Social Media and Censorship

 If 2020 has taught us anything it is the power of popular opinion can sway most anyone into doing things and taking action when they should not. Should we exercise restraint in speech and the written word? Sure. Am I always capable? No.

That said, the silencing of conservative voices by leftist social media sites is unfortunate. They do so under the ridiculous guise of racism (at this point everything is racist), homophobia (do people really fear homosexuals or homosexuality?), or something written that is taken out of context and been made into something "offensive. It is sad that half a country disagrees with certain positions and screams at the sky to silence their counterparts.

I, for one, will continue to voice my opinions and concerns in spite of those who are so easily offended. Taking offense to something is not necessary mutually exclusive to being offended by something legitimately offensive. At some point, I believe Americans will revolt, outright, to this censorship. Their pocketbooks will be sealed and investors will continue to grow wary about lost revenue. 

Additionally, I shall not fear repercussions from my words. Generally, I think about what I say and how I say it. Do I post some controversial things in order to generate conversation and thought? Yes, I certainly do. Do I regret some things I've said or posted? Absolutely. Even I get caught up in the emotions invoked by some topics. 

It would be pretty wonderful if people could get a grip on free speech, what the phrase means, and how it should never be avoided...even when someone is offended by it.

Peace, love, and free speech.

~h

It's been a while

 Yeah, I know. I haven't written a blog in some time. The world is upside down and I haven't been in the mood. My wife and I have suffered through a second bought of COVID-19, but this time around I wasn't concerned. I figured if I died, I died. I've lived a good, fulfilling life and offer no regrets for my past.

As (mis)fortune would have it, you are still stuck with me.

In America, we find ourselves in another presidential election cycle. All the hate and vitriol is boiling over the rim, while those who find reason to be offended about EVERYTHING are out protesting, looting, rioting, and acting like unemployed turds in a toilet that never gets flushed.

Around the world, I watch with interest as other countries battle the Chinese virus in their own way. Some are successful, but most aren't. The virus will be with us for the rest of our lives, so we should prepare ourselves, rather than rely on our government to offer up some ill-rushed vaccine. 

What else has been going on with Howard during these trying times you might ask? Like everyone else, I'm trying to maintain my sanity and live my life as normally as possible. We have some family strife like all families have (well, maybe ours is a bit different), and our grandson is living with us mostly full time (we love having him with us).

My writing has once again dropped off because of life's demands. Perhaps I'm making excuses, or maybe I'm right. Neither really matter, because the words haven't been flowing and my mind hasn't been on the craft. I allow my mind to drift to the words that would befit a story, but time hasn't afforded me the opportunity to type them into a Word document. I know that eventually I will get back in the groove, but like I said earlier...the world is upside down.

All of this said...my stream of consciousness notwithstanding...I hope you are in great spirits, amazing health, and continued prosperity. May your life be filled with happiness and laughter!!!

The World in Crisis

Have we all sickened of the strife meted out by social and mainstream media yet? Are we tired of a group of social justice "warriors" holding us hostage because we are too scared or tired to stand up to an angry mob? And why do we stand idly by and watch a bunch of crazed idiots destroy our cities, businesses, homes, and vehicles?

I don't know a single person who believes that Mr. Floyd wasn't murdered by a rogue cop. Let me say that again: NOT A SINGLE PERSON. If you know me, you know I am an uber-conservative politically inclined layperson. I involve myself in local and national politics and attempt to persuade others to understand the grand benefits of capitalism, small government, and fiscal responsibility. With all of that comes personal accountability, but it would seem the leftists of the world have chosen to make themselves a victim, even when statistics prove them wrong. Never allow facts to overcome your emotion! Isn't that what we are witnessing?

I want to touch n a subject that will be unpopular for some, but it's in my heart and on my mind to write. The Black Lives Matter movement was born on a noble front. Their mission, initially, was to bring attention to what they (the movement) perceived as racial injustices perpetrated on black Americans on a largely disproportionate scale. From a percentage perspective, they were and are correct. When looking at absolute numbers, unarmed Hispanics and whites  die at the hand of police more so than blacks. 

The BLM movement caught fire and grew when the media sensationalized arrests and killings of blacks by police. A small fragment of the killings were unjustified, such as the murder of George Floyd. No, I don't care what his rap sheet says, and it doesn't matter if he had a criminal background. That does not justify placing a knee on his neck for almost nine minutes causing the man to asphyxiate. 

All that said, BLM moved beyond a grassroots movement and became a full-fledged organization. A website was developed and a hierarchy implemented in the upper echelon of the group. An organization requires funding, and the anarchist left answered the call. Antifa, the righteous fascist organization created in the Pacific northwest joined forces with the BLM, and voi la...here we are today. Looting, rioting, inciting violence, and demanding that police forces be de-funded is all the rage; all of it taken from the Anarchist Cookbook. It's all so predictable, and has taken the place of presidential impeachment.

Yes, I went there. The continued funding and looking away from the anarchists burning and destroying property by the left isn't without thought. An uncontrolled nation is an opportunity to unseat a president they (the left) despise. The riots were not started by the left, but they are certainly embraced by it.

Our president has said that he will designate Antifa a terrorist organization. He should do the same with the BLM. They have become a brother of the KKK and Neo-Nazis. All are disgusting to me. To proclaim a racial supremacy is ignorant and doesn't align with the majority of peace loving folks who just want to manage through their lives. Get it together, people! 

Never in my life did I think I would see so much division in our country. A small fraction of it is justified, but by-and-large the majority isn't. There is an exceptionally small fraction of bad cops in our country and around the world. Cops live in our communities, pay taxes, and work to keep neighborhoods as safe as possible. Taking the terrible actions of one officer and destroying cities and murdering other people does not right the wrong!

That's my quick take on the subject. Y'all stay safe.

Y'all Hang in There

COVID-19. We are all sick and tired of hearing, reading, and talking about it. The stark reality is it will impact every single person in the United States, and probably around the world, at some point. That doesn't mean our way of life is forever altered; on the contrary, it simply means we have to adjust until we develop an immunity to the virus.

Yes, I believe we'll be dealing with this virus for the remainder of our days. It will mutate, and it will continue being highly contagious. The proverbial genie is out of the lab...er, bottle. The numbers we are seeing relative to confirmed cases, recoveries, and deaths are staggering. More importantly than all that are two things: 1.) recent models estimate that upwards of thirty-five to fifty percent more people than anticipated have had the virus and showed now symptoms, or dealt with the mild to moderate problems it posed; and 2.) We've proven as a species that we can be good and wholesome to one another (and I had my doubts at times).

I try to make a habit of checking on my family and neighbors to make sure they are okay and they have everything they need. I call many of my friends to do a check-in. Many return the favor. You see, we are creatures who innately desire for our species to survive--in the most scientific reasoning. On the human level, we want our fellow man and woman to be okay. As such, it is important that we check up on one another and help each other out when we can.

When you stop to think about things, we have it much better than most. Yes, we can argue about our civil liberties being taken at the expense of a little safety, but when I think about my global travels, most especially to third world countries, I realize how absolutely awesome this country is. I also know that my blog is read globally, so I want others to understand that as Americans we know we have it good and if you are an ally, we will stand to help you, as we always do when times are tough.

All that said, my friends, let's hang in there and keep being good to one another. Yeah, there are tools in this world, and it's important to let them continue being tools. I erase the negative from my life and focus on the positive. Help those who need it if you can...in any way possible, and know if you need help, just holler. If I'm in a position to do something for you, I will.

Lastly, y'all hang in there. We'll get through this.

Peace,

~h

Rex Talks COVID-19

My miniature greyhound is confused and proceeded to ask me a few questions about the Coronavirus. Naturally, our discussions devolved into the obligatory verbose abyss.

Rex: What's up with the rush on toilet paper?
Me: I don't know, son...people get weird when things they can't control happen. It's a built-in human reaction.
Rex: I'm human, but let me show you how I manage this problem.
Me: Okay.
Rex: Open the backdoor.
Me: *opens backdoor*
Rex: *drops a deuce in the back yard* Also Rex: *runs back in the house* Also Rex: *drags butt across our carpet*
Me: Stop it, you nasty little bastard!
Rex: Daddy, I'm trying to save the world and you're cursing me.

Rex: Daddy, what is 'social distancing?'
Me: We have to maintain a one to two meter distance between two people to keep from getting one another sick.
Rex: Scratch my back. Yeah, yeah...right there...you know what Rexy likes.

Rex: I don't have hands so I am exempt from hand washing.
Me: Shut up.

Rex: You've made sure I don't bring home any sexually transmitted diseases because I don't have testicles.
Me: Dude, I've already told you I had nothing to do with that.
Rex: Whatever, Daddy.

Rex: Will this Corona-thing interfere with my wet food supply?
Me: So far, no, but I have no idea what the future may hold.
Rex: Give me "futures" address. I'll bite his penis.
Me: Dude, what is wrong with you?
Rex: A man has to eat!

Rex: Can we eat T-bone if food supplies get low?
Me: I can't believe you would consider eating your brother!
Rex: We ain't blood kin!
Me: Your backstraps are looking tasty.
Rex: Don't make me get the .380 and cap yo' ass.
Me: Boy, watch your mouth!

Take a Deep Breath--Away From People

Yeah, I get it...COVID-19 is here. Wash your hands, shave your face (guys and gals), shave your arms (Ibid), and keep the virus at bay. Folks, this is not the first time our country has battled an unseen enemy, but it is the first time we have seen it in our lifetime.

What can you do to help? Stay away from people. Wash your hands and arms frequently. Wear gloves to cut down on cross-contamination. Don't be a douche-hoarder. Yeah, that's important. Our elders and medical brothers/sisters need our support, not our ebay/Amazon has-beens.

Check on your neighbors--this is critical. Be leaders, not sheep like most I know. The flock is heavy today, but it struggles to find the cream that rises to the top. Don't be the assberry that hangs behind hoping for a solid wipe and promising prayer.

I love you all. I don't want to attend your funeral. I don't want to contribute to your chosen charitable organization because you are on your deathbed. Don't put me in that position. No...I prefer to see your political posts that are contrary to mine, your manbun that I laugh at, and your skinny jeans that I wished I fit into.

Guys, I want you to be here because I hate your point of view, and because this world needs your perspective and mine.

Much love to you all.

Forget Coronavirus For Just a Minute

As the virus gained momentum in the United States, and was no longer an Asian or European phenomenon, I was on a series of airplanes traveling up the east coast with stops in Charlotte, NC, Baltimore, MD, Philadelphia, PA, and Boston, MA (oh, and I started my journey in Atlanta, GA). Each of these airports are major hubs, and home to a vast number of international flights. To say that travelers buttholes were puckered tighter than a baby's mouth after sucking a lemon would be an understatement. The Coronavirus seems to have us all rather distraught at the moment!

People are nervous, and for good reason. We are being bombarded with growing death rates without valid testing and recovery data. Most understand that the virus is more hype than dangerous, but there is still a significant amount of concern to be given to this twenty-first century plague. Before I move on, allow me to say this: I have never seen passengers so courteous, aware, and cognizant of their surroundings. At no time in all my years of air travel have I seen airports and airplanes so clean and sanitary. It is truly a shame it took a global pandemic to get us to this point, but as the saying goes, "It is what it is."

The reason for this entry, however, is one that has remained with me the past thirty-six hours. On my return flight from Boston to Atlanta, I had a layover in Philadelphia. I noticed an older woman whose head was held high; her face a haughty facade. I notice these things about people and make mental notes of them as I move about public places.

As luck would have it, the lady sat across the aisle from me once we boarded our flight from Philly to Atlanta. She quickly ordered a Bloody Mary (it was bloody 10:30 AM and I was astounded!) and drank it down before boarding group six was seated. She and I were seated in first class (upgrades were available for forty dollars, and I could not pass that deal up), and were in boarding group one. American Airlines has made remarkable progress in the expediency of seating airline passengers--thank you, Southwest Airlines for the model!

I was battling a cold and cough and attempting, rather feebly, to mask my cough as the hypersensitivity of winter sickness ran amuck through the plane. If you dared cough or sneeze, the consensus was you were infected with Covid-19, do not pass go, do not collect $200.00. I am currently on the mend if you are wondering. :)

About forty-five minutes into the flight, and three or four Bloody Mary's later, I noticed the haughty woman crying. I watched tears roll down her face as she stared blankly out her window, the bright morning sky reflecting on her shiny face. Not wanting to touch her, or anyone since I was sick, I leaned closer to her and asked if she was alright. The next few minutes rocked me to my core.

"Yes, I'm fine," she lied. She then followed with, "No, I'm not."

"Well, whatever is bothering you, I hope it turns out okay," I responded.

The tears really began flowing after our exchange, and I noticed her hand as it shook the empty cup that formerly held her drink. She spun the ice clockwise then counter-clockwise, her mind lost in thought. After a few minutes she looked at me and said, "I bought a one-way ticket to Atlanta. My daughter has cancer, and I'm trying to get all these tears out of me before I see her. I've never dealt with anything like this before."

Whew! I thought back to my original impression of her and realized how wrong I was. This poor lady was trying to maintain her composure in a chaotic environment.

"Where are you from," I inquired?

"Central Jersey," she replied.

For a few minutes, this glorious lady went on to tell me that her daughter and her daughter's husband had moved to Atlanta less than a year earlier. It was then that she was diagnosed with cancer in her adenoid and tongue. She showed me a picture of her smiling daughter lying in her hospital bed, a smile on her face, but beneath her chin a cut in her neck from her right ear to just past the midway point of her throat.

"How old is your daughter," I asked?

"Thirty-one," she said.

"I'm so sorry," I told her. "That's way too young for these kind of problems."

The lady wiped another tear away from her cheek, as she told me about how strong and wilful her daughter is. She was obviously a distraught mom going to a new city to provide something only a mom can give.

She and I talked for the remainder of the flight, and I helped her to baggage claim and to the location where her ride would find her. I let her know that she and her daughter would be in my prayers. It dawned on me after we parted that I never asked her name, nor she mine. But what she did do was thank me for letting her cry on my shoulder.

For that I am forever grateful.

Be good to one another, y'all.

~h

Time Marches On

Another year, another Christmas, another birthday has passed, and here I am still hanging in there like a rusty nail. I took a month off work at the beginning of December, and spent a week in San Francisco...the time focused on reflecting on 2019, the additions to my life, the good friends I have made, the laughs, anguish, the victories, and the failures.

Like everyone else, life stops for no one, and we all have to deal with what life throws at us on a regular basis. In most cases I try to remain positive, but when things get truly difficult, I sometimes get angry or wallow in misery. Hey, I am human. What can I say? Yeah, 2019 threw me a few curve balls, but I soldiered through it.

All that said, 2020 promises to be even more exciting than 2019. More changes are around the corner. Some of them make me very nervous, but life, as I said, waits on no one, so onward I will charge. It's not that I fear failure, it's that I fear not being successful. Does that make sense? I want nothing more than to build something from scratch that is profitable, sustainable, and more than value added.

Now that we have officially entered the new year, my wife and I have planned our first ever cruise. Yes, we have traveled all over the world, but I have never been on a cruise ship. I am super excited to do this! On top of that, the cruise is the second ever launched Crimson Cruise--a ship full of former Alabama football players and coaches. Roll Tide Roll!!!

We have also been busy booking flights to Orlando where we will bring a lot of our family together to hang out for a few days. In May, we will host our annual family reunion at Green Acres, and in June, we are having good friends in from Pittsburgh.

On top of getting to see grandchildren and play with them, I really plan on doing some hiking and a lot of fishing this year. In fact, I want to get my scooter ready for some serious road trips. I have done any real riding in some time.

There are also events planned with respect to my martial arts. Indiana, Washington D.C., and Pittsburgh on my to travel to list this year. I do hope 2020 works out as planned. Like I said, life always throws us curve balls...we just have to keep swinging away.

Mr. Glass

When I was a kid...maybe ten or eleven years old, I was asked by one of our neighbors to come and "sit" with her father, Mr. Glass, while she ran to complete her errands. I remember that he was in his early 90's, was hard of hearing, and his vision was failing. Mr. Glass would rock back and forth as he sat on his chair and he told me about growing up in rural Alabama. We would sit for hours under his carport (that's a garage without the enclosure for my northern friends) and he would talk to me.

His daughter, probably in her 60's back then, would come to my house and ask my mom if I could sit with him (it was elderly sitting, I reckon, but I loved spending time with him), and I would always say "yes." Even back then I recognized personality and the ability to weave a brilliant story. Mr. Glass had a way of speaking that even a ten year old would appreciate.

Mr. Glass loved to "whittle," and especially he made "walking sticks," or canes. He would charge me twenty-five cents for each one, and I saved my money to purchase one from him--they were masterpieces after all, especially for a ten year old.

I recall a story he told me about walking along the train tracks back in the thirties and finding a matchbook with a hundred dollar bill in it. He gave it to his dad...not realizing what he had found or why anyone would keep that kind of money in a matchbook. That cash fed his family for the remainder of the year.

He always had this distant look to him...like he was peering into the past. He spat as though some unseen hair was stuck to his lip and he wanted to be rid of it. And still he rocked when he realized I came to sit with him. His face would light up knowing I was there to hear his stories.

I haven't thought about Mr. Glass in a long time, but something triggered this memory...although I'm not sure what.

I remember my mom picking me up from school. I was in fifth grade. On the way home she told me Mr. Glass had died. My initial feeling was selfish..."how would I hear his stories?" When I got home, I went to my room and cried...in private. I missed my friend, and I would miss his stories. Most importantly, although I didn't realize it then, I would miss his life lessons. What a sweet old man he was.

What does all this mean? I'm not really sure, but I think it is imperative that we learn from those with life experiences...and love without compulsion. I miss that old man...and would love to have another hour with him to record our conversations, and give him one final hug.

This video hit home after I wrote this--I Believe

Have a glorious Thanksgiving, y'all. Love your family and friends...and be thankful for everything you have.

A summer I won't forget

I haven't updated my blog since July. To be honest, I've dealt with trials, tribulations, and exquisite happiness--and all of it has pulled me away from my writing. My fourth book, Your Story: Tales of Love, Tragedy, Despair, and Healing hit the market in the early months of this excessively hot summer. A crazy and upside down experience at work (yes, I have a real job...believe it or not) reeked of havoc and lunacy for some time. But most incredibly, Cathy and I were blessed with grandchild number two...followed shortly by grandchild number three--obviously, our kids were bored out of their collective minds having conceived in such a short period of time.

Yes, my plans for book five and six were derailed, but I ain't mad. Life is good, as they say, and life with our grandbabies is phenomenal. Maya, Maverick, and Ellie light up every fiber of my being. I could not be happier than I am to have these young 'un's in my life. We had them all together not so long ago. Okay, I can only take a limited number grands at once, but I don't love them any less. :)

There's nothing better than the smell of a baby. When they look up at you with their trusting eyes and coo, my heart melts. Jesus...have I become an old softy? I want to help teach them the ways of the world...to show them all how to fish, hunt, take care of themselves, and show them a love of academia. Yes, I know they have parents who will mold them, but I do want to influence their lives in a positive way.

Anyway, the work thing is what it is. When a door closes, another will open. Like old Stephen King pointed out in his Gunslinger series, the door you choose doesn't have to dictate your life, but it will influence your here and now. So, now I am faced with a new door that I long to open...and we shall see what the here and now presents.

So, to everyone wondering what is in store for my writing--yes, book five and six are in the works. The political book I promised is coming along (slowly), and the next Bill Evers book will finally emerge (slowly). I am working, and I am writing, but at a pace that doesn't suit me, but it's a pace that God has dealt, so who am I to argue?

Peace and love, y'all.

~h

Your Story: Tales of Love, Tragedy, Despair, and Healing

Within a short amount of time, my fourth book will be available. The writing path I have traveled has been a strange one, and one discouraged by those in the know. Authors are supposed to stick with one genre, become ever-more-proficient at their craft, honing their skills, and making available even better material with each published work. Writing across multiple genres, so I am told, confuses and discourages readers.


This is most likely true, but I have thrown caution to the wind and once again stepped outside my comfort zone (I have at least two more works planned that are not a part of the action/adventure genre that I so enjoy). Your Story is a compilation of real life events told by regular people like you and me. Their struggles, their tragedies, the despair and grief from things such as losing a spouse or child, dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder from war-time activities or working as a first responder, cancer, and so on are only overshadowed by their indomitable spirit makes them wake up each day to face new challenges.

Your Story began as a journal entry for me--a pity party of sorts after I lost my job to company downsizing four years ago. I was not public about the events, but I wallowed in my own self-loathing...until I read about a friend dealing with a much larger problem than losing a job. Her story shook me up and made pause long enough to pick myself up by my bootstraps and get back in the thick of things. Her story also motivated me to begin reaching out to others who might be willing to share their personal tales.

This book details the journey of a few people down life's unchartered and unknown byways. Each person shares intimate details of the tragedies they have faced and what they did (and continue to do) to live another day. I am proud that I was a part of this, and prouder of each of these individuals who courageously stuck their necks out there and exposed the softest flesh of their being.

Here is Your Story--and these people could be you, me, your neighbors, your family, your friends, or your co-workers. Do we ever really know what someone struggles with or faces on a routine basis? Be sure to grab a copy of this work very soon; you won't regret it.

Peace and love,

~h

Writing-The How's and Why's

I have often remarked to people who ask me why I write that, "I have to so I know how the story ends." It's true...sometimes I know how a book will end, but mostly I let the story lead me where it will. If I have a preconceived notion of how it will finish, I find I box myself in and limit my imagination. In the writing world this is known as pantsing, or writing without a planned outline (known, ironically, as planning).


Along with the need to get a story into the open comes the more self-serving piece of the proverbial pie: the gratification I receive when someone tells me how much they enjoyed one of my stories. To say that this isn't important to a writer is a downright lie...a fabrication...an unholy untruth told by those who want to appear humble, but aren't. There is a personal satisfaction I get when someone identifies with a character or laughs in the right spot in the story. Perhaps they got mad at me for killing off a certain character they liked. Hey, that means they identified with that "person" too, and as such, I have done my job as a writer.

I must also tell you that writing can sometimes be a chore. Readers understand the conundrum...there are those slower portions of the story that one must wade through in order to get to the good stuff. The author must build the plot and show the reader what led to a certain scene, or lay the groundwork for something much more grand later in the tale. This can be as difficult for a writer as it is the reader. We want to get to the good stuff too, but we have this world we've envisioned and want to explain in subtle ways devoid of too much detail. God forbid with tell, rather than show! A literary tragedy is what that mire becomes!

It is my job, or my joy to map out a story such that the reader forgets he/she is reading; they should simply be gazing into the twisted mind of a person aching to describe something and convey a message without intruding on their real, personal world. Stephen King describes this as a pure form of magic--the ability of one person to transmit an idea to another and both have the same basic idea of the story being told. Perhaps he is right!


I write because it is in me to do so; not because I am the most prolific writer in the world--heck, I consider myself mediocre at best. The Craft is my therapy, my beach, my liquor, my vice. I feel as though it is my form of expression that I can share with anyone willing to ingest my thoughts and words.


So thank you for indulging me. You have no idea how much pleasure it brings me to see someone reading something I have written and they laugh or gasp in all the right places. That, my friend, is the ultimate high.


Peace,


~h

Spring Time Injuries!

Here in the southeastern United States it is springtime. That means wasps, snakes, tornadoes, hurricanes, and pollen...gloriously yellow-green pollen. Each year I am amazed at how quickly it all happens. One second the trees are barren and the next they are loaded with leaves. Similarly, we go from cool/cold to hot in a nano-second.


I have already begun my mowing chores and as a result, suffered my first injury of the year. Usually, I take time to prune the numerous trees on our property before I make my first round on the mower, but this time I did not bother.


I maneuvered around a medium sized oak tree, my eyes focused on the deck wheels of my mower; I do that to assure I maximize the entirety of cutting width. As I looked up I was met by a smallish limb that proceeded to hit me squarely upon my nose and forehead. My glasses sat catawampus on my face as I felt a trickle of blood drip from the bridge of my damaged breathing appendage.


Instinctively, I brought one hand to my face, the other still holding onto one handle of the zero radius steering mechanism on my mower. This sent my mower into a tail spin in the middle of our front yard. Picture, if you will, a sunburned guy holding his nose, his glasses riding askew on his face, and his mower spinning donuts in the middle of his yard.


My neighbor was apparently outside and watching all this transpire. His laughter could be heard over the roar of my mower engine and turning blades. To say I was ecstatic about his elation at my expense is probably an exaggeration. Had I been able to see properly, I would have pressed forward and run him over with my mower. Alas, all I could do was spin counterclockwise and hold my injured nose, and simply be mad that I couldn't watch his body being cut into a million pieces and thrown in a hundred directions at once.


Don't get me wrong--I like my neighbor, but he seems to take great joy anytime he sees that I've suffered an injury.


To be fair, I reckon I would have laughed at anyone spinning haphazardly on a mower while bleeding. Now that I think about it, it is kind of funny.

Chasing Our Pier and My Testicles Are in My Ears

Okay, you're probably wondering why my testicles are in my neck. We'll get to that soon enough. For now, allow me the indulgence to describe what led up to them being lodged a few feet higher than normal.

Alabama has received its Godly share of rain thus far in 2019. So much so, that our backyard, two acres or so that I normally spend significant time mowing, flooded--and remains flooded as I type this. Now, our problems are first world problems, and I readily admit that. We own a house on a long, narrow lake, built by the Army Corps of Engineers in the mid-1960's to help ease flooding further downstream, and to allow for a method of irrigation for farmers in the same area. Several years ago, a local farmer got the bright idea to bring his John Deere to the spillway and rip the water control lever from the concrete control mechanism because he didn't feel as though his cows were getting enough water (oh, how I would like to meet this guy today).

Three years ago, we had torrential rain and the same area flooded, so we knew the risk, but proceeded to have a forty foot pier put in so I could fish without having to drag my boat to the launch and do all things required of a fisherman intent on hauling in the big one. The pier formed the top of a "T" at its farthest reach into the water, a design element brought to life by Cathy and one that I quickly grew to love.


Once again, Alabama was pummeled by rain and wind, the former pulling our pier from its muddy sediment and the latter pushing it down the lake like a child's paper sail boat in a rain gutter. I awoke this past Saturday to my neighbor explaining to me that "your pier is gone."


"What do you mean 'it's gone'?" I asked.
"Gone, as in ain't there no more," he replied.


Sure enough, our pier had drifted down lake like a space aged monolith in search of a different form of life. Atop it sat the bench I had bought and placed two years earlier, unbolted and just riding along for the pure enjoyment. My neighbor, Danny, and I hopped in his boat, me with 100 feet of rope in tow, and headed toward the pier which now floated on the opposite side of the lake some quarter of a mile from its original perch.

As soon as we tied off the pier, Danny began having engine trouble on the boat. He attempted to crank it several more times, but to no avail. This is where I made my first critical mistake.

We decided to drop the trolling motor in the water so he could take his boat to the shop. Instead of tying the pier to a nearby tree, I simply tossed the rope on top of the pier and we rode off.

He called me a couple nights later to tell me his boat was fixed and that we could try to fetch it the next day. Remember that mistake I made?

We dropped the boat in the water and headed east where we left the pier. It was gone! The water was murky due to all the rain, and we both assumed it had sunk. We cruised around that end of the lake in search of my pier, but couldn't locate it, so we turned west and headed back for the boat launch.

I happened to glance further west and there it was--my pier! Instead of it being a quarter mile from our house, however, it had drifted about a mile. Here's where things started getting tough. We tied the 100 ft. rope to two legs on the pier, but due to the weight of the floating monolith he could not steer the boat.

I sat on the deck of the boat, rope in each hand, braced my legs and would pull one side then the other, which would cause the rear of the boat to turn. It also made the pier weave back and forth as we trudged along at half a knot per hour. For what seemed like forever, we weaved west toward my property, my arms screaming every time I pulled the rope to help steer the boat.

Finally, after two long hours of tugging and steering, and after feeling as though my arms would dislodge from my shoulder sockets, we made the turn toward our part of the lake. This is where I made my second critical mistake.

We pulled the pier as far as we could until one of the 4 x 4 legs got caught in the mud. I grabbed Danny's bamboo push stick and began feeling around in the water, checking the depth. At last I found a spot that was about three feet deep, about waist high on me.

I checked to make sure my rubber waders were secure then hopped into the water. Remember I said "second critical mistake?"

Apparently, when I was checking the water depth, the bamboo pole must have hit a tree stump. What are the odds? I landed in water about neck deep and screamed a line of unintelligible expletives as cold lake water rushed into my waders and rose quickly up to my chest. My testicles began clamoring for warmth and landed somewhere around my earlobes. My butthole puckered as I involuntarily squeezed my butt cheeks together. Obviously, my body assumed doing so would somehow warm it up; it was wrong.

As quickly as I could, I tied the pier to a nearby tree the drug the boat to shallower water so I could get back in. Do you have any idea how heavy waders are when they are filled with water? I almost capsized the boat trying to haul myself back in, and when I finally made it, I laid there exhausted. Danny laughed all the way back to the boat launch. I wanted to punch him, but couldn't lift my arms. My teeth were chattering and my testicles hung from my earlobes like two shriveled earrings.

And that is my pier retrieval story.

Making Good Changes

I turned fifty years old this year and suddenly I was put on AARP's mailing radar. They obviously have no idea of my political leanings, nor do they get my disdain for their organization or they may reconsider wasting money sending me literature. That notwithstanding, they see me as a future customer in the not-so-distant future and that is a little alarming.

Being on the backside of middle age also brings on certain ailments. All the damage I willingly imposed on my body in my youth has come back in crashing waves that promise to plague me for my remaining days on this earth. My knees (one operation), my shoulders (both operated on), my mid-back (beaten into submission years ago), my elbow (ruptured bursa), my fingers (all broken at some time in my life), each remind me of the damage inflicted upon them in a quest to sack a quarterback, squat or bench press a Volkswagon Beetle, or take throws while practicing judo.

The truth is, though, even with all the injuries sustained over the years--I got lazy, complacent, and soft. I stopped any meaningful exercise and used those injuries as an excuse. My waistline blossomed and the amount of material used to cover it expanded. I got sick of seeing pictures of myself; they were disgusting.

In December, Cathy and I decided it was time for each of us to embark on a lifestyle change. We now make healthy eating choices and I am back to exercising full force (that's the only way I know how to do things--do them yes, or do them no--no in between). Understand, I am no marathon runner. Even at my peak of physical fitness, running a couple miles was difficult for me, but I am now knocking out five miles and have lost almost thirty pounds. I have a long way to go to reach my final goal, but I'm doing something about it while I still can. Do my knees beg me to stop? Absolutely! Do my shoulders scream at me when I'm lifting weights? You better believe it. Do I sometimes think about stopping? No way. I'm not giving them the satisfaction of slowing me down.

Lastly, I am happy Cathy and I elected to make this change prior to January, as I despise New Year resolutions. We are both healthier, and I love working out again.

Fight on!

Bill Evers Is Heavy On My Mind

A couple months ago, I posted a video detailing how I lost a thumb drive with several manuscripts begun and tabled, then restarted at various intervals over the last couple of years. One project in particular was a non-fiction work featuring individual stories of struggles and triumphs; I hate that I lost that one most especially. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I hold out hope I'll find that little drive and rejuvenate those lost works. 

Included in that menagerie of works were a few Bill Evers manuscripts also at varying levels of non-completion. So embarrassed and disheartened had I become over losing the jump drive, I refused to sit and begin anew. Yes, I quit--I walked away. 

Bill Evers, however, was having none of my self-pity. He would appear to me in dreams, both sleeping and awake. One such story, tentatively title Infirmus, kept coming back to me. In a peculiar way, it was good that I lost the beginning of that work, some 12,000 words long, because the newest "version," the one Evers continues to push me to write is better. I write that, not in my opinion, but as someone who loves action/adventure/paranormal/conspiracy theory books. 

As with my previous novels, Of Blood and Stone and Occam's Razor, new(ish) technology is interwoven in the storyline. I am often reminded of a quote by the famous Kurt Vonnegut when he said, "I think that novels that leave out technology misrepresent life as badly as Victorians misrepresented life by leaving out sex."

I have been of a similar opinion as the meticulously verbose Mr. Vonnegut, although I could never possibly have articulated this thought in such a gloriously abbreviated way. In fact, I do believe that modern technology will eventually lend itself to a significant decline in morality, which will also lead humanity down a path of certain and inevitable destruction. It is, after all, the way of man; we build, we conquer, we destroy, and we are eventually destroyed.

That's a rosy picture I've painted, yes? In the meantime, prior to the end of our wonderful existence, we can immerse ourselves in books, or as my friend Gary often says, "suspend your disbelief." In actuality, much work written by those who engage in such fiction often find their imagination steeped in reality. Sometimes I wonder if remote viewing is a thing. Not sure what that is? Look it up--mind bending stuff (for real) that our government is also fascinated by.

I will keep folks up to date with the newest (renewed) work of fiction both here and on my Facebook author's page. Click HERE if you would like to follow; I would love to have you along for the ride.

Lastly, Faithful Reader, I hope you each have an excellent, healthy, fun-filled 2019 complete with books and things that help you grow in every facet of life!

Christmas and the Holidays

As many of you know, I'm a pretty cynical guy. For a lot of years, I didn't care about the Christmas holiday, and felt that it was over-commercialized (it is!), with little remaining of its true meaning. The speculated birthdate of Christ is on the 25th of December, and should be a time of thanks, reflection, and family gatherings. For so long, I neglected to enjoy any of those things, but as I've aged and come to grips with my own mortality, my thoughts have shifted.


What is even more enjoyable is my family's desire to not have "stuff." Yes, we still exchange gifts, but they have evolved over time to meaningful items that carry with them an emotional value, as opposed to a monetary value. I much prefer a nice photo of my children and their families over other things, or handmade hats and scarves knitted with loving hands, rather than store-bought things.


I value Christmas now because of what it represents, AND what it has evolved into with my family. Getting together and laughing, spending time with one another, eating, and simply carrying on are the greatest gifts in my life. These are the things I have come to value much more so than anything else.


Over the past few weeks, I have had some life changing events transpire. This is what we call life, and learning to roll with the punches is a part of maturity. Appreciating the punches and jabs life throws at you can also be something that we welcome; detesting life's curveballs only serves to push us further into the abyss. So, during this Christmas holiday season, I will be thankful for everything I have and everything I've received, even the not-so-good-stuff, because it all serves a purpose in this old world.


I hope and pray you all have a glorious Christmas season and 2019 brings you each happiness, and whatever you define as prosperity. Having a ton of money doesn't necessarily bring either one of those things, but maintaining a well-oiled sense of self and family will!


Be glorious to one another, hug and love your family (even the family you don't like), and enjoy this holy season.


Merry Christmas!

Time to Consider

I am at a crossroad insofar as my blog is concerned. I use it to convey thoughts, plans, happenings--it is a virtual stream of consciousness that I have enjoyed penning for a few years now. Unfortunately, social media has decided that the content isn't worthy of distribution, or perhaps my readership is such that they want "their cut." I suspect the latter, but that isn't the point of this entry.

Over the past several days, I have considered discontinuing my blog. Since it doesn't seem to be in the best financial interest of the Facebook or Google gods, perhaps it's time I move on to a different form of communication?

I realize this is the second time I've posted about the reverse engine going on with this blog. Understand, I have access to the analytics and can easily see how many page views it is getting, as well as countries it is read in, and upon what devices you are viewing it. No, I have no idea who is using an Android or an iPhone, but it does give me a quantitative number of devices by which the blog is read. It also details the number and type of operating system used to read it. Interesting, huh?

The most important stat of late, though, is the total page views globally. Previous entries have garnered thousands of views--then all of a sudden a hundred or less. I considered the content being produced for my readers, but I have been pretty consistent over the years of being inconsistent regarding topics. What, then, could it be?

Simple deduction tells me that the throttling of my blog (and similar experiences have been logged by many friends attempting to communicate to a broad group of individuals across the web) have coincided with Facebook's sudden financial plunge. Look, I'm a business guy and I understand revenue generation, but to do it on the very backs of those supporting your platform isn't the smartest business plan in the world if you ask me!

So, I am back to my earlier conundrum--do I continue this thing or not? Do you have thoughts on content that you would enjoy reading? I try to keep this relatively light, but would consider much headier topics if demand were high enough to warrant it.

I'm going to give it a few more days and think about it a bit more. The future of this blog is in the various social media outlet's hands. We'll see what they (and you) decide.

Throttling it Back!

I will continue writing about Facebook's practice of unsubstantiated and punitive punishment of anyone they feel threatens their profiteering platform. Facebook--a social media interface created by a pimple faced Harvard kid in order to rate how hot chicks were. Yeah, that's how it got started. Read about it here.

Once it went public, stock holders demanded more profit. Stakeholders, in conjunction with founder Mark Zuckerberg created ad spaces for prospective businesses to share advertisements with members. Their lust for Uncle Sam's fine green currency would never be sated, however. In fact, as artificial intelligence took on a more expanded role, Facebook went after small businesses and people like myself-bloggers who managed some modicum of success. What did they do? They throttled back readership/viewership.

No matter if I tag someone, Facebook will likely not allow you (the owner of your personal page) to post it there. If you are like me, I control who posts what on my page. When someone attempts to post something there, I decide if it gets published. Unfortunately, if you have a successful blog, even if you allow it to be posted, Facebook will likely not allow for it to be posted.

Nice, huh?

Make no mistake: if I chose to pay Facebook to publish my blog to a much larger audience, it would do so without thought (artificial or real).

Now, this: I have spent money with them when I advertise my books. But my blog is free to anyone interested in reading it. I merely share my thoughts about whatever I feel like discussing, but no matter to the democrat-socialists on the left coast. If they don't like my content, or if I'm not paying them, YOU are penalized!

I've always enjoyed the interaction with everyone on my friend's list during the past ten years I've spent on the book of faces, but I must tell you, should this continue, I may just delete my page. It's frustrating to try to express myself, only to watch my readership go from thousands globally to less than two hundred nationally.

Disgusting behavior by you, Zuckerberg--even by your own "community standards."

The Rally--Please Read

I get it--we are a politically polarized nation. We are democrat and republican flavored ice cream with sprinkles of fence riders (did I say that? I meant independents). Sometimes I wonder just how far apart we truly are in our beliefs, but so long as we allow the media, and social media, to pave the proverbial narrative, we'll continue to barb, jab, punch, and call each other names.

Regardless of how you feel about any candidate, getting involved in the political process is exhilarating and informative. Make no mistake, my political motivation is of the extreme conservative nature. I like to think of myself as a Constitutionalist--and sometimes that it makes my life difficult when people say and do things I disagree with, but fall within those God-given rights penned by our Founding Fathers. I do not think, no, I know, The Constitution is a "living document" as liberals espouse; it is as it is written--the basis of our system of law and order.

Sunday, November 4th, 2018, I bore witness to the right to peacefully assemble. That's the First Amendment if you're keeping score. Tens of thousands of like-minded individuals held closely to that right and came together from near and far to hear the forty-fifth President of the United States speak. Forget the hyperbole, the political inferences, or even the fact that we are all about to head to the polls to exercise our right to vote and elect our public officials. What I would like for you all to understand is how this event transpired as I saw it, and to share in some of my experiences.

Renowned Atlanta radio talk show host (and personal friend), Shelley Wynter put together for his listeners an opportunity to ride together to Macon, Georgia to see and hear President Trump. For those unaware of Shelley, allow me the opportunity to introduce him: Shelley is a New York City born and bred conservative. He admits to being sucked in by the former President, who he voted for, but now clearly sees the nation as it should be. Shelley isn't politically correct and is heavily involved in educating the metropolitan area, and most importantly misguided black Americans, who may still be living, as he puts it, "on the plantation." This political speak for being lied to and still beholden to a political faction who uses people for its own power and political gain.

So, we met and bussed to Macon, Georgia. Fifteen of us to be exact. Of the fifteen, three were former New Yorkers, and two were black. We also had with us a Hispanic couple. You cannot imagine my exuberance!

We made the two hour trip and got in line around 11:00 AM. The event began at 4:00 PM, but already the vendors and visitors were lined up and ready! Once the gates opened at 1:00 PM, thousands of people of all races and nationalities began drifting inside. Let me restate that: people of all races and nationalities began drifting inside.

The short walk to the hangar found us between the Presidential podium and the backstage of fake news media. Har har har!

The good news was we arrived early enough to find a spot approximately thirty feet from the President gubernatorial candidate Kemp. Thousands upon thousands of people continued to funnel in until a spectacula

r portion of the tarmac was covered. The bad news? We could not leave to use the restroom for fear of losing our spots. Ah well, you win some, you lose some!

Music played, politicians spoke, and people cheered and cajoled on cue. We laughed and had a great time listening to President Trump, and aside from the multitude of races present, I would like to share something even more exciting: the place was covered with Millennials and Generation Z'ers! Not only were they paying attention, they were engaged.

I want to stop here to make a point: what we witnessed with President Trump's election was nothing short of miraculous and revolutionary. In my opinion, he is the greatest President of my lifetime, and I am a Ronald Regan fanatic. He says what he means, and he means what he says. And the greatest part of this refreshing leader? People from all walks of life are waking up and listening!

Get out and vote, America!