Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to send email

Dear friends and neighbors, I’m taking this time to inform you that I have recently contracted a severe, contagious social media disease. Both my status updates and tweets are elevated, but since my contact lists are small, there’s very little chance you’ll catch it from me.

Of course, this may be “Greek” to you, but to me, it’s serious. I can’t seem to get anything done without feeling the need to tell a large group of strangers what I’m doing, even though most of them aren’t listening to me in the first place.

Who Put Socks in My Cigar Drawer?

I bought a cigar several weeks ago. A Hand-Made, Imported-From-Honduras, Blender's Gold Especial Natural Single, packaged in a cute little wooden box with a sliding-glass cover. It cost me $4. Funny thing is, I don't smoke.

I didn't go into my local Walgreen's to buy the Imported Single. I was looking for gift cards. But once I got to the counter and saw the row of cigars, I had this undeniable urge to buy one. I had no idea which one would be the best, I had no idea how much it would cost, but for some reason I just had to have one.

The young man behind the counter was very helpful. I tried to be discreet with my purchase, but he had to summon the manager (in a loud voice) to make sure he was "old enough" to sell tobacco products. There was a line of people waiting behind me. I could feel their disapproval on the back of my neck. But, I walked out of the store with my gift cards and cigar, satisfied that I was finally man enough to do both in broad daylight.

When I got to my car, I took the cigar out of its wrapper and smelled it like those guys do in the movies. I realized it had a familiar smell. Dog poop.

I didn't smoke the cigar when I got home. I hid it in my sock drawer, and it's been there ever since. I'm surprised my wife hasn't discovered it because she can detect nasty dog poop smells a mile away. We don't have a dog, but that doesn't matter. She's got a good smeller. Or at least she did. Maybe she just thinks I have some dirty socks stashed away in my sock drawer. Either that, or she's gotten so used to my socks being stinky that she's desensitized herself toward them.

Anyways, I'm not sure why I bought the cigar. Maybe to see if my taste for tobacco had changed since the time I bought the pipe she doesn't know about. It's in my sock drawer, too.

Before I die, I'm going to smoke a cigar and a pipe bowl of tobacco. It'll probably kill me, but that's life.

Four Little Words That Will Keep You Fit and Trim!

Oprah fans have a few more months before she is no longer on broadcast television, which should be just enough time for them to reprogram themselves into understanding they can think and do things for themselves -- especially when it comes to weight loss.

In this third part of my "Live Without Oprah" series, let me be blunt in saying Oprah hasn't been the go-to person when it comes to staying fit and trim. Sure, she is easy to identify with because she has weight problems just like the rest of us, but that won't be worth a hill of beans when she's gone. And who's going to be your inspiration then?

People all over this nation are looking for a quick fix, a magical pill, an easy solution for losing weight and keeping it off until well after the high school reunion that's scheduled for May. They buy useless exercise equipment, tasteless low-calorie pre-packaged meals, and video exercise programs that promise "hip hop" abs and "buns of steel." But do they work? Except for the "celebrities" who hawk them, hardly ever.

The simple solution to your weight problem is something you'll never see on Oprah because it's free and a bit too boring --  and you can't devote a whole show to something free and boring. Are you ready to learn what I'm talking about? Here it is...

Eat less, exercise more.

That's all there is to it. Boring, isn't it? I'm surprised I was even able to write an entire post around those four little words. If you feel guilty for getting something for free and would like to buy me a cup of coffee, be my guest!

Give Me a Shave and a Haircut!

My wife says I would look good with a ponytail and an earring. I asked her if I could have a tattoo instead – a tasteful one like Mighty Mouse flying across my chest – but she gave me an “evil eye” that I’m pert-near positive meant, “Do it, and you’ll be sleeping somewhere else!”

Anyways, I prefer my hair military short and my ears un-punctured. I like my hair so short that after I wash it, I just give it a stern look and it falls into place. When I’m finished getting a haircut, I like to rub my hand against the back of my neck to feel the bristles. That’s the only way I know Tim has done a good job.

Tim is my barber. He and his partner Jerry work at the barbershop near the square. Tim is a soft-spoken man who reminds me of Mr. Rogers. Jerry is like your favorite uncle who enjoys telling stories but doesn't mind tweaking a detail or two. Between them, I bet they know every guy in town. Not only that, they probably know enough “trash” about those guys to go into a mighty good blackmailing business.

Tim has cut my hair for about 18 years now. I would never think about going anywhere else. But I do have a confession to make: Once, in a moment of insanity, I walked into one of those fancy-smancy hairstylist joints just to see what I would see.

I knew it was not my kind of place when I heard soft jazz music coming out of hidden speakers and I could hear Oprah on the television set. A woman with purple hair and brown eye shadow asked if I wanted my hair washed and then a massage, and that’s when I excused myself, saying I was in the wrong place – "I'm sorry. I thought this was Radio Shack."

A guy doesn't need a massage and jazz when he gets his hair trimmed. He needs a smoke-filled room filled with old codgers who barely have enough hair to cut.

A guy doesn’t want to watch Oprah or Dr. Phil or some health fanatic spouting off about vitamins and exercise. He wants to watch old John Wayne and Audie Murphy movies interrupted by Ford and Chevy truck commercials.

A guy doesn’t want to hear women yakking away about who did this or who did that to their Aunt Edna in El Paso. He needs to hear the other guys talking about cows, football, and the different ways to field dress a deer.

One time at the barbershop, I didn’t get finished reading an article about the best hiking boots to wear while climbing Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. So, Tim let me have the magazine. Do you think the fancy-smancy place would have let me take one of THEIR magazines? Not in a million years. They probably would have charged me extra for even thinking about it.

Yessirree! When it comes to getting a haircut, there’s no better place to go than the barbershop near the square.

Keep up the good work Tim and Jerry, and I’ll see you on Wednesday.

A Letter To My Eldest Son

Dear Andrew,

Thank you for your recent letter. I was really happy to hear from you. I was even happier that your message didn't include any phrases like, "My girlfriend is pregnant," "Can you send me $100," or "Don't tell Mom, but I think I'm wanted by the FBI."

In reference to the biography you sent me about Oprah: I gather that you take issue with my "Live Without Oprah" series. I appreciate the fact that she worked her way from abject poverty to be The Queen of Talk, but that still doesn't address the fact that millions upon millions of loyal followers will soon turn on their TV sets and find themselves Oprah-less. And the thought of them sitting on their couches, drooling, wondering whether to fix spaghetti or meatloaf for supper, is too much for me to bear.

I will admit that it's possible I have been a bit too negative concerning Oprah. Of that, I do apologize. She has done well, she has built a respectable empire, and no doubt she will continue to influence a large portion of the population for some time to come through syndication or cable. But YOU have to admit there will be a big hole in daytime TV when she is gone, forcing plenty of folks to finally realize that they've got to start thinking on their own. No longer can they be sheep, looked over by shepherdess Oprah.

Oh well, I hope that clears things up. Again, thanks for your letter, we miss you, hope you're doing well, and did you take my socket wrenches? I can't find them anywhere.

Your Dad

Where's Osama?

It's been almost 10 years, and still Osama bin Laden eludes our grasp! He could be anywhere, look like anybody, living it up in the Middle East, or the guy right behind you at Comic-Con.

Can YOU find him?









Thanks goes to these photographers for letting me mess around with their photographs: Sarah, Gabe McIntyre, Frank Kovalchek, and Kevin Dooley.

How about buying me a cup of coffee?

I was thinking the other day, if you and I met in Wal-mart, somewhere in the sporting-goods section or over by the big-screen TVs, you might just mention that you read one of my articles in the newspaper and you really enjoyed it.

Of course, I would say something like, "Thanks a bunch," or "Sorry about that, maybe one of these days the newspaper will print something GOOD in it," and then we might both chuckle and then go our merry ways.

But, being the magnanimous friend that you are, you might say something like, "I liked it so much, let me buy you a cup of coffee."

Of course, that would be a bit difficult if we were standing in Wal-Mart, but, let's say we ran into each other at The Donut Shop! THEN, you really COULD buy me a cup of coffee -- and what a sweet gesture it would be!

But, seeing that you and I will probably never meet at Wal-Mart OR The Donut Shop, and seeing that you still feel the need to express your appreciation for my stories by buying me a cup of coffee (and maybe a kolache or apple fritter to go with it), I put a little PayPal button over there on the right, just to help you out.
See, you can STILL buy me a cup of coffee -- and I promise I will toast your generosity as I drink it without you!

I would get up and do something, but everything's done

So here I am, sitting on the couch, thinking I really should get up and do something, or fix something, or paint something, but I can’t make up my mind what I should do, fix or paint.

And it doesn’t help that my wife is scurrying around trying to organize the magazines that will only get unorganized in a week or two. And I think she may even be doing a little bit of dusting.

It’s not every day I find myself with nothing to do, but it does happen. Mostly I take care of my goats, practice banjo a bit, I may fix myself a cup of coffee or maybe a bowl of ice cream, but there’s always something to do – except for today. Today my slate is clean, my page is blank, my To Do List is done and I have absolutely nothing on the agenda.

Okay, now she wants me to help her decide which magazines to keep and which ones to throw out. If she could just push that stack over here next to the couch, maybe I could help her, but she wants me to come over there – at a time when I’m putting enormous amounts of thought into figuring out what I need to do today, and I really should…

I Got Stopped By A Female Cop, And I Think I Liked It!

There I was, traveling on a back-country road at about 8:30 p.m. last night, when this car with really bright lights zoomed up behind me. I thought it was a kid in a tremendous hurry, so I sped up a little bit and didn't slow down until I came to the first intersection.

A lot of times when I get to that particular intersection, I just perform a "rolling stop" and head on my way -- but not this time. I figured anybody who's in that big of a hurry needs to slow down a bit. So, just to aggravate whoever it was behind me, I came to a complete and utter stop. Unfortunately, I didn't use my blinker when I eventually turned right at the intersection. Worse still, the "speed demon" turned out to be a county cop trolling for lawbreakers just like me.

I rolled down my window, expecting the worse, but a cute little blonde police officer came up and introduced herself, then took my license and insurance. Let me tell you, there's nothing sexier than a blonde with a badge and pistol. I would have hit on her, but she had a badge and a pistol.

The female officer was as polite as could be, had a cute little laugh, and only gave me a warning. I think it was because I smiled at her. If it had been one of those state trooper guys, they'd have jacked me up on the spot and sent me straight to The Pokey.

Anyways, it was an interesting evening. I might even do it again sometime. It was the most "turned on" I've been in about a week!

Where to Find Great Financial Advice

Continuing with my “Live Without Oprah” series, let’s talk about money.

All these years you have listened to financial-planning advice from Oprah, or one of her guests, but soon that will no longer be an option. So, who should you turn to when her show comes to an end? Well, I say anyone over 75.

People who lived through the Great Depression, or had parents who lived through it, know what's what when it comes to spending money wisely. They'll tell you stories about when times were REALLY tough. How they had to walk five miles to school, in the blowing snow, without socks or a coat, only to be told, "Can't you see the weather's too bad to have school? Come back tomorrow, and you better not be late."

These are the people who know the value of a dollar, who save their change for a rainy day, who shop at Goodwill not because they're poor, but because they're smart.

The very last person you need advice from is a person whose monthly food budget alone equals what you and I will make in our entire lifetime, and that's only if we live to be 110 and work until the day they put us six feet under.

No sir! If you need money advice, you need to talk to someone who can tell you stories about how they ate potatoes for weeks, and were happy about it; someone who'll tell you there was no money for Christmas presents, so they played with their fingers and toes and counted themselves luck; someone who'll tell you they lived quite well without watching rich people on television talking to other rich people about what it's like to be rich and how the rest of us can live richly just by watching them.

No, you don't need money advice from Oprah. Go talk to your grandparents.

Let There be Banjo-Playing Peace in the Valley

I firmly believe that if everybody knew how to play a banjo, peace would spread across the world like cheese on nachos.

Banjos keep people well-grounded. Playing one takes your mind off the everyday hassles of life. They’re great therapy. And playing a banjo (instead of a guitar) keeps you from having delusions of stardom, where screaming girls follow you until you do something you regret and end up in divorce court because your wife was okay with the tour, but not with the “accessories.”

If you play guitar, you have to dig deep into your soul and compose heart-ripping angst-filled songs that make people believe you’re a profound thinker. Either that or you have to turn up the amp and sing songs about drugs, cars, women, and booze in a voice so bad that nobody can tell you're singing about drugs, cars, women and booze. On the other hand, banjo players don't dig deep into their souls because they are mostly singing about frogs, fat men, singing truck drivers, or banana splits.

You can't sing sad songs when you're playing a banjo. Sad songs on banjo come out quirky, and quirky songs make people smile.

FBI Releases New Wanted Poster of Osama bin Laden

After issuing an apology to a Spanish lawmaker for using his photograph to create an image of what Osama bin Laden might look like today, the FBI released a new poster of bin Laden yesterday with assurances that "no Spanish lawmakers were used in the production of this poster."

According to FBI Director Robert Mueller, a forensic artist produced three different versions of a possible present-day bin Laden because, "we just don't know for sure what he looks like anymore. He could look like anybody. You, me, or some big-chin Hollywood dude out in California. We just don't know for sure, so we are covering our bases."

When asked if these three depictions are accurate enough to catch bin Laden, Mueller said, "I hope so. Like I said, he could look totally different today compared to our old photographs of him. But I have full confidence in our FBI artists, and if they say this is what bin Laden could look like today, then this is what he could look like."

Santa's still in the House!

Just when I thought I had Christmas all packed away, I look up and there's still a Santa on the wall. I have no idea how I missed it, but I guess he's going to have to stay "out" until next year!

The Differences Between Men and Women

There are many verifiable ways that men and women are different. Women watch "Sex in the City", men watch NASCAR. Women read "Ladies Home Journal", men read "Sports Illustrated" and "Field & Stream." Women watch Regis, Men watch Kelly. But there is no greater chasm between the sexes than when it comes to feeling loved.

Men and women feel "loved" in very different ways. Women feel loved when their man comes home at night, fixes supper, washes the dishes, goes out and mows the yard, changes the oil in the car, takes out the trash BEFORE it starts to stink, pays the bills on time, washes his hands after he pees, puts the seat down (without being reminded), scrapes the ice off the windshield and takes his woman to romantic movies because he wants to.

There's only one thing a man needs in order to feel loved -- sex. The more the better! But never during a NASCAR race. Well, maybe during commercials and after crashes.

Yes, men and women are different. And the sooner we appreciate the differences between the sexes, the better!

Men aren't perfect? Says who?

It has recently come to my attention that there may be a number of things that we men do that drive "our women" absolutely bonkers. I'm not exactly sure what good can come from knowing these things, but I put it before you, nonetheless.

The Toilet Paper Roll – It is possible that there are some women who get upset when their man uses the last bit of toilet paper and doesn’t replace the roll. I got this impression after Colleen in Virginia said, “Is there anything worse than sitting down only to see an empty cardboard tube?”

Yes, Colleen, there is: Discovering the roll is empty only when you’re ready to get up!

So guys, if you’re willing to nip this problem in the bud before it really becomes an issue, my advice to you is this: Never use the bathroom at home. Go to a neighbor’s house.

I see goats

They have big teeth. Eatin' all that hay. Gonna get some more. Waitin' for the day. Need a strapping buck. Give those girls a thrill. Need some goaty babies. Eatin' on the hill.

Finding A Good Book to Read

After Sept. 9, 2011, millions upon millions of Oprah Winfrey fans will be lost in a world without "The Oprah Winfrey Show." They will be lost in trying to decide what books to read; they will thumb through their cookbooks not knowing if this recipe or that one would be good for the family; and they will not have anybody to emulate or sympathise with when it comes to weight control.

And that's why I've started this Friday "Live Without Oprah" Series -- to help those soon-to-be helpless millions transition back into a world without the "Queen of Talk." So let's get started and talk about Finding a Good Book to Read!

Books are in book stores. You can even find some on the Internet. Some are good, and some are not. Sometimes you'll pick up a book and think it will be a good one, but then in Chapter 3 the main character starts having sex with a llama. Unless you're into that sort of thing, you might want to think about flushing it down the toilet -- but don't. Those kind of books always get stuck, and there's no telling what the plumber will think when he finds it.

My advice is this: Next time at the book store, take a bit more time to skim through the book. Order a tall coffee, park yourself in a comfy chair, then flip through the book just to get it's "flavor." If the taste suits you, read the whole thing right then and there, and when you're done, put it back on the shelf where you found it. No need to pay for a book you've already read.

Don't have a book store close? Then head on over to Amazon.com. I hear they have a big selection of books, too, but you'll have to make your own coffee.

Yes, you're going to buy some bad books. Or maybe the book looked good at first, but it turns out to be just another load of goat poop. Well, that's all part of the experience, too. Live and learn. And if you just can't stand the book and don't want it in the house any longer, maybe give it away next Christmas at an office party.

But until then, head back out to your favorite book store, and try, try again.

I got fan mail from "Miss April"

That's right -- fan mail from Miss April who works in the main office, just across the courtyard. (Here in the Piney Woods of East Texas we call every lady Miss somebody or other, i.e. Miss Melissa, Miss June, Miss Pam). She wrote to commend me on the good job I did on an article I wrote called, "8 things that can drive a husband bonkers."

Would you like to see what she wrote? Of course you do!

Mr. Farr: Unfortunately, I took the time to read your newspaper article yesterday, and I found that it confirmed my conclusion about the “male species” -- that being ALL MEN ARE SCUM! -- with the exception of my precious grandson, Jimmy, who sadly will eventually evolve into scum!

Regards, Miss April
Can you believe it? She took the time to actually READ my article, and then fire off such a thoughtful and grammatically correct e-mail. So, to be polite, I just HAD to respond back:

Dear Miss April: Thank you very much for taking the time to read the article. I assure you that my goal was to confirm that all men are scum, and that all future men will be future scum -- and it looks like I was successful in that endeavor. Please take the time to read next Sunday's article where I give the "women folk" the chance to rebut, but I actually rebut their rebuttal, which will confirm, once again, that I, above all men, am the scummiest of the scum.

I hope you have a great day, and I mean that from the bottom of my heartless heart!
Isn't this Internet thing just wonderful?

Now, if only I can get Miss September to write to me. Va-Va-Va-VOOM!

Texas school district has hair issues

A 4-year-old Texas schoolboy is in in-school suspension because his hair is too long.

The boy, who attends Floyd Elementary School in Mesquite, sits all day in the library with a teacher's aide, and will continue to do so until his hair complies with the school district's dress code.

Not only that, but according to the district's web site, the code is in place because "students who dress and groom themselves neatly, and in an acceptable and appropriate manner, are more likely to become constructive members of the society in which we live."

This is a picture of Benjamin Franklin. He was one of the Founding Fathers of the United States of America. He invented the lightning rod, bifocals, and the Franklin stove. He attended Boston Latin School but did not graduate. His schooling ended when he was 10. Benjamin Franklin's hair does not meet Mesquite's dress code. He would be sent to ISS, separated from his peers, and would be deemed unlikely to ever become a constructive member of society.

This is a picture of Bonnie and Clyde. Bonnie Parker was an honor roll student in high school, but Clyde Barrow probably never went to school. He was first arrested when he was 17. After that, he cracked safes, robbed stores, and stole cars. He emerged from prison a hardened criminal. His favorite weapon was the M1918 Browning Automatic Rifle. He and his gang killed nine police officers and several civilians. In Mesquite, Clyde would be deemed likely to become a constructive member of society because his hair is well kept and off his collar.

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Long or short, black or blonde, in the end, it's just HAIR! And I think our Texas school districts have much more important things to worry about.

Goat Grabbing? Not with MY goats you don't!

Long-time reader Jerry S. of Texas just told me that I better keep a watch on my goats -- especially if I ever take them to Afghanistan (which I was thinking about doing this summer, but now, I just don't know).

You see, it all has to do with Buzkashi! When translated into English, the word means "goat grabbing," and we're not talking about grabbing the little precious goat and giving it a big hug because you feel guilty that it stayed out all night in freezing weather while you slept all nice and snug in a warm bed. No, goat grabbing is all about two teams on horseback fighting for control of a beheaded goat. It's the national sport of Afghanistan, and that's why the goats and I are staying put this summer.

Goat Grabbing: grab the carcass, drag it to the scoring area, earn points, try not to get beat by your opponents (and I literally mean "beat" because those guys carry whips), and the winners get fine turbans and clothes.

How ghastly! But do you want to see some photos? Go here, if you dare!

I think I shall now go outside and give my goats a hug! Or maybe just a pat on their still-attached heads!

They should be teaching this stuff in school

I have a water leak under my house. I called a plumber to see if he’d come fix it and he said to me, “Whatsa matter? Can’t you fix it yourself?” Which got me thinking: When did plumbing become such a lucrative business that they could actually turn down work? And how can I sign up?

It’s sad being a grown man who can’t do simple things around the house like fix leaky pipes and lay new sewage lines – but it’s not all my fault. I choose to pass the blame to a broken education system that allowed me to graduate from high school and college without teaching me the difference between a flat-head screwdriver and the other kind.

8 Things That Can Drive a Husband Bonkers

Ladies, we men love you with all of our hearts (well, except for those portions that are reserved for NASCAR, smoked brisket and the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition), but there are times when we’d rather endure back-to-back episodes of Oprah or “Sex in the City” than listen to you nitpick about toilet seats and smelly socks. Want to know what else sets us off?

Ice Capades

The three goat things I need to get done today:

1. Go outside and make sure my goats aren't goatcicles. It was well below freezing last night; we had the faucets dripping so as to avoid any busted pipes; and sometimes my goats don't take advantage of their nice, warm goat shed like they're supposed to.

2. If the goats are still alive, give them some nice, fresh water. Yesterday, their water was frozen solid, and a goat without water is a pitiful sight to see, let me tell ya!

3. If the goats are not with the living anymore, head out to the pet shop and buy some low-maintenance fish. Fish never scream and holler for food, and they never try to escape!

And what has all of this to do with my "Ice Capades" photo? Absolutely nothing. I thought the windshield of my car looked interesting, and when it warms up, the "show" will be melted and gone.

"Connect the Dots" for America

Good morning, children. Today, we're going to learn how to play "Connect the Dots." Doesn't that sound like fun? Now, it's very important that you pay attention and learn how to "connect the dots" the correct way, because knowing how to do it, when you get older, will come in handy.

"Teacher, I have a question."

Yes, Johnny, what is your question? And next time raise your hand.

"Teacher, I don't see why I need to know how to connect those stupid dots when I'm older. That's a kid's game. I might use math and reading every now and then, but connect the dots? That's stupid."

Now Johnny, never say never. You never know WHEN you might need it. For instance, let's say one day you work for the government, in Homeland Security or the CIA, and your job is to catch people with bombs before they get on airplanes to blow them up. Well, that kind of job is all about connecting the dots. You miss a dot, you don't see the picture, and the bad guys blow up a plane. Do you understand?

"Like I said, it's stupid! Everybody knows you can't stop the bad guys by connecting dots! You have to use machine guns!"

Very funny, Johnny. But being serious, compared to children in other countries, U.S. students are way behind in their ability to connect the dots. That's why the U.S. Department of Education is going to make "connecting the dots" part of the exit-level exams for high school next year. If you can't connect the dots, you don't graduate.

So, let's get out our crayons and begin. We have a lot of catching up to do!

The Man Who Stares at Goats

When George Clooney's movie "The Men Who Stare at Goats" came out, I was really upset because the movie didn't come to my town. So instead, since I have goats, and since I sometimes stare at them, I decided to make my own movie.

Goats are cute; goats are noisy; goats don't give a second thought about eating your new khaki pants. Goats just want someone to stare at them -- and that's my job.

I am "The Man Who Stares at Goats"




Hoppy, the goat I'm talking to in the video, died a couple of days after this was made. She was a good goat, and we didn't have the heart to eat her.

Do you shop Goodwill?

I love corduroys, especially in the winter. I love the look of them, the feel of them, and I love how they can keep you just a little bit warmer than regular slacks. The only thing I don't like about them is the cost.

At K-Mart, their corduroys usually cost $44, but you might can find them for $18. At the Bass Pro Shop, you can buy some cords for around $25. If you shop at Eddie Bauer, you're looking at paying $30-40 for a pair, and that's on sale.  And over at Lands' End, you better get ready to plop down $25-60.

I walked out of my local Goodwill shop, with two practically new pair of cords, and only paid $7 -- for the both of them.

Goodwill is a worthy organization that deserves more of our support! You can even shop Goodwill online! And when you're talking about spending $3 for a pair of slacks, Goodwill just makes sense.

So, do you shop Goodwill?

Avatar!

My daughter asked if I would take her to a movie last night -- to go on a date. How could I say no?

She said she wanted to see Avatar. Great -- I wanted to see it, too!

And then she said it was in 3D. Oh, no! I HATED all those 3D movies I saw as a kid. So, I had my doubts...

But I was wrong!

Avatar has got to be the best movie I've ever seen!

It's My Birthday!

Yep, today's my big Birthday! No. 48. Which means next year I'll be 49, and THEN, the BIG 5-0!

And what am I going to do after that? I'm going to start counting backwards. After 50, I'm heading to 49, then 48 and before long, I'll be 5 again and I really hope I get a brand new tricycle -- either that, or a Harley!

New Fishing Lures

REVISED POST: 5 Feb 2010 -- Hey, I started a new site called, "Sounds Like a Fish Story To Me." I hope you like it!


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The great thing about fishing lures is they make excellent gifts. Need a graduation gift? How about a Rattletrap! Somebody's birthday? A Crankbait is your best bet. Anniversary? I'd go with some Panther Martins! And for Christmas? Anything goes!

This school of fishing lures came from Steve and Julie! They knew I was Hooked on Lures, so they got me some -- along with this note from Julie:

"As a child, I fished with my Grandpa in the Ozarks of southern Missouri. All we ever used for bait was live minnows. I couldn't figure out how to wrap those, so I got you these. Hope they'll do. -- Julie"

Of course they'll do -- in fact, they're great! I added them to my Hooked on Lures collection, where I'm hoping to collect lures from each and every state.

Want to help like Julie did?

Send me your tired, your beat up, your old and half-forgotten lures -- one will do -- that are just cluttering up your tackle box. Not only that, but write down what the lure is used for, how to use it, or maybe even the history of that specific lure, and I'll put it all together on my website, with pictures, footnotes and a lot of whatnots, and boy won't THAT be exciting reading!

Think of it as stamp collecting, but with Crankbaits and Rattletraps.

Except for postage, I'm not asking anyone to spend a thing on these lures. What fun would it be to get a new lure from a Wal-Mart in South Dakota?

So, friends and neighbors, if you know of somebody who lives outside of Texas and is willing to mail a lure for this collection, feel free to put in a good word for me and ask them to start digging in their tackle box.

All you have to do is send me an email saying you're interested in sending me a lure, and I'll send you my mailing address. Until then, Happy Fishing!

The Rich Can Afford Quality Health Care; I Can Afford Pizza

I’ve been reading up on health-care issues lately and I’ve come to the conclusion that I really don’t have anything to say about it. So, let’s talk about pizza.


Pizza is round. It comes in all different flavors like pepperoni, cheese or Canadian bacon. If Cici’s had a Barbecued Squirrel Pizza on the menu, I’d try it, but they don’t, and that’s that.

Pizza is mostly served hot. Sometimes I eat leftover pizza cold for breakfast. A lot of people think that’s weird. I never invite those people over to my house.

Me and My Shadow

I'm not much of a biker. I ride most of the time, but I don't have a Harley and I don't have a lot of leather. If you were to meet me in Wal-Mart, you'd never guess that I even owned a Honda Shadow.

Well, I took this picture last year, just wanting to create a self portrait that wouldn't actually have me in it. If I remember correctly, I took it early in the morning, and it was windy and chilly. It wasn't until much later, after B. Elwin Sherman commented that he liked the picture of me and my Shadow, that I actually realized what I had done.

I hope you like the photograph.

Holy Cow! It's 2010

Just when I was getting used to writing 2009 on my checks, somebody ups and changes the year!

A lot of things happened in 2009, but the most important, life-changing event that occurred has to be "The Big Switch" -- the change from free analog television over the airways, to a crappy "you must purchase a converter box and enormous tower or you'll never see ABC again" digital signal that I STILL don't get.

Yes, friends and neighbors, I got the converter boxes and they didn't work. I bought a new set of rabbit ears for my old TV, and THEY didn't work. My children have a digital television that was supposed to be able to get the all-powerful, all-wonderful new digital signal, and even THAT didn't work. And do you want to know why? Location, Location, Location!

We live in a hole by the lake. Okay, we live in a house, not a hole, but it's in a depressed area. Okay, the area's not that depressed because we have happy grass and trees, but it's low-lying -- so low that those zippy new digital signals just pass overhead. And since the only way I'm going to catch those signals is by building a tower or subscribing to a satellite service, I say let them zoom right on by, thank you very much!

Why should I pay mucho dollars to subscribe to a service that puts out 250 channels of high quality goat poop, when I can spend my time doing a lot more important things like feeding my goats and practicing banjo so people won't cringe whenever they hear me play?

Anyways, Happy New Year. I missed the Rockin' New Year's Eve parties on ABC, but I'm sure you'll tell me all about them!