When did this happen?

Years ago, on a Christmas day, I was snorkeling in a little country in Central America. The captain of the boat was a local, about 25 years old. He said he had never gone anywhere and had no desire to leave his tropical paradise except for one thing. Snow. I liked the way his face lit up and his eyes smiled when he said that word. My face probably mirrored his, being from the South, I haven’t seen it too often.

Never as much as last Thursday, a foot of snow in 24 hours.

Snow brings out the little kid in me. I scream and giggle and look out all the windows. I yank out the cameras, the video cam, and I’m out there, even if it’s the middle of the night. I’ve got to capture this stuff that makes the world look so different in just under an hour.

So Thursday morning I go wake the kids early to see the biggest snowflakes I’ve ever seen down south. They don’t get mad at me because they have never ever seen them this huge. Then they go back to sleep because they are sure they will see this again. I keep watching as if it is the very first and last time I have seen snow. It does this to me every time.

Look at the snow on the RV!

They didn’t cancel the schools on the day it snowed. People tell me it’s because the superintendent is from Wisconsin and he’s a hardass about that. It bothers me because while Wisconsin might be able to handle icy roads with their salt and scraper trucks, we don’t have that stuff down here. People also don’t know how to drive in snow and ice and there are a lot of pickup trucks with rear wheel drives. They don’t stay on the road.

After school we only had an hour of daylight to find something to do in the snow. Spank and I went to the park and one of her friends met us there. I wandered around taking photos while she built this miniature snow family.

They are about eight inches tall. Cute!

I was quite surprised she made a family because earlier she said we should make a snowman firing squad aimed at another snowman with a bandana over his eyes.

Later that evening, Blane (the husb.) who had been trying to get a flight back home from a work trip called to say he had finally made it to the airport here. While he was fighting icy roads and traffic to get home, I tried to get the kids to come out with me to make that firing squad in the driveway. I told them when their dad got out the car to check it out, we’d spring from behind the van and pelt him with a thousand snowballs.

But nobody wanted to go back out. I gave them a pass because they had been sick a couple of days earlier. Then I went outside and made a three snowman firing squad. Put the charcoal eyes and carrot noses on them and when I went to the front yard to get some branches, two of them fell over.

So I was down to one snowman, which I just called an assassin. I grabbed the first hat I could find, a beret, and put that on him.

When Spanky saw him she laughed. She was mostly looking at his beret.

Spanky: He’s French?

Me: Not just any French, that’s Jean Reno, The Professional!

She was impressed, as she should be, I put this thing together in less than an hour. Still, she didn’t want to join in the ambush.

Spanky: You really going to slam Dad with snowballs after he’s been traveling?

Me: Yup. And if that was me I’d want y’all to do the same.

She went back inside and I hid in my spot with some snowballs.

Right in front of the van.

Blane drove up and parked when he saw the assassin snowman. I didn’t have the heart to ambush him for real, I just pelted his windshield enough to make him laugh.

The next day school was cancelled and I kept begging the kids to come out so we could go sledding or make snow angels or have a snowball war or something. I don’t know when exactly it was that they grew up, I’d hoped that would never happen, that they’d always want to play out in the snow. I know when I realized it. The moment they turned me down.

So I whistled for the dogs and let them run like wild wolves in the snow. They will always be pups.

Seven Year-Old Swimming Pool Architect

Did you ever want to build your own swimming pool when you were a kid? I bet you did because every kid I ever knew who didn’t have a pool not only wanted to make their own, they had the plans for it in their heads. Some even tried.

Like me. Now, I’m not much of an engineer but more of a dreamer and way too optimistic with a pinch of idealism. We didn’t have a shovel, but I had a ton of patience. I’d sneak a cereal spoon from the kitchen and go dig my pool in the crawl space under the house. Oh yeah, see, my pool was going to have shade all day long and no one was going to stop me from building that thing or tell me I’d fail because no one was going to find it.

To hell with naysayers.

Except for my dog, she could come with me. I worked on it all summer and by the time fall came around I had what looked like a shallow grave. My dog loved it. Lots of times when we couldn’t find her anywhere, I’d go look in that spot and there she was curled up in that hole. One day I went out there and found her with a litter of puppies! I loved being the first to know about that and was happy to give up my swimming pool dream so she could nurse her pups in peace.

Blane’s pool plans were way more elaborate. He had a shovel, he had 2×4′s to frame it, and he had Visqueen to line it. Maybe he was a little older, I don’t know. But he got his homemade pool to work.

The house we had before this one, we built it on a pool-sized lot and planned to put one in once the kids were old enough not to fall in and drown. Years passed and more kids were born. We never got to the level of comfort to have a pool until our youngest was twelve. By that time we decided to just move to another place and build a pool there.

I watched every step of the pool construction with the wonder and amazement of that seven year-old dreamer still in me. They dug the hole with a backhoe, reinforced it with rebar, and the next day they blew in the cement/pebble mixture with this gigantic hose. There were about five men in rubber boots smoothing it all down with trowels. Quickly, because it dries almost instantly. Big strong ox-looking men. This is hard work that takes muscle and craftsmanship. By the end of the day, they began filling it with water.

That is Spanky reading her book in the pool on that day.

It’s been almost five years and although we don’t use it every day during the summer or even every other day or have big pool parties, it does help me keep my sanity. I grew up by the water and being so far from the coast, well, I get lonesome for it.

For the first time, part of the pool has been freezing over during the night. A few mornings ago Blane had to go out there and break up the ice, it was blocking the intake vents and causing the pump to whine. He was afraid the pump would burn out with no water in the system. He was complaining about how cold it was and I was thinking to myself how terrible it sounded, cold like it is complaining about his pool when some people are homeless. (I really should quit thinking that way and cut the dude some slack)

Around midnight last night, the pool froze over completely for the first time. I heard the pump whining and, damn, no Blane. He’s out of town on a business trip.

Begin Arctic Adventure

You know how sometimes nothing seems to work and everything you touch breaks? It was a night like that. No moonlight, and the patio lights are just shamelessly dim. I can’t see shit. I see the pool is frozen and hear the pump screaming. I put my earphones on and turned it up so I wouldn’t have to hear the pump. Put on U2′s “Where the Streets Have No Name.”

Grabbed a PIPE and thrashed away into the ice. I felt like a juvie breaking all the school windows.

THUMP
Screw you winter.

CRACK
Shut up whiney pump.

SLAM
Screw you water bill.

BASH
Leaves. Fuck off.

Then I realized I could actually fall in and no one would find my frozen corpse until morning. The kids were sleeping, they couldn’t spot me. Everyone is sleeping, of course, it’s midnight.

So I called Blane to stay on the phone with me while I scooped the broken ice out of the pool, just in case. That I must admit was fun, the sound of broken ice hitting the cement.

Some of the carnage.

I almost didn’t want it to end, but I had to check the pump which is on the side of the house. In a very dark spot. Near where my dogs use the bathroom. But hey, frozen turds don’t stick to your shoes.

We have a light switch back there with a tiny swing door coverlet. I lift the hinge, put my finger in there but it felt strange. Like a magnetic field. Flipped the switch. No light. Got a new bulb, put my finger back into the magnetic field and still, no light. Something is very wrong with this fixture, it might electrocute me.

Tore the house apart looking for a flashlight. None. Blane says things into the phone such as “No flashlight? We have a million of them.” Note, he is always talking me out of buying more flashlights, so I totally hold him responsible for this.

He also says, “It can’t be that cold.”

Of course it can’t be that cold, it’s 65 degrees where he is. How can it be 27 degrees in Texas, that same Texas he left just hours earlier when it was 30? How, when it is 65 degrees in California, how?

So I got a light from the toolbox, one of those orange cage things people use to look under a car hood. Plug it in an electrical outlet by the pump. Light, beautiful light. I can see! Being curious, I first had to check what was up with that magnetic light switch. Lift the cover and scream, there’s a wad of spider nest and I had been poking it with my finger in the dark. Even though I know spiders can’t survive such harsh temps, I am convinced spider babies are crawling all over me. And my sleeves and feet are wet from messing with all the ice in the pool. But I have to bleed the air from the pump. My fingers are so numb I can’t feel shit anymore. Or turn tiny cold metal valves.

Back to the toolbox. Come back with a pair of pliers, and this is the fun part, the pump sprays me down with ice cold water.

I could never have imagined this as a seven-year old pool architect. Never. And I’m so glad I’m not homeless ’cause I really needed that hot bath.

I’m Feelin’ It

On my birthday I found myself driving to a town just north of here to get fingerprinted. There’s a new law in Texas that nurses have to turn in fingerprints within the next ten years. Licensees are chosen at random, so there are some nurses who won’t have to get theirs done until the deadline.

The universe is usually aware that I am quite the slacker and I never get picked for audits or jury duty (knock on wood) or anything, as long as there’s someone else who could go first.

Not this time.

I could have gone to the police station or the FBI (gasp), but as the nursing board states on their website, these fingerprints are often unacceptable and have to be redone. They recommend an identity specialist.

So our cops and FBI are incompetent when it comes to collecting prints? That’s like Crime 101, right?

Okay, I go up to this town and it’s a shitty winter day. The sky looks as if someone removed it in Photoshop and completely forgot to add anything back in. It’s just white and empty. I pass through their historic district and see houses that look like birthday cakes. I’ll go back and take photos one day when there is a sky.

I drive up to the address of the ID place and it’s this ancient brick building that looks like a mental institution in a Stephen King made for tv movie. Great. I get to the front door and I’m still unsure this is the right place, I’m waiting any minute for something scary to jump out at me and hack me with a hatchet or an axe. There’s a plaque near the door stating its historical significance. It was indeed a hospital at one time.

I knew that shit. Knew IT!

Then I think to myself that I have the ability to pick up waves of historical suffering. It’s the strangest thing, I can walk into a house or building and feel good or bad vibes. Maybe it’s just the way a place looks, and I’m imagining things. Don’t care. Whatever it is, real or not, it moves me. Which is great, because I don’t like feeling nothing about something. Indifference leads to boredom, which is, eventually, painful to me.

I mosey down a creaky hallway that has pipes running along the ceiling, ones that groan. There’s a few old mirrors on the wall that when I catch a glimpse of myself, I wonder if it’s really me. That’s how bad those old mirrors are, there’s no clarity in them and there seems to be a halo around every object in them. Then I wonder if it’s just me and the attitude I brought in there. Skittish. Skeptical. Or just the simple fact that I hate antiques and the mirrors know it.

There are several offices in this building. I pass a door for a child psychologist. I’m startled when that door swings open and a woman with a short blonde Kate Gosslin cut looks left, right, then shuts the door.

Pass a local magazine editing office. It’s dead in there. Lights out.

Get to the ID place and go inside. My bedroom is larger than this entire office. All of the artwork on the walls are not prints, but puzzles of Native American scenes. About twenty of them in this tiny space. Someone here likes solving things. That someone is a young black woman who takes mug shots and runs each finger over a glass scanner.

Also in this cramped room are four teachers and a fireman, all waiting their turn. They don’t seem to be bothered by all this. Me? I’m fuming. This thing will completely ruin my option of living a life of crime. Bankers, engineers, maybe even cops, they have a choice, they can commit crimes until they get stupid and caught doing something wrong that leads to their first set of fingerprints. Not us.

I look at the fireman. He probably entered the field so he could learn how to commit the perfect arson. ‘Cause there is nothing as satisfying as burning shit down.

The schoolteachers. Evil milk money thieves. Get them!

A nurse from the local nursing home walks in. Her too, and her kind demeanor doesn’t fool me. I wonder how many patients she’s snuffed out with a pillow for having the audacity to use the call bell?

Millions of unsolved crimes will finally be put to rest after they run all these prints. Those Texas legislators are absolutely brilliant for coming up with this new law. Oh, and this is at no cost to the state. Uh un. I had to shell out $10 for this service. I bet murderers get theirs done for free. Just a hunch.

Later that afternoon…

I came home to a heartwarming sight. Kara made me a birthday cake before she left for work.

All is right in the world again.

White Christmas? Really? In Texas?

It’s hard to believe there is a chance of snow for Christmas Eve, really, I can’t believe it. Yesterday it was sunshine and 72 degrees. For the last few hours it has been pouring down rain, maybe mixed with a little hail, whatever it is, it’s loud and I like it. When it quiets down, I run to the windows to see if the snow’s started.

That is a magical moment, when rain turns to snow. Reminds me a little of being on the runway in an airplane when it lifts off.

I’m such a doofus, I get a rush out of that. I probably should be shaking at the knees while a plane is taking off, it’s one of the most dangerous parts of flight, but noooooo, not me, I’m all giddy like a five-year old. I tune my ears to the sound of the wheels on the pavement, glare out the window at things zooming past, place my hands on the armrests to feel the vibrations of the plane. When it comes, that sudden, smooth change from riding to floating, I smile. Every single time.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a White Christmas. The one time it snowed here for the holidays, we were in Louisiana visiting family. I got to see all the magical Christmas snow of Dallas on the news over there.

Maybe with this big snowstorm I’ll get my turn to see one? I feel like I’m sitting in a plane on the runway. Fingers crossed.

Snow Globe Car!

Man. Just when I thought I’d seen it all…

A woman in Houston turns her car into a snow globe.

How’d you like to roll in that thing?

See Ya in Your Nightmares

We lived within walking distance of the Health Unit when I was a kid. This was an institutional white-ceramic-tile-everywhere-but-the-ceiling sort of place that always smelled of rubbing alcohol. This was the place for baby shots. Didn’t matter if you were a seven year-old kid, that’s what they called them. Baby shots. Maybe that term was supposed to lessen the fear of them. As an adult, it sounds innocuous, but a shot was a shot back then and I had a raging phobia of needles.

Blane says his mom used to take him to one certain doctor with a child-sized metal airplane in the waiting room. He’d start crying the minute he saw the thing, but he’d tell them, “Okay, put me in there.” He’d be smiling and crying at the same time while he sat in the airplane. (I’m laughing myself to tears at that visual)

Fast forward to present day. I’m working the county H1N1 clinic giving assembly line shots with a few other nurses. We all play our parts differently. Some of us smile and try to be sweet to the kids with a basket of candy in one hand and a needle in the other.  That’s how I do it, although I know kids are just as smart as we are. I’ve been thinking about cutting the act and going with the “mean nurse” look. The happy face thing is a bit deceptive, and if I’m gonna be in some kid’s nightmares, I’d rather not be the smiling villain.

image from healthclub.info-ebazaar.com

It’s interesting being on the other side of this “baby shot” thing. Notably the different ways families handle the situation. Some parents haven’t told their kids what they are doing there. Those are the cheerful but skeptical ones. Like I said, kids aren’t stupid. We have our syringes concealed under a cloth and when the time is right, Ta-Da! So it is wise to choose the most needle-phobic kid to go first because once the cat is out of the bag, kids start scrambling, bargaining, or putting up a pretty damn good fight.

Most families do tell their kids what is about to happen. It’s fascinating, the children are consistent. Either the entire family is crying, or they are courageous and ready to get the thing over with.

Teenaged boys provide the comic relief. They laugh at and taunt each other, “You want me to hold your hand?” Oh, and giving a shot in a tattoo can be fun, like the wildcat I shot right between the eyes last night.

You know what shot behavior I like best of all? When it’s all over with, the part where I offer a kid some candy and they shove it back at me as if to say, “I don’t want your damn candy.”

If you live in Collin County, you can get your FREE H1N1 flu shot on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays from 4PM to 8PM and Saturdays from 9AM to 5PM until December 23rd, while supplies last. This is at the free clinic which has been temporarily converted to a flu clinic and is open to everyone (rich, poor, pretty, ugly…) in the county, click here for the location. (also, the more shots we give, the more grant money we receive to treat the poor, so come to us if you’re getting the shot… It will cost you nothing and I’ll hold your hand.)

How’d you like to own a town?

So you wanna be a cowboy/cowgirl?

I find this fascinating, an entire town in Texas is for sale.

That’s right, folks, it comes with an ice house (what is that?), dance hall, peach orchard, a creek, a three bedroom ranch style home (what other style could it be?). They’ve just knocked $288,000 off the price to a grand total of $595,000.

Now hold your horses. This place is in wine country. One hour from Austin. Which means it’s also hill country.

Okay. Let’s just assume you inherited this town. What would you do with it?

Here’s the website if you want more details: Albert, Texas

I’d start by changing the name.

Speaking of wine country…

If you haven’t cast you vote for Max yet, there is still time to help her make the first cut. She only needs 25 more votes. 25!

Hit this link and vote to send her to wine country. Don’t forget to reply to the confirmation email or it won’t count.

Max is a published writer and produced screenwriter. She is also my writing teacher. Yay for teachers! If you have more than one email address, you can vote again. They won’t spam you, I voted last week with four different email addresses and haven’t gotten anything from them other than the confirmation email. They also promise not to spam you.

Just think. Your vote could be THE ONE that helps her make the first cut. That is power.

Collision of art, commerce, past, and present

There’s a shopping center near here with a bunch of cowboy days bronzes. I went there today to the camera shop and happened to have my camera with me. What a coincidence.

There are so many people there and so many cars, it’s difficult to get a shot of just the bronzes.

But I thought this one was funny because of the type of store it was in front of. Seriously, it’s a bronze cattle drive spread out right in front of a barbeque pit store.

I had to stand in the street to line it up like that and risk my dear dear life to oncoming traffic which was determined as hell to spend every last drop of Christmas money. There are sales and there are stampedes.

The next photo is just one part of a circle of cowboys around a campfire. I like the expression of wonder on this youth’s face as he listens the other bronze men talk. The Men’s Wearhouse sign behind him cracks me up.

I keep a fairly updated photoblog over at TheCuckoosNest if you like that kinda stuff.

I’ll be cleaning up some of the photos I took and will put them over there in the next day or so (all the good stuff goes there).

This is the Moment

Last week Sweetpea and I waited in this line…

For one of these machines…

To vote for this man…

And his fellow democrats on the ballot.

Then Blane came just as we were voting. We were supposed to save him a place in line but he was a nanosecond too late.

So I waited with him in line all over again.

We talked. We laughed. We made history. But that’s not why we voted for a black man. We’re tired of the lies, the fear tactics, the greed, the theft of our nation’s treasure and blood. We want change and all else Obama brings to this suffering nation. Honor. Respect. Integrity. Hope.

Do this with me. Go vote. Join us.

This is the Moment.

Zombies, Monsters, and More

Spank and I went to a halloween shop in town last week. The building had been a furniture store in the past, so it had a lot of floor space.

Lots of scary masks.

And scared customers.

 

{{{Screams}}}

Some hot nurse shoes.

Which they never sold while I was a nurse. 

Then over the weekend we went to Fright Fest at Six Flags in Arlington. They decorate this amusement park with spider webs, fog, you name it, and have actors dressed up in halloween costumes spread out over the grounds.

Over by the carosel they had a group of zombies just lounging around. Crowds gathered and had staring contests with them.

This one got me in his sight and wouldn’t let up. I laughed. He won.

Then some music started up and they all started dancing.

I think they did an amazing job with the costumes and makeup. The dancing is not bad either. Here’s the video:

I have never seen this park so crowded. They also convert some of the rides to haunted houses, so that draws a lot of people out there. We went in a couple of them (it cost an additional $5 for each one, or $15 for a pass to all of them in addition to park admission.

It was a fun day out and the weather was perfect. The haunted houses were done well. I followed one group of people who were so scared they were moving like a school of fish through that thing. Watching them was more fun than the haunted house itself.

I Interrupt the Parade

To show you this graphic of the biggest hurricane I’ve ever seen, Ike.

 

I stole that graphic from CNN. 

We’re still going to finish the parade a little later, that post is all ready to go, as the title of my blog reads, you know… yeah. 

You can’t really know anything about what’s happening by watching the news. They don’t really know much and by the time we get some daylight, few people there will have power, phone lines will be down, and real news will just sort of trickle in along with a shit load of rumors. 

So far, I have not heard any bad news regarding any of my family or friends.

I feel really bad for all the people from New Orleans who moved to the Houston area after Katrina.

Twitter the Convention

If you are fascinated by politics, I will be at our County Convention tomorrow (I’m a delegate) and you can follow me on Twitter.

What will make this interesting is this will probably be our last caucus in Texas. We are the only county to meet Sunday as the rest of Texas holds their convention today. I hear Emmit Smith will be there and there are rumors that Clinton and Obama will appear. I’ll let you know if there are any fist fights.

Go Dems! Am I the only democrat who would vote for either Clinton or Obama in November?

We Raised A Good Son

I made a few calls for the Clinton campaign reminding people who voted in the Texas primary to come out and caucus. Having some election phone bank experience from the ’04 swing state project, I fully expected people to hang up on me. That wasn’t the case. A lot of people were screening their calls, and the minute they heard me say who I was with and why I was calling, they picked up. Some of them had election coverage blaring in the background.

A lot of these people just wanted to talk to somebody, anybody who was on their side. One woman told me she and her husband had been fighting for weeks because they weren’t voting the same. Mostly though, I think they were just happy to hear from a democrat. A real one, not a recorded voice. See, my county is the most republican county in Texas. This may be the only day in their lifetime that their vote in a presidential contest ever actually means something.

That’s a big deal.

For a few weeks now our family has been a little divided. Blane and I broke for Clinton and our son Blane and his wife stayed solid behind Obama.

We made light of it by calling each other up when there was substantial news about our candidates. I’d call Blane and say something like “Vote for Clinton,” and he’d jab back, “O-ba-ma!”

There was never any anger, really, because Blane and I are quite proud of our son for making his own choice and not just going along with who his parents are voting for.

We had a lot of fun being in different camps. I especially liked saying “Yes we can!” in a little kid’s voice. He especially liked sending me poll links showing I was supporting a loser.

Since Blane Jr. is still registered in our precinct, we all got to caucus together. Angela is still registered in her parent’s precinct, so she didn’t get to take part in the family feud.

The big showdown started about 6:30 PM at the local elementary school. We couldn’t enter the building until the last person voted in the primary. The line for democrats coiled in the gym a few times, out the door and a ways down the sidewalk. There were only two voting machines for us. The republicans, on the other hand had several machines, way more than we had, so they didn’t have to wait in line for hours to vote.

The number of machines for each party was calculated by the way people voted in the last election. The republicans got to come out and vote quickly and go home early.

The democrats had to wait outside in the cold. We were all told to get there by 7 PM, when the polls close. It took an additional two hours for people to finish voting in the primary. So, we were out there in a parking lot in the cold for two hours.

The Obama supporters, including my son were on one side, we Clinton supporters were gathered on the other. But still close to each other. I kept calling my son telling him, “It’s not too late!”

But he stayed. I’d guestimate there were about 3,000 people in the parking lot split about half and half. Their side would chant “Yes we can!” and we’d yell, “Yes we will!”

We heckled each other in good fun. “Hey, Obama promised sunshine at the polls!” and “I HOPE it doesn’t get any colder out here!”

And them, “Hillary, pick up that damn phone, the terrists are calling!”

Every once in a while I’d go over to the Obama side to talk to my son. There were a lot of families going back and forth between crowds. I, being so freaking curious would ask people, “You going to vote for Hillary if she wins the nomination?” They said they would. I told them the same, they would have my support.

We finally got out of the cold at about 9PM. Since three precincts were voting, it was pretty full, but well organized. People were confused, they just didn’t understand how the process worked, but no one panicked. I was one of the precinct captains, and I didn’t fully understand how it would all work out either, but in the end, people just signed a paper with their choice and left. Some of us stayed for the actual caucus where the complicated part was. We had to elect chairs, count votes, then use a formula to divide up and elect delegates. It ended at 11PM. That’s 4 hours, 2 standing out in the cold for part of one vote.

Why on earth would someone do such a foolish thing?

Because we knew we were making a difference. For the first time, ever.

And hey, guess what? I got elected to be a delegate and get to go to the county convention on the 30th. Blane Jr. got elected too, but for the other side. The feud continues.

Thinking back about all this, I did not see a single person in a wheelchair at the caucus. The process is not handicap friendly or elderly friendly or people with babies friendly. Anyone working in say, a hospital on the 3-11 shift can’t caucus. Do we want to leave these people out? I don’t.

Our precinct drew up a resolution to end this process and it will be presented at the convention.

Here’s a quote I got in an email from the Clinton campaign after she found out she won three of the four states tonight:

“We’re going to do it for everyone across America who’s been counted out — but refused to be knocked out. For everyone who’s stumbled — but stood right back up. And for everyone who works hard — but never gives up. “

Punk Politics

I’m aggitated that CNN and FoxNews blogs have become the top blogs at WordPress, beating out the unbeatable lolcats. That’s just wrong.

The mainstream media (msm) is out to protect their own interests. They do not want someone like Obama in office any more than they want Hillary in there. The thing is, with Obama they have much more to work with. They have created a frenzy over him, and like rock stars, Obama has no where else to go but down.

How long will it be until someone shouts, “Obama is a sell-out!” (I predict 30 days or less)

It’s starting already. The downward spiral. The thing is, the msm is attacking Obama voters as cultish and mindless. Hey, what did we dislike most about Bush supporters? The same thing. Can’t the msm at least change the fucking story line?

The thing about the msm that has me disturbed is the hatred toward Hillary Clinton. This has trickled down into the blogosphere. No one ever really says why they hate her, only that they do.

I do not bow to hatred. Voting for Obama to get rid of Hillary-hate is saying it is okay to hate.

I can’t believe people have bought into this superdelegate/disenfranchisement thing. It’s white hot. I’m getting emails from the progressive movement to stop this travesty. Tons of them. As if the primary process is fair except for the superdelegate issue.

Now that the progressives have gone ape-shit over this, it turns out Obama spent more money on them than all of the other candidates put together. I wonder if people who gave money to the Obama campaign are aware that their money might have been used to lobby superdelegates?

Change. For Obama to say he wants to move away from the politics of the past while he has half the Kennedy family standing right beside him is a mind fuck. Like I’m not seeing what I see.

But that’s not why I’m voting for Hillary in the primary. I believe her plan for universal health care is better than Obama’s. I’ve followed that issue for over twenty years and worked in health care. Hers is better because it makes everyone pay into the system. We already pay for all people over 65, the sickest and most expensive people to care for (what a relief for the health insurance industry, huh?).

I am also voting Clinton because the msm doesn’t want her to win. Screw them. She’s a street fighter and knows how to beat the crap out of the other party. If she can get there. Republicans know how to beat unbeatable candidates by whipping them in the primaries.

And if Obama wins the primary, I’ll vote for him in the general. He’s a great candidate and wants the same things Hillary wants. Almost.

I still think these two will be on the same ticket. Yes, with the Clinton baggage and Obama’s “bomb Pakistan” and fake accents and all.

Yes, I know this makes me the uncoolest person in the universe. Yeah? So what! (I think Johnny Rotten said that first)

Goin’ to Texas

Well it looks like the democratic primary in Texas might be a big deal.

Which is worrisome since Karl Rove has been meddling in politics here for 20 some-odd years.

And wow, instead of being in jail, Rove’s in your living room via Fox News. If you watch that crap.

Anyway, here’s a video from the late 80′s, early 90′s by British bloke, Chris Rea who sounds just like a Texan. Singing about Texas. It’s so idealistic it’s creepy. Especially knowing what we know now.

“Texas” by Chris Rea.

Watch what you watch on tv.

A Little More Rodeo

Just wanted to show you a couple more photos from the rodeo.

Ropers these days use neon colored rope. Not sure if this is just for the shows or if all lasso rope comes in colors.

This is a photo from the end of the show when they got all the cowboys and cowgirls to march out and take a bow. I’m not sure why the ones facing us weren’t lit up, but I like the way it looks when zoomed in.

Is that cool or hhwhhhat? (Lots of Texans pronounce their “w” with an “h” in front)

Rodeo Days

One thing I love about Texas is the rodeo. Yeehaw! My dad grew up in Texas and was a rodeo rider when he was a young man. Cowboy down to the bone. He didn’t own a single pair of shoes. All he ever wore were boots. Sometimes he’d wear his gigantic cowboy hat to town, something I hated because it was so out of place in Cajun Country. Even worse sometimes he would wear his spurs. I’d cringe when he’d walk and I’d hear those things zing.

One time he took us to the Angola State Prison Rodeo. Scared me half to death. I’d never seen a prisoner before and they were everywhere. Not just bullriding and wrangling, but selling jewelry and other items they had hand-crafted.

I was certain one of them was hiding in our trunk or under the car and would jump out at us as soon as we got home.

Living in Texas, there are rodeos every weekend. Last night we went to a special one, the Texas Stampede at the American Airlines Center in Dallas. This is a three day rodeo which also has a concert event at the end of each evening.

Here’s some tie down roping.

Some trick wagon training.

And check out this little dude!

Okay that is so not a dude, that is Whiplash, a little monkey who rides a dog.

Check out these cool (and real) cowboy names we saw last night:

Blair Burk

Cody Wright

Colter Todd

Josh Peek

Trent Creager

Joseph Parsons

Sounds like a cowboy movie, doesn’t it?