I think the cat warmed (not wormed) my brain

Well seeing as how I have way overslept today this will be short.

Got my Day-Timer planner in today from Allentown. A big shout out to PA. Whoo-hoo! I also got 3 bills totaling $2000. Whoo-crap!

The oriental super buffet up beside Super K-Mart (hmmm...super) is great. They have mini-corndogs. Yessssss.

I did visit everybody's blog this morning though and left a few lame comments. That's how much I care. Risking my good name at work to see after all y'all first.

Let me leave you with this. It's not in season for most of you, and I vaguely remember posting it before, but I'm not sure. So here goes.

Don't Get No Better Than This 2004

Mixing schnapps with dark rum and an oreo on the side
Shoes in the closet, no shirt, and my jeans ain't too tight
Sun's shining now and the girls walking by
Dang if I ain't broke a permanent smile
If it ever gets better than this well, it ain't for a while

I ranted and vented and got it all out of the way
Now work is behind and the weekend is starting today
Monday is off but it ain't like I mind
That goober-stick boss always way out of line
It can't get no better than this now, when this is so fine

The dresses are shorter this time of year
The warmer the smiles and the colder the beer
The quicker the laugh. The softer the kiss
Screw it, it don't get no better than this

So let's draw us an oreo chaser to go with our rum
Then sit and tell stories 'bout all the cool things that we've done
Carousing in Panama, Jersey, Japan
Truth is expendable, who gives a damn?
We do what we do like we do 'cause we am what we am

The dresses are shorter this time of year
The warmer the smiles and the colder the beer
The quicker the laugh. The softer the kiss
Screw it, it don't get no better than this

Life is a highlight
It don't get no better than this

Ed
Cigar Porch/Ikego, Japan

Plaid seat and a rattan back again, but this time with a snake and a gator.

I think it was not George and I think it was not Kenny. I know there were 3 brothers and I remember 2 names. So we shall call him Luc, for Little Unnamed Child. He was the youngest and always wanted to tag along with us. Coolness attracts groupies, what could we say?

Luc went with us to the Alafia River one day. He was small and not completely uncute I suppose, but a real pain in the butt. He was hot. He was tired. He was thirsty. He wanted to know how much further. Shut up, dude!

So we get to the boat ramp and 7 of 8 of us dive right in. Guess who's scared to swim in the river? Yep, Luc. After much pleading and coaxing and promising not to leave him to bloat in the sun if he drowned, we got him swimming. Once he was halfway across we allowed, quite vocally, as how it would be plain stupid to turn around now (even though it would save him from having to swim back later) because it was just as far to go back as to come over.

So he did it, he came over. He climbed the bank and stood next to the tree all proud like he'd done something other than swim a small river. Then we climbed the tree.

Oh my goodness, ol' Luc needed a whole new round of persuading to climb the tree. What the heck?!? Boys climb trees. What was Luc's problem here? Short story from a longer one, we eventually got him up in the tree limbs, perched like a petrified vulture over the river.

1...2...3... JUMP! and down we all went. All but Luc who just sat there humming to himself. Humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like whimpering, although I gave him the benefit of the doubt on it.

Three times we demonstrated the jump and swim and three times Luc missed the cue. Must have been a pretty long song he was humming, maybe the album version of Free Bird.

So we're back up in the tree explaining, coaxing, reasoning, threatening, mocking and ridiculing him in an honest attempt to get him to participate in the great fun we were having.

Another long story shortened goes like this:
"1...2...3... Jump! ... ... 4... 5... 6... Jump, buttwipe ... ... 7... 8... If you don't jump, we'll push you ... ...9 .... Luc... 10 ... We will push you ... 11..." and dang if ol' Luc didn't push off from the tree limb.

So as soon as his toes left the bark I yelled "SNAKE!!". It was hilarious. Luc left fingernail claw marks in the air. Looked like Wylie Coyote going off a cliff. We nearly died laughhing. Never got Luc back up in the tree. And that, my peeps, is the snake story. Don't even have a snake in it.

The gator story is much less hilarious. Too bad Burt Reynolds is getting old. He'd be perfect to play me in the movie version of my life. I'm deboner like he is.

So by now you're familiar with the ride to the river and the boat ramp and the swim across the river. You have been introduced to the tree. So let's pick it up there. By the way, did you notice the stick people picture yesterday? It was called "Men Without Shirts". Fit the tale perfectly, did it not?

So we are up in the tree jumping out and swinging off. We are splashing and laughing and moon bombing the occasional canoeist. It is a grand time. We kinda noticed the old palm tree trunk slowly floating by just over halfway across the river, but it was too far to land on, so we ignored it.

We kept on a playing and all until, directly across from us maybe 20-25 yards, some ducks who had been swimming peacefully commenced to quack quacking and raising hell and trying to fly on short notice. Now ducks are not particularly graceful under ideal conditions, so short notice flight is plain ugly to behold.

"Hmmm... what could be going on?", our young, analytical minds wondered. About then the palm tree trunk swished it's tail and opened it amazingly large (for a palm tree anyway) mouth and again lunged at the ducks. "Why that's no tree trunk", we surmised. "It's a gator."

Now that did not scare us particularly as we were all in agreeance that alligators aren't up for eating boys all that often and we were also almost unanimous in our belief that they could not climb trees. The one dissenting vote swears he just wanted to err on the side of caution and I guess I can respect that.

But now we were in a pickle. Just like you don't dangle a cream puff in front of a Jerry Springer fan, you don't tempt a gator with a delectible lunch of tender, mostly white meat that can't swim fast. You know, us.

And furthermore, allowing for the fact that we can't swim fast and that large reptile can, how long does he need to have been out of sight before we feel it is safe to swim back across? Now the answers to that second part varied greatly from "I'd say a half hour or so" to "Let's call mom to come get us."

As you know, because you are reading this blog 28 or so years later, long after I would have been gator poop should I have been mauled and eaten, we made it back and went on with our exciting and very fulfilling lives. I tell ya, it sure is a shame ol' Burt keeps gettin older. He'd be perfect, I tell you.

Oh yeah, after safely crossing the river and heading home, we all realized that with our various moms' tendencies to overreact to flesh eating predators that are hard to spot, we'd do just as well not to relate the story back home. Lest we not be swimming there again.

I sold nothin' yesterday. But I made some appointments for next week. And I did get $15. The fifteen bucks was pretty easy. After I dropped my partner off at his house at the end of the day I said, "Hey, gmme $15 for gas."

65 lbs per sq in bursting strength... and out
Ramblin' Ed

A plaid seat...but a nice rattan back.

We were young. We were most of us shirtless, though some had a tendency to burn and thus wore shirts of T. Barefoot? A given.

We were boys. We were out of school. We had an energy that escaped from us, that was forced from our pores (and probably our ears) by the pressure of even more pent up energy being generated. It was summer. It was Florida. We were free.

Had some old bicycles most of us. Mike had a car, a Mustang, him and his dad and his brother had built right there in the garage. Unfortunately, you cannot build a drivers license, at least not a valid one, in your garage, so we had to wait. Mike's dad was the coolest. A catholic (only one I knew well), an ex-Marine (only Marine I wasn't scared of. Respectful, though. VERY respectful.) Mike's Dad had been to Yokosuka, I would find out years later. He was one of the Marines that walked in took it from the Japanese. He said my liberty there was likely better than what he got, which was nuthin'.

So, shirtless or shirted, we bicycled up S. Kings Ave. and across Bloomingdale, which, before it became big houses in fancy developments with even fancier names, the kind of names that just sound pretentious such as "The Estates at Bloomingdale Crossing", was a nice place that more or less could pass for a rain forest. If someone occasionally dumped a dead washing machine in the rain forest. Which they may. I've only seen one rain forest and it was in Puerto Rico. And we never got out of the van.

After crossing Bloomingdale and traversing the 6 blocks or so of rain forest, we came to the bungalows and trailer parks that made up the banks of the Alafia River. Alafia is an Indian word for something. Something that needed a name at the time, though I have no idea what. Maybe a plant. Maybe a mineral. Maybe a tire jack. Just not sure.

When we arrived at the Alafia boat ramp, we would jump off of our bikes and let them lay wherever they fianlly came to a rest. We would run, full tilt, and dive off the boat ramp wall and into the river. It was great.

One time someone, for fun I'm sure, had thrown a picnic table off of the ramp wall and into the river. That day was one you could have rightly referred to me as a head banger. The top of a picnic table, connecting with the top of your noggin, after just breaking the surface of what you have expected to be a cool, refreshing, SOFT river is a bit of a surprise. I knew a few cuss words and used 'em all. Twice.

We always swam across the river to the tree with the rope swing. We would swing and swim, swim and swing. When a family, out for a peaceful outing with the children, would be spotted coming down the river in a canoe, we would climb way up into the tree limbs, hidden, and one of us would get the rope in our hands and then slink in behind the trunk of the tree, and when Darren McDad and the family got within range....down came our shorts and we'd leap out of the tree and swing by them on the rope. Laughing and hollering and shooting moons all the way down.

It was such great fun, except when your shorts would actually come off and start sinking. That sucked. A) Because you'd have to ride home naked (already shirtless, remember?) and B) There was really no reasonable thing you could tell your mom to adequately explain how you misplaced your pants. "Mom, it was the durndest thing. A thug jumped out from behind a light pole and pants-jacked me. Mom...HE HAD A KNIFE!" While that may have worked, it took me 38 years to come up with it. Hardly useful now.

I was going to tell you about the gator and about the snake, but as my own personal hero has pointed out on several occasions, my tendency towards verbosity eats away my time.

I must now go to work. We have 3 appointments today and I may actually earn some cash. If not, well I still got to dress up with a tie and cufflinks, and that means the day already has that going for it. I am nothing if not stylish.

SNAKE!! Haha, out
Ramblin' Ed

Waitin lonesome in the sun

I slack, therefore I whine, or, were I Australian I would whinge, a word I still do not quite understand to this day. How do I know this? Because my own personal hero told me so. Kinda. Anyway I read it and I knew deep down that as much as I did not want to hear it, as much as I wanted to think the situation otherwise...then I got back to the not wanting to hear it portion. C'est la vie / c'est la sk.

My own personal mini-hero wrote something while she was working barefoot and eating dancing food -- she writes without taking a breath and it really zips along, but you sometimes lose it a little on the curves-- and it was good. It is usually good which is why I save the gushing praises and the offers to buy her sandals so she can be barefoot, but still not, for when she writes something stellar. Stellar being, of course, a word that I consciously endevor to work into sentences that need quantifying in a positive direction, a word that I like more than I like a lot of other things, a word that is indeed itself stellar. Stellar, the word not the concept, caught my eye when I saw mini-hero, or MH, had used it (however accidentally it may have happened) in a sentence. Correctly, no less. Oh yeah, my point. I stole the title from her.

We drove around Seffner, Valrico, Thonotossassa and Brandon yesterday knocking on the doors of the "DO NOT CALL LIST" people and having an absoloute ball. They were cool people and for the most part my peeps. The angry, trailer park dweller on Rebel Run Road; the truck driver at the end of Ranch Rd, a small stretch of heaven right here on earth, about 1 lane wide and jam packed with spanish moss draped live oak trees. If your eyes could drink, then this view would intoxicate you. Heavily intoxicate you, stumbling down the avenue drunk, yet still wanting more; and the others. I was in my element as we stood on the porches and chatted. We laughed, we shook our heads, we nodded gravely and we cussed the county guvmint, which needs a good cussing anyway, as you will learn next topic if you're still with me. We did this only because it was a beautiful Florida afternoon and we were stuck sitting in the office having less than satisfying conversations with the colorful office supplies. "So, ya come here often?"

The boy I was with, Dave, didn't want to drive his car so we took mine. He said it was because his was dirty, but we both know it was 'cuz we was in a place where having not one, but two, NY plates on a car is not gonna be beneficial to the cause. You know, fairly unreconstructed folk.

Hillsborough County, my beloved county here in the great state of New York South, motto: That's NOT how we did it up north, had goons sitting on the edge of my yard in an unmarked car... well, actually I think it was marked, but my eyes, you know... when I came out to go to work yesterday. They bum rushed me and got on me straight away. "You can't water your lawn today", they said, and were not in the mood for my response, which was to turn slightly to study the sitchy-ation, then respond that it seemed that I could, a reference to the fact that the sprinklers seemed to be working fine. I will spare you the details, but after a bit of banter that only one of us was finding amusing, I came to the conclusion that these were the kind of people what would impound your house for watering your roses on the "wrong day". I also concluded that having my house impounded while I still owed so much on it would suck. Verily. So I nodded in complete fake agreeance and let them slink off to their nefarious work. Dang nefarious county employees in their somewhat unmarked vehicles.

And, just to get the day started off completely right, at 0620 the garbage truck come down the road from the "I'm finished" direction instead of the "I'm arriving" direction, spotted me dragging garbage and moving boxes to the road, stopped to pick up my refuse.... AND LECTURED ME. What the heck was up with the county employees??? He stopped but he didn't have to, I needed to have my waste there "No later than 0600 or next time I'll drive right by it", etc. etc.

OK, I have to go to work. I hope as you read this you could feel my pain. Sometimes I am very painful. Other times merely playful. If I ever find my thumb drive again I'll post some more of my rhyming words.

Vengence a with back, out
Ramblin' Ed

Your images are being uploaded to Blogger. NOT!!!

Getting up early and working late. I sleep like I'm dead, I am so worn out. Kitchen is finished as is the laundry room. Living room almost done, too.

Will try to do a post in MS Word today during lunch at work and post it this evening when I get home. Luckily for me, most of you sometimes take several days off between posts your ownselves and I am likely the only one obsessing that I get something good out daily.

Go read the Appalachian Intellectual's blog. He's got a couple of good ones just sitting there waiting to be read. By you.

Ramblin' Ed

And on and on

I am drowning in small ceramic figurines and tea sets. And Japanese dolls. I cannot move, I cannot sit and I cannot cook. Would love to blog, but I gotta get this place under control.

Ramblin' Ed

The river does not rush the pie pan

Mouse...toad.... they're both bovines. So what does that tell you? That I like stick people cartoons and I have a load of them saved up. Yep, I do. They're not complex. They make me smile. And they never ask me to stop watching TV to move furniture.

Ow! Girl cat (Yuki, the normally mellow feline) has decided a full claw version of "Bat the big toe" is in order. She makes me laugh. She makes me bleed. But again, no movement of furniture requests.

Got 2 truckloads of furniture in yesterday. Yes, all the vaccuums, refrigerators, shelves, dishes, etc. have finally come home to roost. This place is bursting at the seams. But we are no longer going to be camping out. No siree, the good stuff is here.

We have the only the weekend to get it all sorted and put away. Or at least the front part of the house, because wallpaper guy is coming back Monday to finish up. Of course, the back part is where we sleep, dress and shower, not necessarily in that order, so we need to get it straightened out a little, too. Repeat after me in your saddest, most resigned voice, "No football for Ed this weekend."

Oh, yeah. If I remember to, I will take a picture of my kitchen refrigerator and it's absolutely ridiculous number of attached magnets. It boggles my mind. Your mind may not experience the same degree of boggle, I can't really say. But the side effects are rare, usually mild in nature and may include dizziness, itchy skin or in extremely rare instances, urinary tract inflamation. Ask your doctor if viewing the picture is right for you.

The card I couldn't post yesterday:

I just don't know what to say. My life for the last few days has been 3 things and 3 things only: License test (done), household goods (in progress) and wallpaper (also in progress).

I feel the Ramblin' Ed slipping away faster than I had expected. Days and weeks spent wrapped up in relatively minor life events that take inordinate amounts of time and energy. The adventure, the sitting in the shade and musing, the road trips to whatever is at the end of this randomly selected backroad have all been put on hold. I am becoming Domestic Ed, Plastic Ed or Suburban Ed. If the transformation becomes complete, if I see all of the just on a lark, nonsensical moments in my life shelved and I become the masculine version of a South Brandon Soccer mom, I will put a bullet in the head of this blog and walk away. I'm hoping that don't happen, of course. Bullets are expensive and we need new carpet and drapes.

Boring, yet surprisingly unexciting, out
Ramblin' Ed, suburban househusband

I They He Them... whatever works

Take whatever pronoun and add it to this suffix, "...or would/will/is/am ____ ?" Then tack it on to any sentence it will fit. Examples abound, and here are a few.

I am going to the drug store. Or am I?
He looks good in Elvis sideburns. Or does he?
(You can already see how mysterious this makes everything. Or can you? See?)
She has cute shoes for a toddler. Or does she?
Dropping hot pizza in your lap isn't fun. Or is it?

It'll work for just about everything and if you pepper your conversations throughout the day with these, people will look at you with astonishment, all the while wondering when you became so mysterious. Anyway, you get the idea. Or do you?

My bidness card. The phone numbers are valid, so don't play with them. Seriously, don't play. (Nevermind. This one won't upload. Anyway, if you can just imagine a business card...)

I have been working on a name for our company we are starting up and it's kinda difficult. Most of the cool ones are taken. And, unlike naming our band, I can't throw out suggestions like MC 900 Foot Ehrhardt. We want to be taken seriously. We want to take money.

I was listing what I tought were pretty good names only to find out Cingular, General Motors and Keebler were already taken. That left me with less good choices, although I kinda like Sibatt (Sibattico, Sibattical), Sceneigro, Cinegro, Extra Mile, Trancident, or Proof Productions. We intend to produce a few second long opening credit, much like the boy fishing from the moon that Dreamworks uses. If possible, when we complete it I'll post it or link to it here.

Not much time. Furinture coming soon today and I want to rearrange a few things to make room. Finally, I won't be camping out at home.

OK, I can't get any photos to upload this morning, which is more or less your loss, but I don't have time to fool with it. You'll get them soon enough, my pretties.

As Alice Cooper once said, "Welcome to my nightmare." Which, if you think about it, really doesn't pertain to anything I've written today. Except maybe the not being able to upload pictures. But since a lot of the pictures to upload are stick people, "nightmare" just doesn't do it for me. Got it? Well, get it. Good.

Sealed for freshness, out
Ramblin' Ed

Which me. Luck.

I have studied harder than I have in a long, long time. 6 hours a day for several days on end. I am routinely scoring high 80's to mid 90's on the 800 question prepatory test. What I have learned most from this is to SLOW DOWN and READ THE DOGGONE QUESTION. For some reason, the word "except" is invisible to me, as in "All of these statements about deferred annuities are correct except which of the following:"

Oh my goodness. I got all this weird stuff swimming around in my head. Universal life. Securities Exchange Commision licensing requirements. Single Premium Immediate Annuities. HIPPA. COBRA. MEDICARE deductibles. 20-15-90-45-60 formula. Arrggghhh! But I need the money. So sometimes I go out with my pruning shears and a big, long cigar. I trim the wisteria, then I trim it again. Then I sit in the shade and reflect on how smart I'm gonna be. Might be. Someday.

Anyway, it's a 2 1/2 hour, 150 question test. My goal is to score the highest of anyone in the office, which should be doable since high score right now is something like 82. That's my goal. So, I expect to come home with a license... a newly minted insurance knowing dude. An agent. Wish me luck.

A woodchuck who would chuck wood, out
Ramblin' Ed

The good guys

Apparently, here in the civilian world, the men are more enviornmentally conscientious than my counterparts in the navy were.

A prime example can be found right here in my office. I don't know how many gallons of precious water are being saved daily by the simple act of never flushing the urinal. But it's gotta be a lot.

Way to go, guys. You're THE BEST.

Not FLAMINGO, you idiot

My father had a birthday yesterday. It's like those things are coming every year now. He has done a lot for me this year, and by a lot what I mean is A LOT! So I wanted to repay him some. While him getting back any of the money or time he spent on me this year is a good idea that likely will not happen, I could still do what I do best. Make fun of him, you ask? Well, OK, what I do second best. I could feed him. No one goes hungry around Ramblin' Ed.

We dressed up decent and slicked down our hair. My wife pinned her dress shut a little more as she was afraid she might be showing too much boob, although I tried mightly to get the idea that there was no such thing as showing too much boob translated into something she would understand. I failed and she pinned.

We hopped into the Pontiac and made the short drive down Causeway to Ybor City to The Columbia Restaurant. What a great place. It's been there since 1905. It's classy without being pretentious. It's expensive without being inexpensive. It has great food.

Mmmmm. Great food. I had a filet mingnon with Booker Noe bourbon as a sauce and, because Booker Noe is like 120 proof bourbon this was possible, the waiter lit it on fire just before putting it in front of me. Dinner don't get no better than firey meat. And for me, coffee and key lime pie. The others had other things and that was their loss.

Then, with no warning, the lights dimmed, a soft woman's voice with a nice Spanish accent welcomed us all, and out stormed the flamenco dancers. They were colorful. They were graceful. They were stomping their feet like they was in a mess of fire ants. They were cool. I think one of the dancers had a thing for me, but luckily for us all, she hid it extremely well. In fact, she hardly even looked at me which I suppose is a good thing. Remember: Flamenco, as in not flamingo.

All told, it was a very good evening. And I made it home in time to watch "My Name Is Earl" (which was surprisingly good) and Dog: Bounty Hunter (which is the reason television was invented). And a weird show called Nip/Tuck which bears a second watching before I make up my mind.

Peacenik, out
Ramblin' Ed

Spelling errar

Apologies. Yesterday Thonotossassa got spelled several different ways, none of which were correct. The preceeding spelling is correct according to the highway sign outside Hardee's.

If you live in the south, and you and all your friends speak southernly, phoenetic spelling is not really an option. As I repeatedly must larn.

So they want to open the French Quarter before they have drinking water, medical care or reliable police. Like the hand painted sign down on Bourbon St used to remind us. In N'awlins, "It's not the heat, it's the stupidity."

I'm not really sure why Spiderman is a superhero. Or Batman for that matter. Let him forget to come to work one day without his bat belt, then see what happens. "This shark has my Bat leg. I'll just grab the Bat Shark Repellant* and... Oh Nooooooo!! The pain. The horror! But mostly...THE PAIN!!" Yeah. But I digress.

What does Spiderman really do? Swings around downtown, mostly. All he's got is the web stuff he shoots and honestly, without seeming too nit picky, how difficult can that really be to defeat? He has a quick wit and a spidey sense that sometimes tingles. So what. I have a quick wit and sometimes tingle. Does that make me a crimefighter? Nope. In fact, I am pretty sure that unless there are juveniles, well, pre-teens really, involved if I am in a fight and a butt kicking takes place, it'd be my butt what got kicked. Call it an educated guess. Remember though, throw a toddler in the mix and it's Bang! Zoom! A whole 'nother story, Alice.

Here I am at Jack Rabbit Slim's. Anybody seen Uma?

That's about it. Nothing exciting here. I leave you with another old one. Not "high school" old, but old enough. (I cannot get this spaced the way I like. It's doing this space and a half/double space thing that I hate. The mentioned entry will be in a separate post below.)

* This scene really was in the Batman movie. The one with Adam West many years ago.

0 Transfats, out,
Ramblin' Ed

Promised Land 1983

Promised Land 1983

I put 40 dollars in a Greyhound ticket
towards the California shore
hopin' it would take me all the way to Lou'sana
or maybe just a little more.

Stuffed my harmonica into my pocket
set my watch to Pacific time
and when that 'Hound rolled into Mobile, Alabama
driver said it was the end of the line.

I said thank you, Mr. Driver, for your trouble
and I did enjoy the ride
Hope your kids grow up to be just like their daddy
and I said one last goodbye

I spent that day and half the evening
tryin' to get out of Alabam
My watch said it was 10 0'clock in L.A.
when I chanced to flag a trucker down

He said, Hop in I'm going clear across Texas
I'll take you just as far as I go
this highway sure gets so damn lonesome
that I couldn't stand the ride alone

Been a straight through drive from Norfolk, Virginia
All loaded up and hammer down
I'm Frank, pleased to meet you, we'll get a bite later
when we rumble into Houston town.

I pulled my harmonica out in San Antonio
rhythm was the diesel's whine
and when Frank picked up the tempo I was playin'
gotta tell you we was making time

Such good ol' boys, we was almost in tune
making up the words as we go
and we were almost brothers when the ride was over
on the other side of El Paso.

I was sipping on a Mountian Dew doing nothing
sitting down by the side of the road
hoping I could find somebody that would take me
all the way across New Mexico

Caught a lift with a Southern Baptist holy roller
in a too old Fairlane Ford
when I seen them diamond, shining lights of Phoenix
Don't you know I said Praise the Lord

Phoenix treated me like a long lost lover
and her sun sure warmed my bones
got myself nourished at the rescue mission
washed the road dust off my clothes.

Heard the siren song of Los Angeles County
crushed my cigarette in the ground
lit my next Lucky in a cabover Peterbilt
Southern California bound

We rolled to a stop about five in the morning
in a Chula Vista produce mart
just me and the driver, and the corn and lettuce
the morning was cool and dark

Walked right over to the glass booth pay phone
searching pockets for a dime
Hey operator, call collect to Tallahassee
tell my mama that I'm on the line.

Ed
San Diego (an assumption, actually)

Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.- Robert A. Heinlein

This addresses several anxieties of the underground snoozer: Firstly it conceals his or her identity, hides an open mouth, and even goes some way towards muffling the sound of snoring. Secondly it masks the area that would be in view it the sleeper has fallen asleep with legs wide apart. Thirdly, the screen is emblazoned with the name of the station where you need to alight, so helpful fellow passengers can wake you up in time.

Yesterdiddy we went to the Flea Market out in Thononossassa. It was a real redneck on parade type of thing. Lot's of fat chicks in tight clothing, fat guys in shorts (ugghh!) and a rebel flag emblazoned on everything from cell phone cases to baby bibs. And despite it all, I somehow did not stand out.

I decided to get a burger there as we only passed one Waffle House on the way there, and it had people backed up waiting for a table. I absolutely LOVE Waffle House, but still, I will not wait in line to get into one.

So the menu at the flea market joint had the basic burgers, dogs, philly steak, etc., with an "add menu" to the bottom. You know, add cheese - .59, add bacon- .85, and also in this case, add chili- .59. So I ordered a double burger with chili. The little girl behind the counter literally just stared at me. Then she said, "No one's ever ordered that before."

So I asked if, nobody else ever having asked for a chili burger before notwithstanding, could I please have mine anyway? She actually had to go ask.

She came back and said, and I am not kidding you, that I could have the double burger, and I could have a small container of chili to put on it, but I would have to put it on there myself. I of course asked why that was, especially given that the menu says they'll add chili for the very reasonable price of fifty nine cents. The answer didn't make any sense to me.

It was something about burger being one place in this 10' X 10' hut and the chili in another, a problem that obviously does not come into play if you order a chili dog because I ordered one of them too and it came without a side order of complication. Oh well, the moral is that I am, pure and simply, a hassle magnet.

So, while I was at the Thonosassassa Redneck Flea Market, I bought some things. I bought my brother some Japanese swords and a display stand. They were reasonably priced. Because they were made in Pakistan. Japanese swords from Pakistan. I was going to call them Pakinese swords, but that more or less brought to mind a samauri lap-dog kind of image that just didn't work for me. "I will disembowel you, mortal enemy of mine, but first I must yip mindlessly for a moment then poop on the rug. Prepare to be vanquished right after that."

I also bought for me, a new shovel, a new rake and a hand sized pick axe. I am prepared for extreme gardening now. I now have only the one corner of the yard that I cannot go into. It's the corner where I planted the shade loving bromeliads in the full sun. Like the lady told me to, even though it didn't sound right to me. Yeah, well the broms didn't die... but boy howdy, they're really pissed. I don't even walk by there without somebody to watch my back.

Drive by quoting:

Cabbage: A familiar kitchen-garden vegetable about as large and wise as a man's head. - Ambrose Bierce

Americans will put up with anything provided it doesn't block traffic. - Dan Rather

If the minimum wasn't acceptable it wouldn't be called the minimum. --George Muncaster (Air Force Wisdom)

The fact that no one understands you doesn't make you an artist. - Unknown

I don't intend for this to take on a political tone. I'm just here for the drugs. - Nancy Reagan, former First Lady

I was so poor growing up ... if I wasn't a boy ...I'd have nothing to play with. - Rodney Dangerfield

A horse may be coaxed to drink, but a pencil must be lead. - Stan Laurel

Honest criticism is hard to take, particularly from a relative, a friend, an acquaintance, or a stranger - Franklin P. Jones

Lions and tigers and bares, out

Ramblin' Ed

Tastes Filling...Less Great...Tastes Filling...LESS GREAT...

Ola, peeps. Welcome back Hoochie Murf. I trust your flight was a pleasant one. You were flying NorthWorst Scarelines, correct? I harbor a certian animosity towards them as a result of a very un-fun international flight. I believe my exact sentiment is something like, "I hate them, they suck." Your experiences may differ.

One Last Kiss

Been beat with a long, hard stick
that's just a reaction.
Pick up a mirror, baby
see the reflection.
If you wanted a dog, that's fine,
but hear what I say.
That I never wanted more
than I could reach out and take.

And I howl at the moon sometimes
but it's only money.
A smile comes across my face
but it ain't that funny.
The joke was a painful thing.
Didn't mean no harm.
And the bells that went off that night
just a false alarm.

If love is a winding road
better get me a street sign.
If you were my destiny,
must have showed at the wrong time.
Thought you had a heart that's true
well, the same for me.
Like an angel blowing one last kiss
before he fell from grace.

Been along on a wild, wild ride
with the windows open.
I was there as the promise died
when the words were spoken.
Hell, we knew that the fire inside
would burn out someday.
But I never wanted more
than I could reach out and take.

I thought you had a heart that's true
well the same for me.
Guessing angel blew that one last kiss
before he fell from grace.

Ramblin' Ed
Yokosuka

Guess this might be longer if'n I wasn't getting ready to go to the big flea market. No matter, I reckon most of you are out playing or getting ready for some football. So, in summary, yes, I realize this was just filler. It happens sometimes.

Like a good neighbor, out
Ramblin' Ed

Boxing Kitty, or, Cat As My Hat part II

Today I have to take Pepe to the vet. It is time for his second round of shots and so he shall have them. But that means I've got to put him in a box. Which sucks. Admittedly it sucks more for him, but for me some also. And it's a cardboard box on top of it all. But I ain't buying a fancy cage as I don't expect I'll be needing to crate the cat all that much. In fact, I'm only doing it because the cat lady, you know the kind, insists that unpaked cats cannot be transported and I don't want a big tsk tsk tsking when I come in. I'm surprised she didn't insist on some kind of cat bubble wrap, but I would never make that remark out loud near her. Can't wait to tell her the cat is already eating duck. That'll blow her whole kittens have sensitive stomachs... balanced nutrition... stomach enzymes...blah blah blahitty blah out of the water. "Yes ma'am, I think nutrition is important also. Which is why he must finish ALL of his duck before he gets any pineapple upside down cake. Um-hmmm."

Apparently the wife photographed us sleeping last night. We are nothing if not gentle, peace loving creatures. They are all kinda cool, so I will post several that are close to being identical with the only exception really being the exact spot on my butt that I am scratching at any one time.

I take my insurance licensing test on Thursday and will hopefully be in the field earning tens, if not hundreds of dollars. Hi, I'm Ed Abernathy from Banker's Life and Casualty. We specialize in seniors. Well, it's not exactly what I dreamed about as a child. But if I make enough money I suppose I could buy me a Kenworth, drive it down the highway just for fun, and only have destinations with giant parking lots. Like the bluegrass band, and I want to say Stanley Bros. or Willis Bros. or something but I know it isn't right, used to sing: "Give me forty acres and I'll turn this rig around/It's the easiest way that I've found/Some guys can stop her on a dime or back her right downtown/But I need forty acres and I'll turn this rig around". Amen to that, brothers.

Oh goodness, it WAS the Willis Bros. CLICK HERE, I COMMAND YOU.

Well, today I've got nothing and the love of my life has awakened and come out. Therefore, today's time is up. Adios, peeps and peepinistas. Peeporitas, too.

Sold by weight not volume, out
Ramblin' Ed

This little piggie went....to jail

What good is being young if you can't have some crappy jobs, wreck a motorcycle, marry the wrong woman or go to jail along the way?*

In fact, on the way to see Transporter 2 last night, me and my brother were talking about politicians and their handling of the questions of their drug use in their past. Each politician handles it different, ie, Clinton's "I didn't inhale" and GW's, "I'm not even going to go there." My take on it, and Bro agrees, is that the only answer that should be offered, indeed the only answer that is needed, is "I was young then." Good googly moogly. That really just about covers it. If 100% of middle America didn't buy that answer I'd...well, I'd nothing because EVERYBODY understands that answer. They'd just nod their head in knowing agreement.

In fact, my take on the typical male life, American male anyway, is that little stupid stuff that happens before the age of about 26 or 27 ought not really count. Fer instance:

Job Application Form: Have you ever shaved an animal for fun.
Job Applicant, male, 1 each: Yes.
Job Application Form: How old were you when it occured?
Job Applicant, male, 1 each: Twenty-three
Job Application Form: No problem. Your brain was not yet completely formed. Go on to next question.

The first time I went to jail I was kind of surprised by it. Just like some of you were probably surprised to see the word "first" in the preceeding sentence, since the use of the word tends to infer a certian multiplicity of events. I had refrains of Merle Haggard's "Mama Tried" running through my head (I turned 21 in prison doing life without parole..) as I was taken to the station and booked.

Fortunately for me, and this has proven true most of my life, I was polite and well behaved and was treated nicely by San Diego's finest. Also fortunately for me, I have never done anything even remotely malicious or felonious so, as I was to find out later, I was never in danger of life without parole.

In fact, I was merely in danger this time of an overnight stay in the cell (routine policy I found out) and a $135 fine. In another fact, none of my "crimes" were ever really crimes. And none make for riviting stories. In yet another fact, most of this was to give context, to give pretext, to give a lead in for using this photograph from my extensive collection of goofy mug shots, assuming you consider two extensive and even if you don't, I'll still bet it's a bigger collection of goofy mug shots than you have. And I know where to get more.

Transporter 2 was OK. Not as good as Transporter. Big surprise there. We really wanted to see Lord of War with the ever electric Nicolas Cage. But it was not showing.

But how, you are asking, did you decide to go to a 7 o'clock movie knowing that Survivor Guatemala was debuting at 8 o'clock on CBS? You also may ask, "Isn't that one of your all time favorite shows? Something you hold in the same high regard as a quiet dinner with Angelina Jolie, followed by back seat smooching?" Yes, you may ask that, although it occurs to me a little belatedly that you may not. No matter though.

The answer is that Dad recorded it for me. Pretty simple, huh? But still, I'll bet it plumb evaded some of you. And the show was good. Stephanie and Bobby Joe are back playing the game. Bobby Joe was a real wimp though, this time around.

The wife made some Japanese/Thai food which, for ease of explanation is mashed potatoes and ground pork, seasoned with white pepper, rolled in breading and deep fried. I also understand it has a Mexican and a Cuban counterpart that is similar. Who'd have thought so many different cultures would develop meat & potato recipies? But I digest..., er, digress.

When she was done, we divvied them up according to household census data. Gwen and Evelyn get 3 pieces each as they live alone. Evelyn (the other one) and Otto get 4 because there's 2 of them. And the family across the street gets 6 pieces because it's a mom (2 for her), dad (2 for him) and their 2 skinny daughters (1 each for the skinny girls). Then I went door to door delivering them. The whole time I was delivering them I couldn't help but think to myself, "This is really nice of us. I sure hope we get these plates back."

* Apparently, I was good at being young as I have experienced all four. And more.

Shake well before abusing, out
Ramblin' Ed

The skink has left the building

Sorry, peeps. This is the post that knocks the picture of the skink out of the THINGS I'VE SAID LATELY column and into the archives. So now for your daily skink fix (pretty blue tail, beady little eyes, tiny little toes that perhaps have even tinier little suction cups or perhaps not...) you'll have to do a little digging. Sorry, but time marches on. Time, tide and skinks wait for no man. Or lollygagging woman. Sorry.

The mailman lady offered me a job driving a tow truck. Seems she owns a tow truck company. "Here's today's annoying flyers. Wanna drive a tow truck for me?" How strange.

Some people spend a little time each morning eating grapefruits. I spend a few minutes each afternoon picking them up and throwing them away. Dang grapefruits.

Ramblin' Ed Tip For a Better Life #74:
You have to be big enough to be happy. Small people can only hold a little happiness, and it shows.

There's a lady at work gives me a hug everyday. Actually she gives one to just about everybody, but I look forward to mine more than theirs. She's a little ol' short thing from Texas. She has a, quote, "Latin boyfriend". Down here the word "Latin" describes quite a number of nationalities. So anyway, yesterday, JOKINGLY, I said to her she needed to drop the poser and go out with me. It would be OK as I had some Latin in me. "You do?", she asked. "Yep", I said, "I had a cuban sandwich for lunch." She punched me in my arm and laughed. No word on dropping the poser, though.

Who wrote these 2 songs? He's southern. He's a rocker. But he's not normally considered a southern rocker. (Answer in next post, if I remember and you haven't guessed it):

#1
Honey don't walk out
I'm too drunk to follow
You know you won't feel this way tomorrow
Well, maybe I'm a little rough around the edges
Inside a little hollow
I get faced with some things sometimes
That are so hard to swallow

Hey hey hey!
I was born a rebel
Down in dixie on a sunday morning
Yeah with one foot in the grave
And one foot on the pedal
I was born a rebel

Well she picked me up in the morning
And she paid all my tickets
Yeah she screamed in the car
And threw me out in th e thicket
Well I never would've dreamed
That her heart was so wicked
Oh but I keep coming back
Cause it's so hard to kick it

I was born a rebel
Down in dixie on a sunday morning
Yeah with one foot in the grave
And on e foot on the pedal
I was born a rebel

Even before my father's fathers
They called us all rebels
Burned our cornfields
And left our cities leveled
I can still see the eyes
Of those blue bellied devils
When I'm walkin g round tonight
Through the concrete and metal

I was born a rebel
Down in dixie on a sunday morning
Yeah with one foot in the grave
And one foot on the pedal
I was born a rebel

#2
There's a southern accent,
where I come from
The young 'uns call it country
The yankees call it dumb
I got my own way of talkin'
But everything is done,
with a southern accent
Where I come from

Now that drunk tank in Atlanta's
Just a motel room to me
Think I might go work Orlando
If them orange groves don't freeze
I got my own way of workin'
But everything is run,
with a southern accent
Where I come from

For just a minute there I was dreaming
For just a minute it was all so real
For just a minute she was standing there, with me

There's a dream I keep having
Where my mama comes to me
And kneels down over by the window
And says a prayer for me
I got my own way of prayin'
But every one's begun
With a southern accent
Where I come from

I got my own way of livin'
But everything gets done
With a southern accent
Where I come from

Just one calorie. No MSG, out
Ramblin' Ed

Thanking Buddha for the ironing

I do not have much furniture in the house. And it'll be like that for the next 9 days or so. Luckily what I do have is really big and heavy. And just will not slide on my carpet. And all needed to be moved yesterday. And all got moved yesterday.

See the living room just became the TV room. It's bigger for one thing. We want to have friends over for movies and this allows us to seat five or six comfortably with good views all around. And the actual TV room is an addition to the house and just does not get the AC it should. Nong figured out how to remedy that by putting the thermo to about 64 degrees, but the rest of the house was freezing and I simply cannot afford to cool like that.

What was the TV room just became the Buddha room and ironing central. We got the iron, ironing board, an assortment of starches, nice wooden hangers and this steel tube contraption that allows for hanging and sorting the clothes as they transform from wrinkle cloth to dress shirt awaiting transport to my business clothes closet. And all of this is accomplished now under the watchful eye of Buddha. And his chickens.

Which reminds me. I have not yet worn the same tie twice to work. Don't know if anybody there has noticed, but I have. I still have about 13 more to go before I begin to repeat myself. Same is true for cufflinks, although I only have today and one more before they begin repeating. Am I a clothes horse or what?

I am waiting, like a pound and a half bass, with baited breath for my "authorization" to show up on the Florida Department of Financial Services website so I can schedule my licensing test. I kinda have mixed feelings about the test. Yesterday I was on a prep site, basically an 800 question testbank with in depth explanations of why the right answers are right and the wrong answers are wrong, and I was clipping along getting 8 or 9 out of every 10 correct. Mom dropped by and I said, "Hey, check this out. I'm doing pretty good at this. Watch me do these next five." And you know what happened next. Pick an answer-INCORRECT. Second choice-INCORRECT. Third choice, you guessed it-INCORRECT. I could see in Mom's eyes, the way they kinda started tearing up, that she was seeing a future spent supporting her poor unemployed son and his wife. I did manage to get off that stream of bad luck simply by logging off of the web site and quitting for the day. I couldn't have studied much longer anyway. Dog: The Bounty Hunter was going to come on.

I turned on a feature that makes you type into a text box to leave a comment. I deeply regret the inconvienence. Ever so deeply regret it and the regret is from my bottom and my heart. But it is supposed to stop the automatic spam and am all for that.

I find spam to be just rude. Like coming home and finding that someone came into your house, made some popcorn and settled down in front of the tube to watch some VH1 Where Are They Now. If I wanted you there I'd have invited you. Don't just suppose that because you can get here that I want you here. Like I said, rude. With a capital RU.

It's a short morning as I have to go into the office. You've heard of The Cat in The Hat, right? Last night, all night, I had A Cat For A Hat. Curled up across the top of my head...snoring. Life is just so amusing most of the time. It makes me smile.

(Haru says: Life is so dang amusing. Smile, Eddie-san)

Dessicant. DO NOT EAT, out
Ramblin' Ed

Shark maw saw Parts I & II

This is a far away view, sorta like what I see when I've decided I'm going to need my saw and go to get it and I'm approaching the work bench but am not quite there yet. And in real life it would be hanging on a nail. I barely got a decent focus like this. Never did get one when it was a'dangling from the nail. (Why not "nale"? Makes just as much spelling sense.)

And this here is your "git closer" view, or as is preferred in some of the outlying hills and hollows, "got closer" view. I suppose either is acceptable. It's what the thing looks like when you are nearly close enough to grab it. Note the maw. Pretty maw-some, huh? This thing ain't fooling around when it comes to de-limbage. No siree.

Low in sodium, out

Ramblin' Ed

Why come...

...Mother nature made women genetically wired to constantly rearrange stuff, but not strong enough to move furniture by themselves.

Addendum: Any sentence that is about moving all the furniture from one room into another, and vice versa, should never, and I mean NEVER, begin with the words, Just for fun, let's..." It is not fun.

Move this to there, and..., out
Ramblin' Ed

Edweird The Murderizer,or, Flower Power(less to stop me)

Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a fairytale land known as Marphil Loop, which I beseech you not to get confused with a fairly tall man known as Moretall Luke, a man planted some bushes. It coulda been his wife what planted 'em, I really don't know. I was not there. But digging and lifting and staring down at prepared soil and small plants that'll grow to big plants is the husband's work in this household. And it makes the husband very, very happy to do it. So happy in fact that I don't mind the 92 degree, 250% humidity of a Florida afternoon as I poke and prune and plant. Although sometimes I sit down in the lawn chair for a minute...and fall asleep. Ahhhh yes, good times.

So anyway, under the cigar tree was a mess of azeleas, interloper weed vines and who knows what else was growing, or living, there in the shadowy parts. What's a ramblin' man to do you may ask? Well, I ramble a bit myself, so lemme tell ya. You get them out of there, that's what you do. It's not easy. You get sweaty. And scratched. And tired. And learn that the REALLY big fire ants live in the shade of overgrown azeleas. The vines fight you for their survival at every turn and your neighbors tell you it's the wrong time of day to be doing all this work. Nevermind them. Go inside, grab a utensil and fork 'em. It's what you do and you enjoy doing it, heat stroke aside.

I hacked and cut and hauled azelea carcass most of the afternoon. Some of those branches were big around as my wrist (although admittedly I have a rather girlish wrist) and required me to set aside the pruning shears in favor of the more destructive pruning saw. It's destructive too. The protective sleeve has a picture of a shark with a gaping maw. Yeah, that tells you something right there.

Once I hacked them down I tried to dig up the stumps. Or as my more rednecky brethren and me call them, stomps. Well, that was a no go. So many roots and stuff I could only get the shovel about a half inch deep. I mean, I could have grabbed the axe and pick ax, put some back into it, and reached my objective. But like I said before... it was doggone HOT. So I slapped some Roundup on the stumps, therefore murderizing the poor suckers. I intend to use a combination of dirt digging tools and bags of store bought dirt (The beloved "Jungle Mix" because it has tigers and monkeys on the label. Oh, that and it's cheap.) to prepare the bed for planting and then just plant some shade loving stuff (Latin: shademeous stuffoli) around the dead azelea stumps. It'll look good if I do say so myself. And, I do.

OK, here's some picture and stories.

Here's the furniture I bought in the street at Dade City. From the lady that runs Kokopelli's. It looks so cool. Sorry about the sidewaysness. I can't find a tool to rotate pictures here in blogger. I have 2 of the one in the second sideways picture.

A chunk of swiss cheese with mices in the holes. Ha! It's really just a candle. Yep, the array of stuff you can buy in the street is just mind boggling.

And lastly, my favorite laptop computer with patented "Mouse-guard Protection". As you can see, everythig is just fine as wine. Under control. Cat-tastic.

Remove wrapper before using, out
Ramblin' Ed

Today I am saddened

I used to go to a place in San Diego called The Mandolin Wind. It's still there, although it is pretty much smack dab in the middle of a gay neighborhood. Or maybe it always was. I have become more aware of these things through the years and they have become more open. Either way, it has little bearing on this tale.

Hmmmm...tale. It makes me think I might go into the archive book this morning for an old, old poem. I was just reminded of a high scool one I wrote called Tales of Woe From the Zig Zag man. Yeah, I know. But I did say it was from high school.

Dang. I have digressed even further. Back to track. While Mandolin Wind was mostly a folk or jazz joint (and Ramblin' Ed-less on those evenings) they would occasionally book blues acts. To slip into my cajun personna for a moment, I love dem blues, me. If you've ever talked to a cajun then you know that was dead on.

One guy that came there fairly often was Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown. Over the years I have seen him numerous times, but I'll never forget the first time. Tall, lanky, farily dark black old man in a cowboy hat, boots and rodeo shirt. As he sat down he put his guitar down on his lap, picked up the microphone and looked out into the audience, making sure that we caught his eye. In a weathered voice he spoke: "I like music. I love music. But I don't play blues music. I don't play rock n roll or country music. I play Amur-can (American) music." And with that he'd pick up his guitar and launch into what would always prove to be an energetic and ecclectic set... or two. I loved that guy.

And just like that, he's gone. The whole thing is on CNN.com, but this'll get you going:

BATON ROUGE, Louisiana (AP) -- Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown, the singer and guitarist who built a 50-year career playing blues, country, jazz and Cajun music, died Saturday in his hometown of Orange, Texas, where he had gone to escape Hurricane Katrina. He was 81.

I was reading The Coal Miner's Daughter's blog. She knocks my socks off. Opinionated. Stream of consciousness. Half on and half off track. A lot of times she's like watching a train wreck getting ready to happen and you get all ready for the carnage only to find out that there's a switch on the tracks you didn't see. And there's no crash. You got the suspense of it, but no matter. She's done hit the switch and is careening off in some other direction. Yeah. I'd say it's like that. Now if she just had a shorter name....

For those of you that are interested, Appalachian Intellectual popped his head up and posted a drive-by blog. I like that dude.

Pepe the cat is asleep in my lap. I'd like to get more coffee but hate to turn off the motor when it's purring like this. I am, however, particularly happy that he went to sleep and cease and desisted the frantic game of "GOTTA GET THE DRAWSTRING" that he had been playing. It wasn't the drawstring itself that had me worried, but rather things in close proximity to the drawstring. And really only because GOTTA GET THE DRAWSTRING always includes exposed claws, bared teeth, and a certian wild abandon that only kittens can seem to muster.

I had bunches to tell you but it's all poofed right out of my head...again. Can't keep my thoughts collected. I'm the kinda guy that prides himself on having all his ducks in a bunch. No, I said what I meant. I used to have them all in a row, but now I'm just happy to keep 'em in a bunch. A grouping. A loose association, if you will. Like a rudderless raft made from an old pantry door, you get my drift. And, after the old poem I spoke of earlier, I am out of here.

OK, one last disclaimer. This was really heavy, really cool in High School.

Two Miles East of Babylon

The road travels on in sadistic grandeur
Though your engine is tarnished, your heart is still pure
What's a homecoming queen doin' carrying on
You should be living your life like a song

Will you spend your life speeding like a runaway truck
Let them fire on your dreams like mechanical ducks
Or defend your beliefs with such animal lust
You should be livin’ your life like a song

The minstrel was playing, the jester just grinned
The ladies in waiting played sin after sin
But you never let stage fright do you in
You always seemed to handle it well

Because your mama wasn’t one to raise no fools
And while you never found the time to finish schol
We weathered them storms just like some heros I knew
It seemed that we were doing quite well

And so your Caddilac saved you from something evil
A chrome plated whore cruising soft and lethal
Bound for hell by a promise to stroke your ego
Close your eyes ‘cause here we go

Now in the intersection there sat a girl name of Rose
She got a seam looking sexy up the back of her hose
She was straight out of the ‘40s singing rhythm & blues
Now Rose, she don’t got nothing to lose

And I cried, Good Lord, have mercy
I’ll get lost in the flood!"
It may even leave scars
But it will surely draw blood
And I’ve always loved a lady
Who could belt out the blues
But I can’t dance
Because there’s holes in my shoes.

I can’t dance
When there’s these holes in my shoes.
Ed

Coming at you like a bad chest cold, out
Ramblin' Ed

DadeCity

OK, raise your hand if you, like me, bought the Erika Jo CD. You remember her. The short little 18 yr old, who was short, had a big smile and a mighty voice and was short. You remember her, I'm sure. The winner of Nashville Star this season.

No? Well no matter. I was at a place yesterday, they called it a yard sale but it was a roadside cottage filled with whatever you call something half a notch above garbage. It was middle of nowhere, roadside US 301 just inside Pasco County as I recall. And Erika Jo's CD was only a buck. I bought it, but likely wouldn't have paid more.

iT WAS A PRETTY RIDE THROUGH MOSTLY STILL UNDEVELOPED COUNTRY GETTING UP TO dADE cITY. (Sorry for the bold...cat help) One disconcerting thing was the signs. I went for miles seeing for sale sign after for sale sign on the woods. There were hundreds of them. Judging from the lack of any development action at the moment, I can only guess it's speculators, betting that it won't be too long before the area becomes more "wooded lots from the 300's." Still, all in all me and the wife enjoyed the ride.

We stopped right inside Dade City limits at John Henry's BBQ, sat down, and when the waitress came up I politely inquired if she might be Mrs. Henry. She was not.

It was a black owned joint, which in my experience is the way to go if you're gonna eat BBQ but aren't familiar with the area. Nong had a rib dinner and I the rib/pork combo. It was right fair food and the place smelled real good inside.

Somehow I got to talking to one of the old fellas working in the back and allowed as how we were there for the outdoor antiques fair and how we had meandered up from Brandon. He jumped right on the fastest way to get back south when he saw that I had a road map out.

Educational corner (Geography):

As of the 2000 census, there are 6,188 people, 2,399 households, and 1,460 families residing in the city.

But, I told him, I am not looking for the fastest way home. Thou dost mistake me for one of those young suburbanites (musta been my sunglasses) in their go fast cars and SUVs. In fact, I aim to drive up north a ways, perhaps as far as (OK, I can't remember the name of the town, but the last three syllables were "ahoochee"), head east a mite and then head back to Brandon on 471 to 54 to 39. He smiled, scratched his head and stated that that was indeed just a mighty fine ride for a Saturday afternoon. He was sweating profusely. It is summer in Florida and his job involves a wood fire indoors.

After we finished eating and were headed out the door, another, younger black man came out of the back walking quickly towards me with a purpose and determination. Judging from the look on his face I thought, Oh no, he's coming my way and it looks like he's in the mood for some Ramblin' Ed style tale telling. This may well take a while.

Instead he hands me a white bag with a to go box inside. He says to me, "Here. We wanted y'all to have this. It's some wings and some of our special sauce." He handed over to me with a smile. Gotta love that southern hospitality, and it comes in heaping helpings at barbecue joints.

We enjoyed walking around the town square, looking at antiques and crafts and just talking wth people. I've alwas loved small towns. Like me, they move at a relatively unhurried pace. No, I'm kidding. There's nothing relative about it. It is a much slower, friendlier and chattier pace. My style fer sure.

I suppose I could ramble a while. About the crafts we bought. The candles we bought. The $900 worth of furniture I bought from the lady who ran the Kafe Kokopelli (sk, I most assuredly thought of you when I saw that). But actually, while I find the Tribune to be a bit half-assed, it is still a huge undertaking to read the Sunday edition. I had best get started on it.

Bought Faulkner's The Sound and The Fury yesterday, too. Kinda felt bad that I only paid a quarter for it. But not bad enough to offer more.

Keep refrigerated after opening, out
Ramblin' Ed