carburetor in order to start that same mower. Have you paid to have a plumber come to your house to stop a leak? The service call alone makes me cringe!

Equally, or possibly more important than saving money is the sense of satisfaction you get when you have done it yourself. Sure, it is time consuming, more often than not frustrating, but gratifying when you finish a job and look at it with pride.

"I did that," is a deliciously glorious thing to mumble to yourself. A little gloating is in order and walking around with a big smile on your face is warranted. Let me also say there is nothing wrong in attempting to do it yourself then asking for help. That is how you learn: trying and watching. Soon enough you will be handyman/woman.

Coffee is Love

It would be fruitless to attempt to debate the best coffee on the market--I have my preferences and frown upon lattes, milk, sugar, or anything that masks the flavor of a good cup of java. That's me, that's who I am at 5:30 A.M.: I drink black coffee and love it. My coffee is properly perked when I can float a tenpenny nail in it.

Most often, my lovely wife has prepped the coffee the previous night and all I have to do is stumble toward the brew station and press the "on" button. As the water heats up and the station begins gurgling I smile, then watch as wisps of steam roll through the vents positioned on the back of the brewer.

I often get asked what my favorite coffee is--and I have one; rather, I have a favorite roaster. 1565 Coffee is a small roaster located in St. Augustine, Florida, which happens to be the greatest city in the United States, but I digress. Admittedly, I have not tried all their coffees, but the Discovery blend is fantastic. The taste is clean, crisp, with slight burnt nodes at the end. Yum!

That aside, I enjoy breakfast blends, or blonde roasts. Two things here: (1) the darker roasts tend to be much more bitter, and (2) the caffeine content in blonde roasts is slightly higher because the roasting process isn't as harsh or as long. I learned that while working in a coffee plant, one of my favorite tours during my career.

Coffee is a primary staple in my day. It excuses my wild bed head each morning, I.E. "Leave your dad alone and stop laughing at his hair. He hasn't finished his first cup of coffee yet."

In addition, coffee makes me human. As an example, "Don't talk to dad yet. He hasn't had his coffee."

It helps move the work day forward. "Howard, can you do 'x' after you finish your coffee?"

In summary, coffee is the perfect beverage and recent studies prove that it is essential for a strong, healthy body. It has also been proven that it is essential for a longer life for those around me.

Be well, drink coffee, and don't add sugar or creamer. There...now we can be friends.

You're Still My Friend

I debated on penning this blog--it seemed so senseless and repetitive to me. We have all read or heard someone talking about taking a break from social media, or disconnecting from the world if you allow it (social media) to consume you (us, we, all, etc.). I suppose I agree with this to an extent, and will be the first to admit that I've allowed someone's written remark to get my dander up, but part of being a mature individual is moving beyond emotion when confronted with a difference of opinion.


Some of my friends are polar opposites of me: politically, socially, and perhaps even morally. Quite often I find myself disagreeing with a belief they hold and, as a result, engage in debate. Other times, some of my friends who disagree with me will do the same. This, folks, is healthy and okay, unless taken to an extreme (and yes, I'm guilty of doing that too).


Over my almost decade on Facebook, and much longer than that in bulletin board groups, the predecessor to social media, I have had the opportunity to meet many of the people I have arbitrarily disagreed with on various topics. As a result of my meeting these individuals, friendships have formed and lasted for almost two decades. Imagine that! Friendships formed even after disagreeing with one another. That's almost unfathomable, isn't it?


Still, after the disagreements and sometimes disparaging remarks, these people, by and large, remain my friends. I have no ill will or animosity toward any of them, because we are all just links in one giant human chain. It is interesting to me to watch people become overwhelmed on a particular topic to the point of eliminating someone completely from their life; a person who, if they were seated directly in front of them, would still be a close friend.


I don't intend this entry to be a lecture; rather, it is just my perception (as limited as it may be) of the intricate relationships forged and destroyed over subjective opinion. To wit, I will tell you, that no matter our disagreement, if you were my friend, you are still my friend. Maybe it is time we examine what friendship means to us--because it must mean something beyond a casual acquaintance.


Be bold in your position, but not so much that you take yourself seriously to the point that you alienate yourself from the world!


Peace, love, and yogurt to you all. 

The Little Book That Could

If you know me, you know I love to write. There's something about bringing words to life, giving strange phrases new meaning, or personifying inanimate objects in order to render a story more meaningful. To give enjoyment where there was none, or to provide a world for the reader who may not have had the opportunity to travel to foreign places yields a particular joy for the writer, and a sense of accomplishment when the story "is finished."

Like most who write, I especially rejoice in reading a good book. For within the confines of those crisp white pages, I allow my mind to drift to blowing winds through knee high grasses, or hear a strange bird caw in fear or warning. And every now and then I read to get a sense of what a writer thinks, believes, or simply wants to convey to me in whatever tone and syntax he or she chooses to use.

A few years ago, a friend released a short book of stories and poems about her life growing up in the Sandhills of north central Nebraska. Having lived in the western United States for a few years, I had a certain appreciation for the work and dedication of a group of Americans whose lifestyles have changed little over the decades.

Western styled shirts, starched and pressed Wranglers are the trademark of a true westerner. Grit and determination walk with them, and their connection to the earth is unlike most have experienced. So, when Loranda Buoy told me that she was going to publish her small tale of growing up there, I was quick to purchase and read it.

Her language was rustic and unrefined, much like the truck she drives and the land she works. I could sense in those words the love for her husband, passion for the ranch she manages since his passing, and the desire to bring something wonderful and nice to those who may not ever know what it is like to live in the grasslands of America.

I invite you to check out her short book--hey, it's only eighty pages or so--and tell me your thoughts about it. Her book Thanks For Talkin' To Me: Stories and Poems of Living, Loving, and Laughing in the Nebraska Sandhills. My opinion is you'll enjoy it, and can order it by clicking here.  :)

Conversations With Rex

Some of my best discussions are had with my little buddy, Rex. He has a look that oozes intelligence and personality, while drawing smiles from anyone he encounters. His amicable and steadfast temperament, willingness to listen to my daily complaints or woes, and general all-around love for his mommy and daddy make him the perfect companion.


Rex's innate wisdom and desire to share his own life experiences make it so much easier for me to engage him in dialogue. He was, after all, imprisoned for several months for a crime he did not commit. After adopting Cathy and me, he explained his dilemma in a way only Rex can--


On Prison


Rex--Prison life sucks. I was in a cage, man. Water and a little food each day, paper to pee on, and PT time for an hour. The prison guards were pretty nice, but some of the cats in cells next to me talked about wanting to sink their teeth into me and shake the life from my eleven pound carcass.


Me--That sounds terrible.


Rex--Dude, ain't no prison in North Korea that could touch what I went through. I was a DOW


Me--DOW?


Rex--Dawg of War


On Being a Eunuch


Rex--I woke up, looked down, and suddenly I was a doggie priest. Who does that to someone, man?

Me--Wasn't me, son. I wouldn't have done that to you.


Rex--*points at self*  All this, and no woman will understand what Rex love is about. It's a shame, really.


On Pooping Outside


Rex--I do what I want.


On Grabbing our Shoes and Putting Them on the Couch


Me--I don't understand your shoe fetish. Why do you seek out our shoes and put them on the couch or the bed?


Rex--Look, man. I can only lick my butt for so many hours when you're at work until I lose my mind. You leave your shoes within reach and I'm like, "Challenge accepted."


On Sleeping in our Bed


Me--You know you have your own bed, right?

Rex (L) and your author (R)

Rex--Yeah, I have my own bed, but yours is much more comfortable. Besides, I can't really see the television from the floor. Watching the news before I doze off is the recipe for a good night's rest.


Me--*rolls eyes*


Rex--Don't do that. Your eyes will get stuck in your skull.


On Sniffing Tires


Me--Why? What's the fascination?


Rex--I can't explain it. Some people with OCD have to place things in a certain order, I have to smell every tire on every vehicle in a two mile radius.


Me--Yeah, but sometimes you pee on them then sniff them again.


Rex--Mind your own business.


On Fishing


Me--It would be pretty cool if you could fish with me.


Rex--*blank stare*


Me--What?


Rex--I don't have any thumbs.


This is just a sample of our conversations. Sometimes we discuss geopolitical issues, or have conversations centered on religion. He is a devout Catholic, but has been caught drinking Holy Water on a few occasions. Apparently, that is frowned upon.

Nap time

There's a Pony in a Luggage Rack

Traveling can be exciting, strange, and bizarre, most especially if you are on the lookout for the aforementioned. In all my years on the road or in the air, I've yet to have a totally uneventful trip. There are those things in airports, truck stops, gas stations, and hotels that make your head snap and your brain question your current reality. I've been accused of having an eye for detail--perhaps it is just the story teller in me that seeks for everything outside the scope of the mundane--and an ability to exaggerate for the sake of the tale. This is NOT one of those times. 


Cathy, Cassidy, and I hopped a plane in the wee hours of the April 8th in Atlanta, Georgia heading to Dallas, Texas. We missed our flight the previous day because of a tragedy that I won't cover here; let's just say it was very heart-wrenching. As a result, we were forced to move our flight to the next day for a quick in/out into Dallas followed by a two hour drive to Arkansas to see our son married to his lovely new bride.


After landing in The Big D, we shuttled to the rental car center at Love Field and began the cross-Texas drive to Texarkana to (hopefully) get into our hotel rooms ad catch a nap before the wedding. Since we would be arriving into Texarkana around eleven in the morning, we had not held out much hope for an early check-in, as hotels often do not want to rush their weekend cleaning crews around to accommodate a couple people. I don't blame them for that, but we were very tired and needed sleep.


We arrived at the hotel, the name of which shall be redacted, walked inside and began begging for mercy.


After some finagling with the desk clerk, we managed to upgrade our rooms to suites (oh, yeah!) and headed to the elevator, all of us with road-weary looks on our faces, but with broad smiles knowing that very soon we would be napping until it was time to get ready for the wedding. We walked Cassidy to her room, swept through to make everything was in order and to assure no boogey men were hiding in the closet or tub then made our way to our room. I was dragging behind Cathy because I stayed to give Cassidy a couple last minute instructions. By the time I made it to our room, she was standing outside the door, her eyes the size of half dollars.


"I think there's someone in our bathroom," she said.


"Nooooo," I replied, the disbelief apparent in my voice.


I walk to the bathroom door and knock and receive a sharp reply, "I'm in here!"


We didn't know who "I" was, but I immediately pick up the phone and called the front desk, explaining what we've just encountered in our room.  While I'm speaking to the young lady at the desk, the toilet flushes and out walks a gentleman with a newspaper tucked under his arm. He grabs a clipboard he had placed on an end table and walks out  while simultaneously apologizing for being there. We came to understand that he was the hotel engineer and, I'm speculating here, he made use of the suite as his personal break room, made apparent by the use of the restroom, the television he left on, and the two slices of pizza that I found in the refrigerator.


Within seconds, the worst imaginable smell began wafting through our room. Cathy and I were both still in shock as the engineer walks back into the room with cleaning supplies in hand. He proceeds to clean the toilet, which did little for the stench emanating from the bathroom. I look at Cathy and can see the same thought on her face that is running through my mind: Is it common practice for hotel employees to use a clean room before guests arrive?  I know, I know...there are things we really do not want to think about, and this is certainly one of them.


The desk clerk vehemently apologized, found us another suite on a different floor and put us in there. Within minutes of my head hitting the pillow, I was asleep. Cathy chose to stay awake for fear of not falling asleep later that evening, but I did not share her concern--I needed some shuteye. 


My boy's wedding was nice and went off without drama, which is a very good thing for a wedding. Afterward, we drove from Hope, Arkansas, the site of the wedding, back to our hotel in Texarkana. I fell asleep without much fanfare, thankful no one was dropping a deuce/making Mr. Stinky in our bathroom upon our return.


And if that was not enough, this is when things got weird


Apparently, Cathy and Cassidy did not sleep nearly as well as I did. We walked to the breakfast area of the hotel early in the morning on the 9th of April to get a little food in us before the long drive back to the airport in Dallas. After eating, we climbed into the rental, turned west on I-30 and began driving on the flat Texas interstates that, at least to the casual observer, appear to be black top to eternity. Texas is larger than most countries, with terrain that allows a cow to graze unobstructed across ranchland for miles on end without breaking a sweat. It is as flat as a tabletop, and the white lines on the road serve little purpose other than to hypnotize a driver of a vehicle faced with having to drive across it.


As I stated, Cathy and Cassidy did not get the same amount of sleep I did, and quickly fell asleep in the car while I drove. I have grown accustomed to being the only one awake in a vehicle; this serves as reflective time for me and I really do not mind at all. Just past Rock Wall, Texas, however, I was forced to wake Cathy. She had to see this and I needed a witness.


A fellow was driving an SUV with one of those luggage racks that attach to a trailer hitch. It looked very similar to this:

Standing on that luggage rack was a Shetland pony. I kid you not. The pony had a gorgeous buckskin coat with a blonde mane that was getting slung around by the wind as the driver pushed eighty miles an hour down the interstate. I shook my head to make sure what I was seeing was real. A freaking pony was standing in a luggage rack with no other supports surrounding it. To top it off, the animal was staring at me! Immediately, my mind went into overdrive and within a couple of seconds I imagined an entire conversation with this mini-horse. It went something like this:

Me: Are you aware that you're standing on a luggage rack attached to a vehicle driving eighty miles an hour on an interstate in Texas?


Pony: Do I look like an idiot to you? I realize ponies get no respect from humans because we aren't big and strong like our full-sized brothers and sisters, but that makes us no less intelligent. Do you ask human midgets questions like this?

Me: I've never seen a midget in a luggage rack.


Pony: Oh, so now you're a comedian, huh? Did you know ponies can suffer from depression and tend to be suicidal?


Me: Wait, what?

Pony: That's right. We are laughed and pointed at our entire lives. Kids want to ride us all the time, and for God's sake, when we are moved, we're put on a luggage rack! Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?
Me: I'm getting a pretty good sense of it, yes.

Pony: Why couldn't I be placed in a horse trailer like a regular horse? Who the hell puts a pony on a luggage rack and drives down the road?
Me: Man, I don't know what to say.

Pony: Oh, I've got more problems, and since you're here, I'm going to tell you all about them.
Me: I'm sorry, but I have to wake my wife up right now to see this. No one will ever believe it.

Pony: I hate you, man. You're going to wake her up so you can both laugh and point, aren't you?
Me: I have to, Mr. Pony.

And that is how our weekend went--from a guy sawing brown logs in our bathroom to a pony in a luggage rack.