« August 2007 | Main | October 2007 »
Grand Funk once stole the show in Texas
September 27, 2007This is a re-run of a blog I wrote back in May, but with Grand Funk Railroad coming to town in two days, I thought it was timely.
-----
When I saw who is coming to FallsFest this year, my first reaction was:
“Are they still alive?�
I first heard Grand Funk Railroad in my hippy days -- at the Texas International Pop Festival in 1969.
It was a Woodstock-like event at a race track in Lewisville that was put on just two weeks after Woodstock.
The headliners were Janis Joplin and a virtually unknown British band named Led Zeppelin.
They were paid the most -- $10,000 each.
Santana. B.B. King, Chicago Transit Authority, Ten Years After, B.B. King and others were paid a whole lot less.
A band from Michigan calling itself Grand Funk Railroad got nothing.
But the people putting on the festival told them they could perform if they did it for free and paid their own expenses.
They stole the show.
They were better than Joplin.
A heck of a lot better than Zeppelin.
Not long after Texas, the rest of the world discovered Grand Funk Railroad.
Although never a favorite of the critics who called them “the loudest rock and rock band in the world,� Grand Funk Railroad sold more than 25 million records and played to sold-out arenas all over the world.
In 1971, they sold out Shea Stadium in New York in less than 72 hours -- breaking the Beatles’ record.
I last saw them in 1970 or 1971 in Houston, doing a tour with Bloodrock.
And now all of you get to see them again, right here in Hooterville Falls.
This is a pretty big deal because the band now only does about 30 concerts a year and still plays to crowds of 20,000-plus.
Two original band members -- Don Brewer (vocals; drums) and Mel Schacher (bass) -- are still there. And they have added former Kiss led guitarist Bruce Kulick; former .38 Special vocalist Max Carl and keyboard player Timothy Cashion.
Saturday night at Lucy Park won't be like Lewisville in 1969.
But having Grand Funk here in Hooterville Falls is still pretty damn cool.
Posted by at 7:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
Two sticky situations? Let's go for the hat trick
September 26, 2007I have lived 60 years, 10 months and five days -- and not once in all that time have I ever had my ass glued to a toilet seat.
But I can certainly sympathize with Bob Dougherty.
He is 59 and it has allegedly happened to him twice in two years.
The first time was in a Home Depot in Louisville, Colo.
He went into a bathroom stall, did his thing and then couldn't stand up.
He said he thought he was having a heart attack.
I know chest pain, arm pain and shoulder pain can be the sign of a heart attack.
But an ass pain?
I'll have to ask Dr. Serrano about that.
Well, with his butt super-glued to the toilet, Bob does what anyone in that situation would do. He screams for help.
The employees hear him and ignore his pleas, probably figuring it's just another Republican announcing he's running for some office.
Dougherty said the incident has made his life one big pain in the ass.
He claims it has caused him post-traumatic stress disorder and diabetes.
To fix it, he and his lawyer are asking for $3 million.
I wouldn't give them 3 cents.
The main reason is that the very next year, Dougherty reportedly got his ass in another sticky situation at visitor's center bathroom in Nederland, Colo.
Dougherty now says the second incident never happened, but a former director of operations in Nederland says it did.
He said.
He said.
Extremely high glucose levels have kept Dougherty in the ICU of a Boulder Hospital for the last week.
Any nurse with a real sense of humor would go for the hat trick and super-glue his ass to a bed pan.
Posted by at 8:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
The three R's: Reading, 'Riting and Rider football
September 24, 2007Either nobody read "Sound Off" on Sunday, or everybody agrees with my opinion.
I have a hard time believing either.
The "Sound Off" was from some Rider parent, who was pissed because the school has about as many football coaches on the payroll as it does math teachers.
My response was "So what?"
Who needs math?
It is great that schools teach kids a lot of different things, including how to work algebra problems.
But now that we have calculators and computers, who needs to do long division?
One of my co-workers said he uses his math skills when he grocery shop -- figuring out I guess which is the better deal -- buying Dr Pepper by the six-pack or 2-liter bottles.
My wife says she still uses math to balance a checkbook.
About the only time I would ever have need of math skills is mentally figuring percentages in a poker game.
Instead of trying to teach me about logarithms in high school, I wish they had taught me how to count cards.
A logarithm - whatever that is -- has never once helped me at the black jack table.
No slide rule ever made can tell you whether to hit or not hit 16.
I
Since I no longer have kids in school, I don't know what they are teaching these days, but I figure reading, 'riting and 'rithmetic or still have high priority.
The reading and writing help me pay the bills.
The arithmetic II really don't need anymore.
There is lots of stuff they make you take in school that will never do you any good later in life.
Like chemistry. I took a whole year of that crap and can't remember one time when I ever needed it.
I wish I had taken a year of auto mechanics.
And instead of plane geometry, I could have been taught sewing.
What good does it do you to know that the square of the hypotenuse of a right triangle is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides?
Pythagoras made a name for himself playing with his hypotenuse, but I would rather know when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em.
So to my friend who is bitchng about football getting more respect that math.
Any time you can get 12,000 people to show up to watch the Rider number sense team, then I'll listen to you.
Posted by at 7:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
Two burrs in my butt
September 20, 2007I have a couple of burrs in my butt this morning.
One is the mother in the school bus incident.
Lady, give it up.
Your son was done wrong. You have a right to be pissed.
All of us were on your side -- but now you are pissing us off.
The boy is OK. He has not been harmed for life. You helped expose some big problems in the school bus system.
Now leave it alone.
The driver does not need to do hard time for being a jerk.
And any suit against the bus company is plain silly and frivolous.
If something like this had happened in my old neighborhood -- and it wouldn't because we walked to school -- we would have:
Thrown the driver off the bus.
Whipped her ass.
Set her on fire.
Stole the hubcaps and sold them for gas money.
And Clarence Daily -- who had his driver's license when he was about 6 -- would have driven us all the Acuna.
Now for that second burr.
.
I am tired of all the Hirschi bitching.
You people were right and the paper was wrong in a headline that appeared on Page 1B not long ago. The publisher, the editor, the copy editor and the headline writer should offer you one huge apology.
But don't let all that carry over to my sports department.
You guys are getting equal coverage with Rider and Wichita Falls High.
I know that because I demand that.
One guy even wrote me bitching about how the Hirschi football game story was not in his paper last Saturday morning. He accused me of short-changing the Huskies.
BS!
BS!
The reason he didn't have the story is because he picked up an early edition. The game lasted almost four hours. It didn't even end until after the early edition deadline.
I covered the game, made the final edition -- and also had it posted on our Web site before midnight.
We also did a follow-up, second-day story for Sunday morning (Page 1D) because the game was so remarkable and some people get the early edition.
Look at our sports section today. We had three stories about high school football this morning.
All of them were about Hirschi.
Does that mean the Rider and Coyotes will start whining about Hirschi getting too much coverage?
Quit whining, Hirschi.
And keep winning.
Posted by at 8:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Whatever happened to Sharon Ann?
September 19, 2007This is a re-run of a blog I wrote last November.
------------------
We were boyfriend and girlfriend in the Summer of 1958.
I was 11. She was 12.
We went to movies together.
We went swimming together.
We went to the park together.
We hugged. We kissed. We played a little touchy-feely.
Then we broke up.
A few days after the break-up, I walked over to her house to kiss and make up.
Her grandmother said he had gone on vacation.
The next week school started.
She wasn’t there.
Nobody knew why.
Then one day I saw a short story in the newspaper where a local cab driver had been charged with statutory rape of a 12-year-old girl.
I knew his name. I still remember his name.
He was a friend of her dad and had given us free cab rides to the movies, to the swimming pool and to the park.
Sharon Ann never came back to school.
About 10 years later, I was shooting pool and drinking beer in a downtown bar called “The Cave.�
The barmaid who waited on me kept smiling at me.
I knew her from somewhere but just couldn’t remember where.
“Do I know you?� I asked.
“Maybe,� she replied.
“Where do I know you from?� I asked again.
“You figure it out,� she smiled.
Later that night, I tossed and turned trying to remember who this chick was.
Then everything clicked.
I remembered those deep dark brown eyes.
I rushed to “The Cave� that next evening and there she was.
When she came to my table, I said, “Hi, Sharon Ann.�
She smiled, brought me a beer and then put her arm around my neck and whispered in my ear.
“Please, don’t tell anyone.�
I asked her out after work. She said “no.�
The next night she wasn’t at the bar.
I never saw her again.
I have kept her secret for almost 40 years.
Until today.
But every time I read another story in the paper about some pervert molesting a child, I think about Sharon Ann and the pain and embarrassment she had to live with all these years.
And I wonder what ever happened to her.
Did she meet her Prince Charming and live happily ever after?
Or did she wind up sleeping in a cardboard box and turning $5 tricks to support her crack habit?
I’m hoping it was Prince Charming.
But I’ll probably never know.
Posted by at 8:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Whatever happened to Sharon Ann?
This is a re-run of a blog I wrote last November.
------------------
We were boyfriend and girlfriend in the Summer of 1958.
I was 11. She was 12.
We went to movies together.
We went swimming together.
We went to the park together.
We hugged. We kissed. We played a little touchy-feely.
Then we broke up.
A few days after the break-up, I walked over to her house to kiss and make up.
Her grandmother said he had gone on vacation.
The next week school started.
She wasn’t there.
Nobody knew why.
Then one day I saw a short story in the newspaper where a local cab driver had been charged with statutory rape of a 12-year-old girl.
I knew his name. I still remember his name.
He was a friend of her dad and had given us free cab rides to the movies, to the swimming pool and to the park.
Sharon Ann never came back to school.
About 10 years later, I was shooting pool and drinking beer in a downtown bar called “The Cave.�
The barmaid who waited on me kept smiling at me.
I knew her from somewhere but just couldn’t remember where.
“Do I know you?� I asked.
“Maybe,� she replied.
“Where do I know you from?� I asked again.
“You figure it out,� she smiled.
Later that night, I tossed and turned trying to remember who this chick was.
Then everything clicked.
I remembered those deep dark brown eyes.
I rushed to “The Cave� that next evening and there she was.
When she came to my table, I said, “Hi, Sharon Ann.�
She smiled, brought me a beer and then put her arm around my neck and whispered in my ear.
“Please, don’t tell anyone.�
I asked her out after work. She said “no.�
The next night she wasn’t at the bar.
I never saw her again.
I have kept her secret for almost 40 years.
Until today.
But every time I read another story in the paper about some pervert molesting a child, I think about Sharon Ann and the pain and embarrassment she had to live with all these years.
And I wonder what ever happened to her.
Did she meet her Prince Charming and live happily ever after?
Or did she wind up sleeping in a cardboard box and turning $5 tricks to support her crack habit?
I’m hoping it was Prince Charming.
But I’ll probably never know.
Posted by at 8:25 AM | Permalink
Keep the baggy pants; Save the tattooed butt crack
September 17, 2007We used to have a hefty bag of a business editor here at the paper who came to work every day wearing an under-arm stained white shirt (missing at least one X); a clip-on tie and a pair of pants about one "X" too big.
And no belt.
Some afternoons phones all over the newsroom would ring at the same time.
That signaled one thing.
"CRACK ALERT"
Big Joe's butt would be shining brightly.
Nobody really wanted to see it, but everybody looked.
The only butt cracks I care about looking at are young, attractive women.
Pardon the pun, but scratch that.
I am old. I can't be picky (pardon again).
The only butt cracks I care about looking at are women's.
I love those little (and sometimes big) tattoos that girls now at least partially expose to us with hip-hugger jeans and shorts.
Birds and butterflies and hearts -- stuff like that is cute.
But did you girls ever think about being walking billboards?
"Eat at Pioneer"
"Trucks, truck, trucks, we got 'em"
"Viva Viagara"
There are businesses out there who will buy your butt crack.
OK, Nick, we already knew you were a dirty old man -- but get to the point.
Why are you writing about butt cracks?
There is a story in our paper today about how some towns are making it illegal for guys to wear baggy jeans.
It says:
"At the extreme end (another pun), wearing pants low enough to show boxers or bare buttocks in one small Louisiana town means six months in jail and a $500 fine."
And
"A crackdown (another pun) is also being pushed in Atlanta."
Now Trenton, N.J. is considering fining guys for baggy pants and then making them go through counseling.
Give me a break.
If a guy wants to wear baggy jeans, let him. We have enough problems in this country. We don't need the fashion police out there arresting people for not dressing like they want them to dress.
Plus, if you start arresting guys for baggy jeans, what's next -- will girls have to cover up their tatooed butts?
A councilwoman in Trenton, who is drafting the law to outlaw saggy pants, said: "The message is clear. We don't want to see your backside."
Then turn your head, lady.
And let me see those butterflies.
Posted by at 8:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)
My picture is on a bathroom wall?
September 13, 2007My wife and I were eating queso and drinking beer in the On the Border bar last night.
Each time our waiter walked by our booth, he had this puzzling expression on his face.
I figured he was either constipated or confused.
Honestly, I have seen that same confused expression many times over the year.
Someone recognizes my face but just can't remember where he or she has seen it before.
I keep waiting for them to ask: "Excuse me, sir, but are you Brad Pitt?"
But they never do.
Finally, my waiter stopped at the booth and pointed his finger at me.
"Now I know," he said. "I finally figured it out -- Nick of Time."
Then came the weird part.
He said: "I've been looking at your picture in the restroom."
"Oh," I joked. "You must be a Republican."
I remember looking at pictures in the bathroom when I was a young boy.
Playboy. OK -- I confess -- even National Geographic.
And I was not looking at pictures of some old bald sports writer.
The waiter reminded me the sports page of the newspaper hangs by the urinal in the men's room at On the Border.
Why they do this, I don't know.
Who has time to read "Nick of Time" while taking a piss?
It is bad enough for people in my profession to know that a big portion of our audience read our prose while sitting on the toilet.
Now, men are reading us while they stand and pee.
Posted by at 7:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
The Cross: 'glimmer or hope' or just a pile of steel?
September 12, 2007A few days after 9-11, Frank Silecchia was digging at Ground Zero digging for human remains.
At about dawn, the tired and weary construction worker looked up and saw "a glimmer of hope."
Remarkably -- some might even say miraculously -- standing before him in a heap of rubble was a 2-ton, 20-foot cross..
It was steel beams that had fallen intact when the north tower of the World Trade Center implodes
But to Frank Silecchia, it was God telling us that "everything was somehow going to be all right."
WOW!
I admit I get a bit skeptical when I read about someone who says he saw Jesus in his corn flakes or claims to have had a close encounter with the Virgin Mary in the Mojave Desert.
Stuff like that, in my opinion, is more the result of bad (or good) shrooms rather than divine intervention.
The cross incident was the real deal to Frank Silecchia.
He spent 12 hours a day, 7 days a week for the next 10 months digging through the rubble of Ground Zero.
It cost him 40 percent of his lung capacity.
I Corinthians 1:18 sayz:
"For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God."
Now what say you?
I think I'll choose power over pershing, thank you.
Posted by at 7:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
God bless America
September 11, 2007
On this, the sixth anniversary of 9-11, I offer you words of a housewife from New Jersey, whom I don't know and have never met. But forget "Hillary for President."
I am voting for this chick
------------------
"Are we fighting a war on terror or aren't we? Was it or was it not started by Islamic people who brought it to our shores on September 11, 2001?
Were people from all over the world, mostly Americans, not brutally murdered that day, in downtown Manhattan, across the Potomac from our nation's capitol and in a field in Pennsylvania ?
Did nearly 3,000 men, women and children die a horrible, burning or crushing death that day, or didn't they?
And I'm supposed to care that a copy of the Koran was "desecrated" when an overworked American soldier kicked it or got it wet?.. Well, I don't. I don't care at all .
I'll start caring when Osama bin Laden turns himself in and repents for incinerating all those innocent people on 9/11.
I'll care about the Koran when the fanatics in the Middle East start caring about the Holy Bible, the mere possession of which is a crime in Saudi Arabia .
I'll care when these thugs tell the world they are sorry for hacking off Nick Berg's head while Berg screamed through his gurgling slashed throat.
I'll care when the cowardly so-called "insurgents" in Iraq come out and fight like men instead of disrespecting their own religion by hiding in mosques.
I'll care when the mindless zealots who blow! themsel ves up in search of nirvana care about the innocent children within range of their suicide bombs.
I'll care when the American media stops pretending that their First Amendment liberties are somehow derived from international law instead of the United States Constitution's Bill of Rights.
In the meantime, when I hear a story about a brave marine roughing up an Iraqi terrorist to obtain information, know this: I don't care.
When I see a fuzzy photo of a pile of naked Iraqi prisoners who have been humiliated in what amounts to a college-hazing incident, rest assured: I don't care .
When I see a wounded terrorist get shot in the head when he is told not to move because he might be booby-trapped, you can take it to the bank: I don't care.
When I hear that a prisoner, who was issued a Koran and a prayer mat, and fed "special" food that is paid for by my tax dollars, is complaining that his holy book is being "mishandled," you can absolutely believe in your heart of hearts: I don't care .
And oh, by the way, I've noticed that sometimes it's spelled "Koran" and other times "Quran." Well, Jimmy Crack Corn and-you guessed it- I don't care !!
"Some people spend an entire lifetime wondering if they made a difference in the world. But, the Marines don't have that problem." -- Ronald Reagan
I have another quote that I would like to add.
"If we ever forget that we're One Nation Under God, then we will be a nation gone under." Also by.. Ronald Reagan
One last thought for the day:
In case we find ourselves starting to believe all the Anti-American sentiment and negativity, we should remember England 's Prime Minister Tony Blair's words during a recent interview. When asked by one of his Parliament members why he believes so much in America , he said: "A simple way to take measure of a country is to look at how many want in... And how many want out."
Only two defining forces have ever offered to die for you:
1. Jesus Christ
2. The American G. I.
One died for your soul, the other for your freedom.
Posted by at 8:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)
A story of two rich white bitches
September 6, 2007Dogs are in the headlines a lot these days.
Pit bulls invade a woman's home and maul her.
A man shoots the family dog for eating his supper
And of course, there is Michael Vick.
But on the opposite side of all that is Leona Helmsley.
This billionaire goofball died and left more money to her dog than to anyone in her family.
Thanks to the old woman's will, "Trouble," an 8-year-old fluffy white female Maltese, is now worth $12 million.
That's $7 million more than two or her grandkids got.
And $12 million more than two others.
Yep, that's right, the old bitch left $12 mil to a dog and nada to two of her grandchildren.
She did leave $10 million to her brother and asked him to take care of "Trouble."
But he said he doesn't want the dog.
Maybe Michael Vick will take it.
After all, this dog is not living in a 28-room mansion -- much nicer than the cell that Vick will soon occupy.
Whoever takes care of "Trouble" will need to hire a lawyer.
One of Leona's former housekeepers said she is going to sue the dog for biting her.
My wife and I have two dogs -- more hers than mine.
I don't necessarily call myself a dog lover -- but I am certainly a dog liker
But I would never put a dog in my will.
That's just plain nincompoopy.
Not only did the dog get $12 mil, Leona also ordered that the dog be buried next to her and her husband Harry in their "5-star mausoleum."
A much happier ending than Vick's puppies had, wouldn't you say?
Posted by at 8:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Low Point Church -- ye vipers and hypocrites
September 5, 2007At times I have used this blog to take a few jabs at Fred Phelps and his devoted flock at Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kan.
Those are the hatemongers who picket the funerals our solders because they think the United States is part of a triumverate with Sodom and Gomorrah.If we love our neighbor -- and that neighbor happens to be a homosexual -- then we are sodomites headed to a burning hell.
Their Website is Godhatesfags.com.
But give these idiots credit. They don't hide their hatred behind phoney baloney smiles.
I can't say the same for the High Point Church in Arlington.
If Jesus were still here walking this earth, he would have two names for them.
Vipers and hyprocrites both fit quite nicely.
The High Point Church -- soon to be known as the Low Point Church -- has 5,000 members and a pastor who is the brother-in-law of smiley-faced Joel Osteen whose 38,000-member congregation now meets in church that used to be the home gym of the Houston Rockets.
And if smiley Joel has his way, the church will soon occupy Reliant Stadium.
The pastor of the Low Point Church last month canceled a man's funeral service the day before it was to be held. The reason: He was gay.
"It was based on principle," the pastor said.
He said the decision was made after staff members were putting together and video for the funeral and saw men kissing and embracing.
I would have preferred the pastor to have just turned down holding the funeral in the first place, saying: "Sorry, we hate queers."
But to say yes at first and then no later when you decide his sin is one you dont' like is to me not Christian.
Jesus is love.
This is hate.
Would this church have done a funeral for someone who overeats.
How about a liar?
How about the guy who lusts over a hot chick in the mall?
How about someone who doesn't love his neighbor like himself.
Aha, that last one got you.
Now with the rules you have created, Low Point, you can't even hold your own pastor's funeral in that church.
Posted by at 8:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
Scripps Interactive Newspapers Group