Thursday, May 31, 2007


You've heard the phrase, "Once in a blue moon". Know what that means?

The moon doesn't really turn blue.

Tonight, the Western Hemisphere will experience the second full moon of the month, call a blue moon.

Blue moons happen every two to three years, on average every 32 months. The last blue moon was July 31, 2004.

Blue moons historically were considered unlucky, partly because a blue moon is most the 13th moon of a calendar year. As such, it caused problems for church festival scheduling. Thirteen, as we've come to believe, isn't the luckiest of numbers.

Way too complicated to me. I'll stick to half moons out the car window. Cow Town loves half or full moons on Main Street.

Unlike a blue moon that comes every 32 months, my half moons come anytime that I feel like it. Like after 12 tequilla slammers. Did I just throw down a full moon or a half moon?


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I have a theory that one can only put so much into their brain. There's room for the right amount of information. Try to cram anything more into it and it's a lesson in futility.

That's why I shun reading directions and road maps. My analog brain in this digital world holds only so much. There need to be room left in it for the important things and not trying to decipher a map or the directions to build or repair something.

I like flying by the seat of my pants - to hell with directions, to hell with road maps. I don't need those stinking things. My analog brain can do it on its own.

You see, way back when Old Bob hit the maternity room floor running, the Good Lord was only issuing analog brains. They're only good for so many mega bites of memory. Overload these old analog brains and everything freezes up - a Fatal Error message is issued on the windows of my eyeballs. Nothing works until I reset the analog brain - a shot of tequila, a beer with and an egg in it. Then it takes a beer bloody Mary to boot the analog system up again. That's how these old brains work.

I save the memory in my brain for all things important, like storing information where I can always buy beer at a discount price. Or who's ahead in the NASCAR Cup points. And maybe even for keeping track of how many times Pamela Anderson has been married. Things like that mean a lot to Old Bob. Saving analog brain space for these things is near and dear to my heart.

Listening to Rush on the radio once was important as part of my plan to keep my analog system healthy. Then Rush did some stupid things, said some stupid things and then checked into rehab. What a wuss. Rehab is for quitters. That's when I stopped listening to Rush.

When I was younger there were many hero's we could hook up to, admire and try to pattern out life after. Who are today's hero's? Are there any? Think about? Who's on your list of hero's. My list is blank. I'm think that there aren't.

Back in the day everyone used to admire every President of the United States. He's lots of things but a hero George Bush is not. I'm thinking George has neither an analog or a digital brain. According to a friend, George Bush has shit for brains. Hmmmm. That explains a lot.

Maybe all of our hero's were issued analog brains that don't cut it in a digital world - and they just faded away or lost all of their ability to function due to a fatal analog error and crashed for good.

Dear Lord: Please stop issuing analog brains. They don't work very well, they're short of memory and they often freeze up. And about issuing shit for brains for our Presidents? That has to stop. Thank you.

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Wednesday, May 30, 2007


There I was yesterday, at my desk, thinking about Hawaii in the midst of finishing off a speech I'm giving tonight.

In comes Grace, grass skirt and halter top in hand purchased months ago by her grandmother. How ironic. Me thinking Hawaii. Grace thinking grass skirt and dancing the hula around the house.

Grace: "Papa, would you tie this for me?"

Me without looking up: "Tie what, Grace?"

Grace: "This." - pushing into my hands a pile of folded grass and cloth.

I undo the knots in the strings for both the top and the skirt both left over from the last time she worn them. Smiling at Grace, I put each one around her and tied them off.

Me: "There you go, kid. Now you really look like a girl from Hawaii." And off she ran to do her Hawaii thing by herself. Grace does not always like an audience.

At the age of four I would have never thought of wearing a grass skirt and a halter top - as well I shouldn't have. Life for a young boy at age 4, 5, 6, 7 or more was all about pretending to be a cowboy interspersed with imagining I was a WWII foot soldier.

When we played cowboys we always hung the bad guys. My friend Doug and I would throw a rope around a high branch of a tree. Then we'd tie the rope around the ankles of the bad guys. Together, Doug and I would pull the rope until the horse thief was a couple of feet above the ground - and of course, upside down. We'd tie off the rope to the bottom of the tree, run away and leave the other kid hanging upside down for 15-20 minutes.

Sounds like fun, doesn't it? It was always lots of fun for Doug and I.

Oh, the things we used to do as kids . . .

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Tuesday, May 29, 2007


Whenever I post the word "naked" I get a ga-zillion hits on the blog. Like yesterday's posting. Near naked lady. Naked headline. Bingo. Hello visitors!

Today I thought that I'd continue that line of thinking and put the word naked once again on the headline of this post. Maybe I'll do that everyday.

Let's try this and see what happens:


That should be worth a few hits.

Hydrangeas bring back childhood memories of Fresno California. They were planted in the front yard of our 1942 constructed 2 bedroom, 1 bath 800 square foot house.

Loved the house. Hated Fresno. If you have ever lived in Fresno you're catching my drift.

Things to do today. The wife is off for her 6 week exam at UC Med Center. It's a 168 mile drive south. This means I have grandchild pick-up duty following Grace's morning in preschool.

Then there's the matter of a cracked sprinkler and the more serious issue of water puddling in a planting area. Where the water is coming from is any one's best guess. I'll dig more holes today to figure this one out. Water pooling in an area like this is not the good news but more like news of a broken pipe somewhere in the concrete foundation of the house.

Later on I'll pick up a new gazebo at Target. They're on sale for a hundred bucks off. Can't pass that up as the old gazebo needs replacing.

I've been asked to speak or M.C. at a retirement dinner for a former employee on Wednesday night. There's a speech that I've worked on for a week now that needs cleaning up in terms of making sense, grammatical correctness, and "flow". Add this to the list for today and tomorrow.

Grace graduates preschool Thursday. After the ceremony there's a barbecue for which I've volunteered to manhandle the job of grilling burgers and dogs.

Did I mention our tenants will be out of our rental on Thursday? That's when the cleaning, the fixing and the cussin' begins. New tenants will move in on the 15th.

This week is busy. I'm going to be stressed.

I'm not going to forget to stop and smell the hydrangeas.

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Monday, May 28, 2007


Christina Aguilera and her husband, according to an interview, spend every Sunday naked. Garden, cook, watch TV, do the laundry, bathe the dog - all done naked.

So I said to the wife:

Me: "It's Sunday. What will it be? Taco Night or Naked Night?"

She: "Naked Night? What's Naked Night?"

Me: "Let me check."

So I got on the Net and dialed in Naked Night. The first picture on this post? That's what came up for Naked Night.

First glance at this picture I thought hmm, good thing for the pasties because otherwise those puppies would be looking like raisins on a string.

Me: "Here's what you do on Naked Nights. Come check it out on the computer."

Wife after looking: 'What are you . . . nuts?! There will be no Naked Night in this house on Sunday or any other night of the week especially if it involved a balloon and me wearing pasties."

Me: "Okay, no pasties. How about just the balloon?"

She: "Not funny, Bob. No balloons. No pasties. No me looking like an idiot with the balloon. End of conversation. I have better things to do. How about tacos for dinner tonight?"

I figured a taco dinner was a poor consolation for not being able to have Naked Night but nonetheless I said:

Me: "Sure, let's do tacos. Can we call it Taco Night?"

She: "Sure, call it anything you want as long as it's not called Naked Night."

There's nothing like a taco, freshly fried crisp corn tortilla, sliced or chopped tomatoes, beef or chicken that's been marinated in lime juice and cooked to perfection, crunchy onions, chopped cilantro topped with more than warm to the taste hot sauce.

Don't forget the sliced green or red bell peppers. They add another dimension to any taco.


There's not a lot to say about store bought tomatoes when it comes to taste. They're all bland and lack that tomato taste.

Next time you're in the store pick up a tomato and smell it. Chances are good if there's no smell that's exactly the kind of taste you're going to get when you take it home and eat it.

You can't beat a bell pepper stuffed with a combination of ground beef, cheese, rice, tomato sauce and chili power.

A taco or fajitas without bell peppers is something less than they should be. We always use bell peppers in the Mexican food we prepare at home.

It's surprising at how many really don't like the taste of bell peppers. We're talking not kids but adults. They don't know what they're missing.

When it comes to Naked Night I don't know what I'm missing either.

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Sunday, May 27, 2007


Know what FINE stands for? Until a few moments ago, neither did I.

Please pardon my French: "Fucked up. Insecure. Neurotic. Emotional."

There you have it, F.I.N.E.

If you're any of those, get a grip.

Do you read other blogs like I do. Many of them are just that, F.I.N.E. Their authors use the blog as an outlet, to whine, to vent, to slander and yes, for therapy.

I don't read the blogs that are penned by those with a bad case of FINE. Not worth the time. Not worth bending my Karma in the wrong direction.

If you haven't noticed, life is short. Blink and you're 16. Blink again and your friends are singing happy birthday around a cake anointed with 40 candles. Three or four more blinks and this life for you is over. Done. Finished.

So you see, there's no time for being FINE. There's only time for living life footloose and fancy free.

Who said, "People are about as happy as they make up their minds to be."? That would be Old Honest Abe - Abraham Lincoln. Whatta guy. Full of all kinds of advice and wisdom that's pertinent even to this day.

Make up your mind. Don't worry. Be Happy! Life is too short for anything else.

Okay, off of the Sunday soap box and onto the pictures. Top picture - the front planting area with fountain. Looking bare but starting to look good. A little fertilizer. A little sun. A little time. VIOLA! It will soon be covered with flowers.

Yesterday was the annual Strawberry Festival in Happy Valley. No one is ever happy in Happy Valley but nonetheless the name remains.

Grace rode a pony at the Festival.

Then she rode the shuttle with her dad.

Everyone ate strawberries.

The day was topped off with a visit to a watershed exhibit in the Cow Town Park. Apparently, goats have something to do with assisting the dynamics of a watershed. Instead of chopping it down they chew it up. Makes sense to me.

It's the end of Saturday's outing. It's plain to see that Grace is beginning to crap out. It's definitely nap time if not for Grace then for the adults.

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Saturday, May 26, 2007


Grace's sunflowers are starting to pop. Yesterday she jumped up and down with excitement over her first bloom. A few minutes before Grace had been dropped off by her on the way to work mother. Grace, in the rush to get out of their home, was clad in her nightgown complete with mussed up hair. I should have gotten a picture.

Pumpkins plants continue to blossom. If one blossom ends up as equalling one pumpkin Old Bob's family is headed for a bumper crop.

Being the little homemaker yesterdayI prepared a batch of Christmas Pasta for freezing. It's a crappy picture but nonetheless it shows the end product.

Cooking is so very Zen. OOOmmmm!

Go to the Food TV website and search Christmas Pasta. You'll come up with Rachael Ray's scrumptious recipe.

I left Cow Town yesterday to have lunch with a friend. He lives 60 north.

On the way I stopped at a little town to check out my favorite arts and crafts gallery. As I climbed out of the truck a passing train's horn nearly blew me off of my feet.

Like my Christmas Pasta picture, this too is a crappy shot. But you get the general idea - nice setting. Train. Sunny day. Tourist wearing shorts with white man legs taking pictures.

That would be me.

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Friday, May 25, 2007


Sitting at the computer this morning it came to mind that it's Memorial Day weekend. For a moment I sat there and thought, "What are we celebrating? What is Memorial Day?" Having served our country during the Viet Nam era I should know the answer to that question snap, bang!

Sobering is the photograph of the many crosses placed on Normandy Beach. Thousands of crosses nearly equally divided between this beach, Omaha Beach and other portals into France along its coastline.

D Day - June 6th 1944 - so very long ago. So many lives lost in a war that could have changed the face of every country in our world. Had the World War II been lost to the Germans and Japanese, you can bet life as we know it would be different if not very difficult.

Think about that while you lounge by the lake this weekend, chugging that beer, roasting a dog and enjoying the freedom granted to every American - all made possible by those who fought for you, I and the American way of life so many years ago.

I remember and I'll never forget.

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Thursday, May 24, 2007


The flower bed in front of our home is just bursting with color. It won't be long that the area will be completely covered with beautiful blooms such as this. If the neighborhood deer happen to stumble onto this treasure, that will be another story.

Before shopping this morning at Cow Town's favorite discount super market we stopped for breakfast at a little diner along the way. It's my habit of eating lunch for breakfast. Breakfast has never been a favorite.

Remembering that every little healthy thing that I do for my body goes into the longevity bank I ordered oatmeal with raisins. This is so uncharacteristic.

Even though I made up my mind to stick with oatmeal I perused the menu and found an interesting entry under side dishes: Cup of Gravy - $1.50. In all my years I've never seen such a thing on a menu.

What does one do with a cup of gravy? Can you drink it like coffee. Do you spread it on toast? How about gravy over french fries? Think of the fat in a single cup of gravy. This dish would have been better named as The Artery Clogger: $1.50. Yuck!

This is a one of the sunflower buds on Grace's plant. There are going to be well over a dozen flowers once the buds bloom.

Having never observed the development of a sunflower I've enjoyed watching each stage.

The gift of time we give ourselves is precious. Have you stopped to smell the flowers today?

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Wednesday, May 23, 2007


Got together with Dr. Z yesterday. Me in the chair, Dr. Z poised on his stool, instruments in hand.

I wouldn't call Dr. Z diabolical or would I . . .

Diabolical defined: cunning or ingenuity or wickedness typical of a devil; "devilish schemes".

Dr. Z is not the devil nor does he concoct devilish schemes. But he is ingenious. He really is. Maybe Dr. Z is one part diabolical all due to his ingenuity.

Yesterday's visit focused once again on "the problem" in a single area of my mouth. Dr. Z. pulled out all the stops and got to the, pardon the pun, root of the matter. Without going into a lot of detail, a tooth and an accompanying root have fractured.

Dr. Z: "Ahh ha! Here's the problem."

Me: "You're just discovering there's a problem? The 5 or more visits these past few months were not social calls."

Dr. Z: "Now calm down Old Bob. No need to get touchy here. I've found what's been causing the irritation."

Me: "Too many beers?"

Dr. Z: "No, its not as complicated as too many beers. Plain and simple, the tooth in this area is fractured along with one of its roots."

Me: "Okay, then grab the bottle of Crazy Glue and get that puppy back together again. Let's get this show on the road and be done with it."

Dr. Z: "I wish it was that simple. The tooth has to be removed. There's no saving it. I'm also recommending that the tooth be replaced with an implant. They're on sale this week for only $4,000."

Me: "Holy macaroni and cheese! Losing a tooth and replacing it for 4 thousand bucks!!! Yikes."

Dr. Z: "I won't be doing the implant. We'll leave that to the specialist."

Me: "Oh joy. Do you have any Valium?"

On one hand toothless. On the other hand an implant and a large pile of Ben Franklin's. Which hand do I choose?

Do you know what it means to have a tooth implanted? It's not a process full of fun and games. Some other time I'll give you the skinny on what it means to lose a tooth, gain another.


And to think had I lived in Europe I could have been saving up for my first implant by stashing 9.90 Euros a month into an insurance fund.

Getting a dental implant is going to sting. Paying for it is going to sting even more. I hate spending money on this kind of stuff. It would be better spent on a vacation to some exotic part of the world.

Hmm. Come to think of it, they do discount dental procedures in Thailand. That would be great! Think of it - A vacation and an implant - two for the price of one!

I'll be checking that out. Old Bob is turning DIABOLICAL!

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Tuesday, May 22, 2007


Not long ago I visited the Midwest. My stay was about as Midwest as you can get. Where we stayed was smack dab in the middle of America. It was as close to being in the center of the USA as you can get.

We visited Tex's Cafe in a little town in Nebraska. Ice tea was 40 cents a glass with unlimited refills. Bacon, two eggs, hash brown potatoes and toast $3.99. Deal.

What was I thinking when I chose to wear a pink shirt and shorts while touring middle America. In Tex's cafe everyone else was dressed to farm or to move cattle. I think the pink shirt tipped everyone off that we were from California.

Looking back, I feel like a dope having worn a pink shirt in Nebraska. Whenever I wear something pink there are comments, "You're so brave to wear a pink shirt." like it's some big deal. No big deal in California. You only get the comments. Big deal wearing a pink shirt in Nebraska. You get the stared at. No wonder the cowboys were looking at me like I was nuts.

Have you ever thought about owning your own restaurant? I could own Tex's Cafe in a heartbeat. Love the Midwest. Love their values. Real people doing real life things - just like the old days.

If I opened an eatery you can bet that 24/7 we'd serve hot beef and turkey sandwiches along with spaghetti like mama used to make. On second thought, spaghetti not like the kind mama used to make. Also on the menu potato chip sandwiches would be listed for $1.95 and be just like the kind we used to make after school. People would travel far and wide to sample my potato salad that has the taste of a down home picnic. Of course there has to be meatloaf to die for. And in the midwest you have to serve corn on the cob that's so sweet you have to order a second helping. And don't forget roast beef and roast roast turkey. And to top off the meal complmentary cherry and apple pie fresh from the oven. Dang. This is making me down home hungry.

I've developed a spaghetti sandwich that could be served in my version of Tex's restaurant. It goes like this: Toasted French roll, lay cooked pasta length wise on the roll, generous layer of pasta sauce (Has to be Christmas Pasta sauce), Parmesan cheese, a little parsley, some romaine lettuce and Mama Mia, it's a spicy sandwich. The new sandwich probably wouldn't be a hit in Nebraska but I think it would fly in California. Heck, they might even love it in Italy.

It's tempting to open an eatery but the thought of going back to working long hours definitely puts that fire out. When you've started working at 8 years of age selling newspapers on the streets of Anchorage Alaska one has to ask themselves, "How much is enough?"

Enough is definitely enough.

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Monday, May 21, 2007


Yesterday's visit to the soon to be vacant rental was interesting. There's lots of work to do as renters do not treat a rental like their own. Maybe that's human nature.

I started to list on the blog of all of things to do before the home can be rented again but thought again before boring you with those details.

Let's just say that the home will not be ready to occupy on the first of the month. Since we won't have access to the rental until May 30th there's not enough time to get it ready for the new tenants. It will be more like June 15th before it's spic and span - just like new again.

6-8 people came to the open house on Sunday. Several appear to be promising tenants. This is good.

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Sunday, May 20, 2007


The tenants in one of our properties are splitting the sheets. They'll be gone by the first of June.

It's a nice house. 3 bedrooms. 1,900 square feet. The appliances were recently replaced.

It's often a pain being a landlord. There's always something to fix. Taxes, insurance, upkeep, landscape maintenance all bite into monthly rents.

Today we're having an open house to give anyone interested a chance to see this home. Beats going back and forth, one at a time with prospective renters.

Most people in this neck of the woods have pets, especially big dogs. They go with the pickup truck. A lot of people in Cow Town smoke. Our rule: No smokers, no pets. It's in the lease. Break it and you're history. Our rule also narrows the field of renters considerably.

We signed a lease with one renter which consented him to have a dog. They described him as old and docile - an outside dog. Sounded reasonable. Old and docile turned out to be middle age and vicious. No one could be in the backyard with this animal without being assaulted.

Once in a while we check in with each of our renters. The rental with the outside dog, when we visited, was always inside. We were hoodwinked! No more pets.

Here's hoping that we find a non-smoking, no pet person, on-time rent type who's a neat freak. They're the best!

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Saturday, May 19, 2007


My first pair of Levis at age 12 or 13 were a size 29 waist and 30 inches in length. I grew a little and the 29 became 30. 30 X 30 was easy to remember when it came time to replace a pair of Levis.

In those days I could and I did run around the house with my underpants on my head. That doesn't work today.

Somewhere in my life a 30 inch waist grew to 33 inches. Blame it on the Bossa Nova? Go ahead, do that. Frankly, it had to be the beer along with a slower metabolism. The number 33 was with me for a long time.

One day 33 seemed like the wrong number and it was replaced by 34. No big deal. What's one more inch?

And about 5 years ago 34 was just not cutting it. Having to unbutton my pants in order to sit down became a silly ritual. Something had to give.

Here comes the rub. A man can buy pants in a 30 inch waist, a 31, a 32, a 33 and in a 34. Try to find a pair of men's Levis in size 35. No can do, not there on rack, can't even find on the Internet. The same is true with pants made by other companies. Why? Aren't there enough men with 35 inch waists to make it worth the while to manufacture pants in that size waist?

Check it out next time you're shopping. There are NO 35 inch waist men's pants anywhere.

Here I am. Not a 34. Not a 36 but I'm wearing 36 inch pants nonetheless when I should be wearing 35's. I swim in a pair of 36" waist Dockers khaki pants. Two people could fit in them at the same time. When I tighten my belt everything bunches up around the waistline. The wife says that I look like a stoop when I wear the Dockers.

36 inch Levi jeans bring much the same hassle. Too baggy and made for someone who has a much bigger butt than I do. I need to go back being a 34 or better yet get back that 33 inch waist that was lost 15 years ago.

Today, losing weight is in progress. Eating healthier. Eating less. Exercising. I'll be that 33 or 34 inch specimen of a man one day soon.

I pity the poor men who are stuck with a 35 inch waist and can't find the pants to go with number. Don't you think that some men eat more to gain weight so they'll fit into a 36 instead of losing a little bit so that those 34 inch Levis or Dockers wear comfortably (and without unbuttoning them when sitting down)?

We can put a man on the moon but we can't produce pants with a 35 inch waist? Am I missing something here?

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Friday, May 18, 2007


Grace spent a day in kindergarten this week. It was part of her orientation from preschool to kindergarten.

Her she's pictured with kindergarten teacher Lori Duralia. They spent last Tuesday together.

We're hoping that Grace is assigned to her class. Lori is one of the best and we want only the best for our Grace.

If everything you need to know is learned in kindergarten, you'd better have a great teacher.

Grace's pumpkin plant is going nuts with blossoms. There are at least 8-10 blossoms on it.

Having never grown pumpkins I have no idea of what to expect other than a bumper crop come October.

Watching the beauty of nature and the changes it presents with every new day is indeed a new found pleasure. The gift of time is a wonderful thing.

Happy Friday.

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Thursday, May 17, 2007


Daughter Dawn and husband Keith. They're the kids. Well, they're kind of the kids considering both are in their 40's. . . seems like only yesterday I was tossing Keith out of the family home at midnight. You see, Keith and Dawn dated in high school. Little did we know . . .

This was taken last weekend in Union Oregon. They were attending a friend's wedding.

Don't they make a handsome couple?

This is the Union Hotel in Union Oregon and where "The Kids" spent the weekend.

This is about as beautiful as it gets. Makes me want to pack up and leave Cow Town for Union Oregon.

The grass always seems greener on the other side of the fence. In this case, it most definitely is.

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Wednesday, May 16, 2007


Paris Hilton thumbed her nose at the law. She drove when she was told not to drive. It wasn't the first time. Paris got caught a couple of times driving without a license.

She fought the law and the law won. Now Paris is looking at 45 days in the slammer. News reports are saying that she's devastated at the mere thought of spending time in jail. Come on Paris, it's only 45 days!

Oh Paris? What kind of bird doesn't fly? A JAIL BIRD!

People like Paris Hilton play the role of being tough, hip, and nothing can touch me. When the rubber hits the road like it's doing now, people like Paris Hilton show their real colors. Basically, they're not tough, they're touchable and going to prison is far from being hip.

A little time in prison will be good for Paris. The other side of life? Living with the have nots instead of rubbing elbows with the haves? An orange jumpsuit instead of a thousand dollar pair of jeans? S.O.S for breakfast (aka in the military as shit on a shingle - chipped beef gravy on toast) instead of eggs Benedict? All things important, all things to be lived, all things to be learned.

This America where you can be somebody one minute and a nobody the next.

They say that for those who have to learn lessons the hard way that there's nothing like a crystallizing experience to change one way of thinking to another. Take me for example.

18 years of age. Nothing going for myself. It was enter the military voluntarily or be drafted. I volunteered and became an enlisted man. Do you know what that is - an enlisted man (or woman) in the military? It means second class citizen. To become an officer in the military you have to have a college degree. In return for being an officer you get:

Higher pay. Better living conditions. More privileges. Better food. Treated with respect. Great jobs. All the fine looking chicks. Enlisted men/woman get anything but those things.

Being in the military serving as a second class citizen, one of the enlisted butt boys for the officers of our group turned into a crystallizing experience for me. It was the motivation once out of the military to get that college degree and fulfill a personal vow to never ever be put in a position of being a second class citizen again. Never.

I wonder what Paris will do with her new found knowledge once she's released from her 45 day jail sentence. That will be interesting.

WHAT'S THIS?! It's a sculpture created by Dave Edwards. He calls it Paris Hilton's Autopsy. Pretty cool, huh?

Nothing like an artist's vision to put a new twist on life.

That's supposed to be Paris' dog.

I wonder who is going to take care of her little dog for 45 days? Poor thing. She's going to miss her master.

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Whiskeytown Lake, Very Northern California, United States