This is Memorial Day weekend and it leaves me with a lot of mixed feelings. I spent four years in the 1950s in the USAF and it might have been the most eye-opening and learning period of my life. A year of that time was spent in Turkey during what I have always described as “The U2 Campaign.” That was when Russia shot down Gary Powers flying the U2 from Incirlik AFB in Adana, Turkey. Powers bowled in one of the same leagues I did, and I knew him by sight.
All these years later, I still can’t handle “Taps” when I hear it. That’s the song bugled at military funerals. I heard it this past Saturday during lunch at a local restaurant and almost had to get up and leave the table. Where the mixed feelings come in, not a one of my kids or grandkids have ever joined the service. Have I ever wanted any of them going to Iraq or Afghanistan to fight in that mess over there in the Middle East? No, that isn’t the point.
Being in the service and having the chance to serve overseas gave me a feeling and understanding of this country and what it stands for that I never would have achieved without that experience. I don’t think the current generation growing up including my grand kids have any clue what it means to live here in America. Are we perfect? Do we never make mistakes? Hell, no! However, compared to the rest of the world, we’ve got it made.
When I am decorating family graves in three different cemeteries for the holiday, there are several military graves in the immediate vicinity of each. I give them all a nod and quick salute along with a “Thank you” as I pass by.
Observed a situation recently that actually found people working together for good instead of having a “Pissing match” to try to claim that, “I know all the answers so you have to do it my way.” That in itself is refreshing.
Background—a very young member of my family has suddenly developed migraine headaches that were sometimes relieved only by vomiting. Since he is in kindergarten, the suggestion was made to have his eyes checked for vision problems. Glasses were ordered and this seemed to help some, but the doctor was still not happy. He ordered an MRI which showed a shadow. He ordered another MRI to zero in on the questionable spot. This showed something so a second opinion was ordered from a pediatric specialist in this area in a different hospital—plus the orders for a third MRI three months down the road.
The new specialist, who was highly recommended from two different “secret” sources, indicated that the migrains are not being caused by the spot showing up on the MRIs. He feels the concerned spot may or may not be a tumor afterall. It could be something that’s been there since birth or from a fall where he bumped his head. He wants the parents and school to go on a vigil and watch for possible triggers—diet, lighting, hard play, etc. Not only could it be a phase his body is going through, it could be caused from food or airborn allergies, lighting, or a number of things. Apparently, he has one boy who can only play hard for about thirty minutes, and then he has to either rest or suffer a migraine.
Not only all of this, he wants a third opinion. He’s setting up an appointment with the big children’s hospital down the road to confirm or reject his findings. Personally, I find this all pretty cool. It’s going to end up with three doctors, three hospital systems, parents, and school all working together to solve this problem. Thank God they aren’t politicians.
“Some Things Just Aren’t Right”
I know, today’s world is different because of all the technology, etc., but sending out a death notice using a mass text message to a whole group of relatives and friends at the same time? A text message? Really?
A person I’ve known for a number of years had a stroke and was in bad shape. He really wasn’t expected to make it, and he didn’t. However, when he died, his grandson was notified by a text message. Granted, they weren’t real close, but I would think he at least deserved a phone call.
Has modern day technology made us so callous that shooting everyone a text message is okay? To me, that just isn’t right. I can see the texts of the future, “You wouldn’t believe the size of the garter snake I saw in the garden this morning. It was humongous! And, oh yeah, before I forget, your grandpa died last night.”
Fair warning, if that happens when I kick off, I’m coming back to haunt whoever does it. Rant! Rant!
Went to one of the multitude of graduation ceremonies this weekend at Michigan State University. The speakers were inspiring, and the young ladies and gentlemen were awesome. The one I attended was for the College of Natural Science. Fortunately, I can at least pronounce my Grandson’s major—Environmental Geosciences. Most of them I didn’t have a clue as to what they even were, like Genomics and Molecular Genetics just to name one of my favorites.
Seriously, I wonder how long it will take these kids to actually realize what they have accomplished in the past four or five years. Each and every one of them should be so very proud of themselves. However, I wonder how many of them won’t until one of their own children are making the walk. The students all had hearty smiles on their faces, but were they smiles of relief, joy for the moment, or a realization that they had done one heck of a good job.
To all of you who made that walk this weekend all over the country, you didn’t do it just because you showed up for class. These were not certificates of attendance. This was your reward for years of cramming, burning the mid-night oil, experimenting with classes and majors that might not have been you, and the ability to finally find the ones that were.
Congratulations to all of you. I am proud of you and what you’ve done, even if it hasn’t sunk into that brain of yours yet.
“Safety Tip for your Children”
Every great once-in-a-while, one runs into something worthwhile on FaceBook or on the Internet news clips. In the past few days, I saw one that could prove valuable to all of you out there who have young children or grand children.
According to the story, a man approached a boy getting ready to get on a school bus and told him his mom had asked him to pick him up. He told the boy that she had to go someplace and wanted the man to take him to her.
The boy looked at him and asked him for the password. When the befuddled man mumbled and couldn’t come up with it, the boy ran for the bus and hopefully told the driver.
What an easy way for parents to work with their kids to make sure something like that never happens. Find a “secret” word that both would remember—a pet’s name, the child’s birthday, or a term of endearment that only Mom or Dad uses like “Snookums” or something silly like that. If that trick saved one child’s life, it would be well worth it to set up a password with your kids.
Went for my six mile bike ride through the neighborhood last night and couldn’t help but marvel about how serene and peaceful it is. My ride takes me through what I would consider upper middle class down to the lowest edges on the poverty scale.
With all the rioting, demonstrations, and civil unrest going on due to racial differences and police brutality and over-reaction, my “Hood” seemed almost boring. In my highly culturally and racially diverse neighborhood, I saw a handful of people mowing lawns and working in their yards.
Then I spotted one group of four, I’m guessing, twelve-year-olds all climbing the same tree in one of their front, side yards with one hanging off a limb like a monkey. That one brought back some memories of days of yore. Also along the way, I saw several boys out shooting baskets in their driveway. I yelled at one and told him I wanted to see his “Slam Dunk.” He gave it to me with a big smile on his face. I told him Coach Izzo should have seen that one. That brought an even bigger smile.
I know it would never sell, but too bad the media can’t take one of those rides like I did last night and see how peaceful and “normal” life can be. I’d much rather see that post slam dunk smile on the TV news than all of that angry, hate filled BS we’re subjected to every night.
“Indian Magic Crabapple”
I thought we had something nice happen in our neighborhood today. The city came through and planted a new Indian Magic Crabapple tree in my yard out near the curb. I had lost a giant soft maple during the ice storm of a year and a half ago and don’t know if this was an attempt to replace that or just beautify the city. I really don’t care. Since they planted another one across the street, I’m guessing it is a beautification attempt.
I asked the men who were planting them if they really wanted to plant it under the power lines, and he said that it was no problem. They didn’t grow tall enough to bother. I Googled the tree, and in the description, it also said they were good for areas with power lines because they didn’t grow high enough to bother them. According to the picture, it looks like it will be a beautiful tree when in bloom. I’m happy.
Now, I suppose, to be politically correct, I should start ranting and raving about the city “wasting” money planting trees when they should be fixing the roads. Of course, I could take it one step further, and say it’s all O’Bama’s fault. However, being the politically incorrect slob that I am, I just looked at it and said, “Cool.”
“What is Going On?”
Three children’s obituaries in the paper this past week. It started with a nine-year-old dying of complications of the flu. Apparently the flu somehow resulted in pneumonia in both lungs and his body shut down. The next was a fourteen-year-old who committed suicide. How sad is that? Then a fifteen-year-old died of some other illness.
Hold on to your loved ones and let them know they are. We never know when it’s going to be too late to do so. People die at child birth. Some go at a hundred plus. Everyone else goes somewhere in between. I really get bothered by those young ones. All three of the above had at least seventy years more on the time clock except…
I remember when one of my uncles died in his fifties and my grandfather was beside himself. I can still hear him saying, “It should have been me.” Can you imagine what’s been going on in the minds of the parents of those three kids? I can’t imagine, and I don’t want to. Love and spoil your kids. That next crushed parent could be you.
I know, Michigan has the worst roads in all fifty states, but why do I have to always get tangled up because of construction/resurfacing/pothole patching, etc? Cruising down one of the main drags a couple of days ago and the lane I was in was blocked up ahead. I turned on my blinker to get over into the left lane, and do you think anyone would let me? Oh, no. It might cost them an extra second on their trip to the bar. People are so thoughtful.
I think the solution to this would be to have all road maintenance happen between midnight and six a.m. That way traffic would be thinned out enough so horrific issues like mine wouldn’t be a problem. If you’re out driving at two or three in the morning you’re probably drunk anyway so it won’t matter. You can just swerve in front of someone and cut them off and the problem will be solved. I know, it might be a little distracting and noisy, but ear buds would probably help a lot.
The only exception to this should be when they get to my neighborhood. That should be done during daylight hours while most everyone is at work or on the golf course. At the current rate of repair on Michigan roads, it won’t matter much anyway because the rumor is our neighborhood isn’t due for resurfacing until 2106. By then, I probably won’t care.
“Hey! I’m a Star”
I must be. Someone wrote a magazine article just about me. I’m sure nobody else shares my qualities. In the January, 2015 issue of “Writer’s Digest” Tracy Barnes Priestley wrote an article entitled, “Why So Many Writers Give Up Mid-Novel.” Obviously, she was talking about me and my battles with “Damey and the Z Team.”
On page 35, she nailed all of my qualities:
- •Destructive thought patterns
- •Negative experiences
- •Ambiguous motivation
- •Unrealistic expectations
- •Lack of initiative
- •Inability to prioritize writing tasks
- •Frequent distraction
- •Too busy
- •Etc., ad nauseum
I think it’s fantastic that someone sat down and actually wrote a multi page article all about me. Only problem is, how did she know? We’ve never met or even seen one another. It must be an ESP thing. That’s pretty scary too. To think, someone can get into my head without my knowing it.
Well, on page 36 & 37 MS Priestley sets down a nine point agenda on “How to Avoid Stalling.” I guess the next thing I’m going to have to do is re-read those items—especially number 9, “Above All, Be Patient.”
“Childhood ‘Rearing’ 101”
Well, I haven’t made anyone angry all day, so there’s no time like the present. I’m sure the following will take care of my daily quota when a certain individual reads this. There is a person whom I know fairly well who has a five-year-old son who is not housebroken yet. Why? Because, “He is too lazy.”
I hate to tell you, but it isn’t the child who is too lazy, it’s the parents. Apparently, when Junior needs his diaper changed, he tells Daddy because Mommy yells at him. Awwww, poor baby. Not only that, they are home schooling him partially because of that. They don’t want to embarrass him in front of the other kids.
I had a suggestion that went over like a lead balloon. I told his mom that every time she had to change him, after she cleaned him up, he’d be appropriately dressed for my solution to the problem. Briskly slap that little bare ‘rear’ about five times and send him to bed for the rest of the day. I told her I’d be willing to make a bet that by the time it happened three times, the kid would be potty trained.
Then I had to hear about how Daddy, who lets the kids do absolutely anything they want with no consequences, would never allow it. “When Junior is ready, he’ll quit going in his pants.”
Sorry, but unless the child has cognitive problems of some kind, I find it totally unacceptable to allow him/her to reach the age of five without being made to use the bathroom appropriately.
So goeth my rant for the day. Hopefully it will be read by the appropriate persons and action will be taken. However, I know it won't.
Kid’s Bodies Found in Freezer?
There’s been a very disturbing story in the news this past week. It’s been disturbing to me on several accounts. If the story is true, a mother tortured her nine-year-old son for two weeks back in 2012 before he died. Then she wrapped his body and put him in the family’s freezer. Nine months later, her thirteen-year-old daughter said she didn’t like her surviving siblings so her mom strangled her, wrapped her body, and stuck that in the freezer.
I have so many questions. How could this happen and nobody in the neighborhood notice that two of the family’s children were missing? Where is the father? Why didn’t he know? I suppose there are a number of possible explanations for that one because of estrangement issues, not knowing who the father is, or whatever lame excuse is given.
What about the other two surviving siblings? Why haven’t they ever said anything to a teacher, neighbor kid, or anyone else? Are they so terrified of their mother that they wouldn’t dare say anything knowing they’d end up wrapped up in the freezer next? Are these kids even in school? Why weren’t the authorities notified when the nine-year-old and the thirteen-year-old kids quit going to school? Where the hell was Child Protective Services all this time?
If the mother has been collecting Aid to Dependent Children from the state, has there ever been any accountability? Is the system so weak that they just automatically pay for years without ever checking up on the welfare of the children? I have many more questions that I won’t post here, but I guess you get the gist of my “rant” for the day.
(Today's Irrelevant Rant is actually a very short story that I wrote for no other reason than to pick on a friend of mine named Jim who sent me a picture of a half full baby bottle in a parking lot medium and said I should use it as a writing prompt.)
Jimmy’s Big Day
There’s a brand new baby bottle, half full of milk, out there in the parking lot medium that nobody knows the truth about but me. Why? I’ll tell you why. I threw the thing out of the window and that’s where it landed. So there! Thinking about it makes me smile, even though those big people who are always yelling at me and bossing me around make me mad.
“Drink your bottle. No, you can’t have apple juice. Did you make a mess in your diapers again?”
That’s all I hear from the time I wake up in the morning until they turn off my light at night and shut my door. It’s not fair. I should have some choices in what I do, but no, never.
Every morning it’s the same thing. “Jimmy, Jimmy, wake up. Time to change your diaper and get you cleaned up for the day. Time for your bottle.”
And then it starts all over again. She pulls off my pajamas to change my diaper, and give me what she calls “a little spit bath” with that rough, pink rag she scrubs me with as I lie there with nothing on.
One time I fixed her though. She was changing me, and I peed right in her eye. Ha Ha. Only problem was, she ran into the bathroom and left me there forever while she washed her face. I got cold waiting for her. Almost cried, but didn’t.
When she finally came back, she dressed me, propped me up on a pillow and stuffed that bottle in my mouth. I spit it out. I wanted juice. She put it back in and held it.
“Drink your bottle, Jimmy. That’s a good boy.”
Good boy nothing. I want something to chew on. Gums hurt. Don’t got no teeth so I need something to sooth ‘um with. That nylon bone the dog carries around looks good. I’d like to gnaw on that for a bit and rub my sore mouth with it. Wonder if he’d share? He’s always got it. I think he sticks his head through the rails on my bed just to tease me with it. Nothing around here is fair!
One of these days I’m gonna crawl over the top of this stupid crib and run for the door and make my get-away. Gots to get steadier on my feets though first. Do okay if I hold on to something. Don’t fall down then. Maybe I could stand up behind that stroller thingie they’re always pushing me around with and do it that way.
Looks like today’s gonna be just like every other day. After my bottle, that lady read me a story, took her walk pushing me around the block in that thing she uses that gots wheels, and now she’s putting me in the car and tying me down. She said we’re gonna go someplace. Big deal. I’d rather stay home and play or watch TV.
So, what does that woman do next? Stops in the middle of nowhere. I gots no idea where we are. All I can see are cars parked all around me and a bunch of stores. To make it worse, she left me tied up in this stupid seat so she can run into the store, “Just for a second.”
Yeah, right. At least she left the window open so I’d get some fresh air and stay “comfy.” You bet. I’ll be sitting here all by myself for hours. Get all hot and sweaty. That’s what made me mad again. That’s when I threw the bottle out the window. You should’ve seen it bounce right up onto that spot of grass between the rows of cars.
Teach her to leave me alone again. Oops, here she comes already with a box. Wonder what she bought? She get me a toy?
“I told you, Jimmy. I’d only be a minute. I have your birthday cake. We’re going to celebrate with everyone as soon as we get back. You’ll love it. I’ll light the candle and we’ll all sing happy birthday to our boy, Jimmy. Won’t that be fun?”
As soon as we got home, she parked the car and helped me undo the seatbelt. Then she turned to me and said, “Jim, you have such a sweet smile on your face right now. I surely do wish you could still communicate. I’d love to know what’s going on in that ninety-five year old mind of yours.
Now, whatever happened to that sipper-cup full of Ensure? You’re always losing that thing.”
Went to an interesting Neighborhood Watch meeting this week and learned a couple of things. I think the most important point they made was to lock everything. Gone are the days when you can leave the house unlocked because you’re only, “…gonna be gone for a minute for a quick trip and back to McDonald’s.”
If you’re working in the back yard, make sure the front door is locked. If someone comes to the door and knocks, and nobody answers, there goes your purse, IPad, laptop, etc. Another thing is don’t hide a key in the mailbox, under the welcome mat, etc. etc. etc. If you can find it, so can your friendly neighborhood crook. Leave a key with a neighbor. This is one I’m guilty of. I have keys to three of my neighbor’s houses, but no one has one of mine except one of my kids who lives twenty miles away.
One idea they suggested that I had never heard of was, lock your car in the garage. It’s a no-brainer to lock your car in the driveway or at the grocery store, but lock it in the garage as well. It’s one more step a thief has to go through to steal your goodies. (Don’t leave any goodies in your car—locked, in the garage, or sitting at the curb.)
One last idea I’ll mention that I never thought of is for those of us who have key fobs for our cars, keep it on your bed table at night. If you wake up and hear someone in your house, you can set off your car alarm and that will scare the majority of culprits away.
Oops! One more. If you keep a gun in your house for just such emergencies, make sure you don’t shoot the villain in the back. For you to claim you were protecting yourself, it has to look like the perpetrator is coming at you, not running away.
My current WIP is dragging. My own fault. I’ve done too much research and found out that all of my “brilliant” ideas for nuclear powered underwater, oil smelling, repair capable robots are already in the works. What a downer.
My first surprise was to find out that they are actually working on developing a nuclear powered underwater robot. Next came the fact that they also have oil sniffing robots that they are using to seek out oil leaks in rigs out in the ocean. In fact, one company has one that is shaped like a miniature lobster because apparently, lobsters can smell, sense, whatever… oil. So they used that as their model.
My next shock came when I found out that they have included hand like devices or claws on certain robots where they can grasp onto and steady the rig underwater while the other hand/claw welds and seals the leak.
Now, this is all a bunch of crap. My whole story line is supposed to be a science fictionish, futuristic type of thing that nobody ever heard of happening under the ice shelf of the Antarctic. So, what do I find out? They are already researching and developing all of my brain storms. I want royalties.
New Book Covers
Technology and the Internet are weird. Like I mentioned earlier, I edited and re-did the covers for “As Life Goes On” and “As Life Moves On” for no other reason except that I wanted to. I certainly do not expect to sell any more copies, because if someone wanted one, they would have bought them back in 2011 when they were first published..
Here’s where it gets interesting. It took nearly two weeks before both new covers showed up correctly at Amazon.com and on the Kindle. That, was okay, I guess. However, at Barnes & Noble.com, “As Life Goes On” is still showing the old cover, but the second one shows the new. At Schuler Bookstore.com, both of the old covers still show.
Will Barnes and Schulers ever get it right? Who knows. Does it make any difference? No. I did a little book search of various other places, and here are the results:
Ebay.com “…Goes…”—Yes,“…Moves…” Yes
BetterWorldBooks.com “…Goes… Yes, “…Moves…” No
AbeBooks.com “…Goes…” Yes, “…Moves…” Yes
Half.com “…Goes…” No, “…Moves…” No
BooksAMillion.com “…Goes…” Yes, “…Moves…” Yes
As you can see, it’s all real consistent.
At What Point Do You Make That Call?
A couple of days ago I was on my way to Sam’s Club to get in my daily walk and witnessed something pretty odd. I was driving down this semi-main street towards the store when a young couple approached on the other side of the street walking. I’m guessing he was maybe nineteen and she looked about sixteen. The temperature was in the vicinity of forty degrees.
Suddenly, he rips off his jacket and throws it into the street. She dutifully runs out ducking traffic and picks it up. Just before I pass them, he pulls off his sweatshirt and throws that. She again runs over and picks it up and continues to follow. At this point, I can see their facial expressions clearly. He’s exhibiting intense anger and she’s showing equally intense fear.
Then he pulls off his Tee shirt but holds onto it. He's bare from the waist up. As I watch in the mirror, he continues to hold it and not stop. If he’d stopped and started taking off his pants, I would have punched 911 into the phone immediately. After I lost sight, I decided to let the people behind me keep tabs on the guy. However, I still wonder if I should have called. What do you think?
If, If It Had Been
When I was a senior in high school a hundred or so years ago, I had a student teacher in my history class. I found him an interesting person so I guess we clicked as student/teacher. When he signed my yearbook, he wrote, “If,if it had been.” You have no idea how many times I’ve thought of that statement over the years.
That statement has popped into my mind at some of the most relevant and irrelevant times. It popped into my head today when the Michigan State Spartans squandered an eleven point lead with minutes to go to send the Big Ten Tournament Championship into overtime. If…If…If. There were two major “Ifs” in the last ten seconds of the game in regulation which would have sealed a victory for the Spartys—If, if it had been.
In overtime, the team acted like a huge balloon which had just had a pin stuck into it as it deflated. I don’t think they scored once during that five minute stretch. If—if it had been.
The Gomment's Gonna Get Cha
Oh boy, I can hear it all now. I can hardly wait. The Michigan State Police announced yesterday that they will be using drones for various purposes—traffic control, search and rescue, crime scene and crash investigations, etc.
Here is what the law states:
Per the FAA, Michigan State Police drone pilots must abide by the following restrictions:
• The drone must always be flown by a two-person crew, with one acting as the pilot and the other as a safety observer.
• The pilot must be FAA certified.
• The unmanned aircraft system must remain below 400 feet and always be within line of sight of the crew.
• It can’t be flown near airports.
Here is what the ACLU says:
A report from the ACLU in 2011 detailed the organization’s contention with government drone use, claiming the technology’s powerful surveillance capabilities made them a threat to personal privacy and that the use of UAVs is ultimately unconstitutional.
Okay, how many reports are we going to see and hear about? “A state police drone was hovering outside of my bedroom window—A state police drone was following me all the way across town and into my driveway—A state police drone caused me to get into an accident. I looked at it and accidentally dropped the cell phone I was texting on causing me to run into the back of a truck while I was grabbing for it. I’m gonna sue.”
Paranoia reigns! The Gomment’s gonna get cha.
People Watching 101
I have always loved to “People Watch.” Every time I’m out in public, I observe everyone and everything. It has been the source of a lot of entertainment and numerous short stories. The last one was a short while ago when I walked out of Meijer’s and some dude was lying face down on the sidewalk in handcuffs. When I walked by, he looked me in the eye. My imagination went wild, and I wrote his story.
Today was a little different. I was at my favorite neighborhood restaurant with two of my kids and a daughter-in-law when an older couple walked in with a twelve/thirteen-year-old boy who could hardly keep his eyes open. Couldn’t help but smile and watch as he gradually joined the world. Who said that time changes don’t affect anyone. We set the clocks ahead last night/this morning, and his internal time clock wasn’t ready.
By the time we left, he was wide awake and smiling so I couldn’t help myself. I walked past their table which, by that time, had been joined by several other grandparent types. I stopped and asked, “Tell me if I’m right. I’m guessing that Grandma and Grandpa hauled ‘somebody’s’ butt out of bed this morning and dragged him to the restaurant before he was even awake.”
Both laughed and agreed wholeheartedly that was exactly what happened. The boy turned around with a big smile on his face and reported, “When they first woke me up, I rolled over and went back to sleep for just a second. Then they yelled at me again so I got up and got dressed.”
I’ll have to think about this one for a bit, but I bet I can dream up a good short story to fit the situation. Somehow, I’d have to blame the changing of the clocks for the whole thing.
No Wonder My Blood Pressure Sky Rockets
Okay, Doc. You said to go ahead and post this, so here I go. Today’s has to be one of my most irrelevant ever. For all of you who are lingering in that “Older than dirt” arena, you know that we all have those periodic doctor appointments just to make sure we're still breathing. This week I had my latest.
On Friday of last week I notified the office through their web site that I needed Doc to set up my labs so I could get them done the first part of the week. I received the message that they had all been set up. My plan was to go on Tues a.m. when it normally isn’t too busy. Naturally that’s the day we were getting snow, sleet, freezing rain, and all that good stuff. I still went.
When I arrived, I took a number, and sat down. There was one other customer in the place. After twenty minutes, I asked her if she’d seen any activity since she’d been there. She shrugged and said, “No.” I got up and pressed my forehead against the window and saw nothing.
As things would have it, a gentleman in suit and tie walked up and asked if something was wrong. I told him I’d been there for twenty minutes and the lady had been there longer, and we’d seen no activity. He pushed the button and opened the door and went in. Thirty seconds later, he exited with three nurses right behind him inviting the lady and me in to get our blood drawn.
As my lab tech checks her computer, she finds my tests had never been ordered. Therefore, she had to call the doctor’s office and have him tell her what he wanted.
Now, just to pour a little more salt into the wound, the past couple of times he has sent in prescriptions from his hospital computer, the RX has gone to the wrong pharmacy. There are two Rite Aid Pharmacies on Saginaw, and invariably it goes to the wrong one. Doc showed me on his computer where both pharmacies are listed on my record. The only problem is, the system won’t allow him to delete the incorrect one. He said he would report the problem to the computer systems people “Again” and see if they couldn’t do something.
On the positive side, he told me to keep writing—it was keeping me young. Flattery will get you everywhere, Doc. Keep it up.
About two-thirds of the way through editing “As Life Moves On.” Plan to put on a new cover, complete re-edit, and formatting. The process of editing this one as well as “As Life Goes On” has been a huge eye opener. We all develop these little habits along the way which we are completely unaware of.
For instance, I really did not realize just how many times I use “really” and “just” while describing something. The rule of thumb is to eliminate as many adverbs as humanly possible. Going through the manuscript, has made me aware of how often I depend on them. “Very, extremely, especially, …ly, …ly, …ly”—it’s enough to drive one slightly batty.
The correct way to describe an action or event is by using strong nouns and verbs. An example might be, “He started to run down the alleyway awkwardly.” This should be replaced with, “He stumbled down the alleyway.”
The process so far has been fun and revealing—showing may of my own writing and speaking habits. Looking at the books after a three year hiatus has been fun. The cool part of the whole process is, nobody but me will know the difference. People who bought the first edition sure aren’t going to buy the new and revised one to see the changes. Let’s face it, the whole project is for me. Why? Because I want to and I can.
I mentioned the fact last week that I had redone the cover on “As Life Goes On,” edited the thing, and did a bunch of reformatting just because. Now, something weird has happened. The new cover shows up on some people’s computers, and doesn’t on others.
I have two computers that I use and the changes do not show up on either one at Amazon.com. However, when I look it up on my IPad, the changes all show. Why? I think it might have something to do with the old images stored in the cache. So I went through the little task of that and it didn’t do any good. Nothing changed.
I ran a little questionnaire on FB and asked some people to check. Of the three that answered, the changes showed on two and not on the other. I asked three people privately to do the same. Same results—two to one. So far no one has seen the changes on Barnes & Noble.com or Schuler’s web site.
I’ll wait one more day and call CreateSpace, the publisher for Amazon and ask them what’s up. Probably should have done it all ready, but it gives me something to “Rant” about in the meantime.
The Ultimate in Absurdity
Having the advantage of being a crotchety old duffer, I sometimes like to think nothing will surprise me anymore. Wrong! In the USA section of today’s paper there’s an article about a recruiting website that has started profiling an eleven year-old boy in football. No, I didn’t stutter. You heard me right. They are profiling a 5’ 2”, 105 pound sixth grader for future recruiting purposes.
Not only that, he has his own blog to expound on his accomplishments. To make it worse, his parents are encouraging all of this under the guise that they are only trying to help him reach his dream. At his age, his only dream concerns should have to do with moisture.
Sixth grade eleven year-olds should be playing multiple sports. There’s soccer, football, baseball, basketball, wrestling, track, etc. Why on earth would a parent let a kid focus so intently on one thing? What about band, choir, debate, student council, school plays, and all of those other fun activities?
The article goes on to say that LeBron Jame’s ten year-old son is getting interest. I saw a blurb of LeBron on TV the other night when he said something to the effect, “Leave my boy alone.” Those probably aren’t his exact words, but that what the intent was.
Should kids have dreams? Sure. My dream was major-league baseball, even if I couldn’t hit a 60 mph curve ball—or any speed curve ball for that matter. That doesn’t matter. That young boy from Connecticut should be playing all kinds of sports and having fun. Why ruin the kid’s self image if all he does in life is end up being a good high-school quarterback? What happens, Heaven forbid, that some serious illness or accident takes it all away from him? What does he have left in his mind, suicide?
Come on, parents. Let the kids play, have fun, experiment with all kinds of sports and activities, and don’t let it become so important that the kid ends up as a “loser” if it doesn’t work out.
Here’s the epitome of having nothing better to do. I’ve spent the past two weeks creating a new cover, description, and a complete re-edit of “As Life Goes On” – book 1 of the “As Life…” paranormal teen trilogy. Why? Because I can.
The first edition published about five years ago and was full of typographical no-no’s. Besides that, the cover wasn’t all that clear. So, right in the middle of my latest masterpiece—“Damey & the Z-Team,” I decide to go back and re-do all three books in the trilogy.
Why is this such a brilliant move? Simply put, nobody will buy them. If anyone wanted to buy them, they would have already done so. Nobody in his or her right mind would buy it just because it had a new cover and was edited. And, believe it or not, I could care less. I write and do these things to entertain myself. If someone else enjoys it, great!
Why is Marriage a Political Issue?
I’ve never claimed to be the smartest person, and maybe I’m just plain naïve. However, for the life of me, I’ve never been able to see why the state or national capitol should have any say in who any of us want to marry.
To me, this should be a personal issue. What possible difference should your choice in a spouse have to do with the functioning of the government? By the same reasoning, if my single, male neighbor across the street should get married to a woman or another man, how could this have any effect on the sanctity of my marriage?
There was a time in this country when it was illegal for people of different races to marry. Eventually, the courts came around to the realization that marriage for those people was a personal issue. If two people of different races married, it had nothing to do with the government or anyone else. Why don’t the same laws apply to sexual orientation?
In my humble opinion, if two people who are in love want to be married and spend their lives together, good for them. Same sex couples should be able to adopt children together, share health insurance plans, and file their taxes as a family.
Their unions have absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I married a woman, ended up with three kids, and a litter of grandkids and great grandkids. Other people’s choices in mates do not affect my life one bit. Marriage is not a political issue. It’s personal.
This is scary. I’ve been trying to educate myself. I’ve recently finished two non-fiction (I Hope) books on marketing on Amazon for both paperbacks and Kindle versions. As a result, I’m going to print new covers for the first four books and re-word all of the Key Word phrases.
Okay, I know, 99.9% of you have no idea what I’m talking about at this point. When one publishes a book on Amazon, you are given seven “Key Word” phrases that you can enter. The purpose of these is to aim people at your book. In the case of the “As Life…” trilogy, these are considered as middle grade and young adult as well as adult. My original target audience was my old students who are now the parents and grandparents of teens. However, I have come to realize through listening to my audience, that their sons and grandsons have enjoyed the books tremendously.
I have also decided to go back and re-edit each of the books for typos, goofs, etc. For instance, by pure habit I almost always write the word OK/okay as ok. So far, in the first seven chapters of editing, I have found probably ten examples of ok. I probably have ten hand-written pages of changes I want to make so far. What is surprising to me is how many glaring errors pop up after having not read the thing through for about five years.
Hopefully, by the time the editing process, the key word process, and the cover process is all completed, “As Life Goes On” will be a much improved book. At least I will feel better about it.
The subject of this week’s Irrelevant Rant came from the Internet so beware. However, I saw copies of this supposedly coming from CNN and NBC. The basis for the story is reported to be that a six year-old boy was too nice and too friendly—especially around strangers. Therefore, Mom, Aunt, and Grandma decided to teach him a lesson.
Reportedly, they convinced one of the ladies’ (And I use that term begrudgingly) co-workers to kidnap the boy and scare him. The truck driver allegedly lured the boy into his truck. While inside the truck, he told the boy he’d never see his mother again and that he would be nailed to the wall of some shed.
After the six year-old started to cry, the driver pulled out a gun and threatened to hurt him if he didn’t stop crying. At this point, the driver apparently pulled over and tied up the boy’s hands and feet with plastic bags and blindfolded him. After driving around for a while, he eventually took the boy home where they took him down to the basement. At this point, the boy’s aunt took off his pants and told him he could be sold into sex slavery—as if he’d even know what that meant.
After about a four hour ordeal, they allegedly untied him, took him upstairs, and lectured him about “stranger danger.” After the fact, the family told police that they were trying to educate the boy and felt as if they’d done nothing wrong.
Fortunately, the boy, the smartest one in the group, told the authorities at his school who immediately contacted a division of Family Services. They took over and placed the young lad into protective custody. Obviously, the four adults have all been charged with felony kidnapping, neglect, restraint, and a raft of other grievous crimes.
My whole point is “How, How, How” can anyone be so stupid? Have you ever heard of anyone punishing a six year-old for being too nice and too friendly? Definitely children have to be warned about the potential dangers of strangers and not getting into cars with them, but to scar a child for the rest of his life because they wanted to “scare” him into being a paranoid and frightened human being?
I certainly hope that the boy is placed into reliable foster care and counseling as soon as can be arranged and never allowed back into the clutches of Mom, Auntie, and Grandma.
You know, it really didn’t have to happen. We didn’t need to get 14” of snow over the past twenty-four hours. I know, you poor souls on the east coast who have tons of that nasty stuff this winter don’t need any more either. Talk about Cabin Fever, I’d probably OD on Xanax or something if I got snowbound for a week.
They have Lansing set up in snowplowing districts. This morning they are supposed to be working on districts 1-7. I’m in district one so we should get plowed early, right? So far I’ve seen no sign of one of the things. Of course, as soon as they do, I’ll have to crank up the snowblower and go clean out the driveway so I can actually get out. Seems like there ought to be a better way. Have no idea what it would be, but I sure hate it when they plow me in right after I’ve cleaned the drive.
In the meantime, I’ll get back to my latest literary masterpiece in progress and try to do something a little bit productive.
So, if today’s “Irrelevant Rant” hasn’t been completely irrelevant, I guess I don’t understand the word. Besides, I just wanted to bitch—reason enough.
Ever try to write something when you had absolutely no idea what you were talking about? Well, that’s what I’m doing now. A lot of my current WIP takes place on an icebreaker in the middle of the Antarctic. I wrote about this little problem back in the middle of November, and I’m still banging my head against the wall with it.
For one thing, Google and I have become best buddies. I spend more time on that trying to make the story as factual and realistic as possible. At least I’m keeping the brain active and learning some things, and I guess that’s the whole point to today’s rant. Turn off the damned television—except, of course when the news or a good sporting event is in play, and read or write something other than making out your monthly checks.
Something you might want to try. Start a diary. Maybe one of your offspring might find it interesting someday years from now. For one instance, my grandfather kept a daily diary from 1895 to 1914. I read the whole thing when I was in college. I had to do a paper using an original source for a Michigan history class I did during my senior year at MSU. (You may all do your “Hurrahs” now.) An y way, it was extremely interesting to look at Williamston as a bartering society.
Today we run to the store and pick up our week’s groceries using our credit and debit cards and think nothing about it. Grandpa would take a bag of navy beans, some squirrel and rabbit pelts, and maybe a few dozen eggs and off he’d go to town and barter for his supplies. Who knows how it’ll all be done a hundred years from now. However, I’ll bet if you wrote your daily activities down in a diary, I’ll bet your heirs or people visiting the local museum would find them interesting and fun to read. One suggestion, use a word processor and print them off. Don’t do like Grandpa did and hand write them using the most horrible penmanship imaginable.
Sometimes You Just Can’t Win
On my way back from Florida, I stopped over to visit some friends in Virginia Beach. The couple of days there were great. Unfortunately, the time to leave and head back to Michigan arrived. My author friend who I’d been talking shop with for two days cautioned me about leaving prior to nine a.m. because of the “Going to work” traffic.
As I pulled out of his driveway and started down the street, I called “Tillie” my OnStar Navigation system gal and told her I really didn’t want to go up I-95 and battle all of that Washington DC mess, and wasn’t there a way she could take me cross country to I-75. She looked for a minute and came back to me. She had a route.
Six hours later I finally crossed the border into West Virginia. I really have no idea where I was. All I know is, I spent the day going north, west, northwest until I crossed that magic line into WV. From then on, it was all downhill. (Figuratively speaking.) I ended up on some two lane road cruising through the mountains of WV. Fortunately, the only traffic I ran into was locals. When “Bubba” roared up behind me, I’d slide over as far as I could without going over a cliff of some kind into oblivion and listen to him floorboard his pickup and blast by me like I was standing still—which I was.
Fifteen mile per-hour hairpin curves where you can look straight to your left and see where you’ll be in the next minute are not my thing. A number of people have asked me, “Wasn’t it beautiful?” Hell, I don’t know. I was white knuckling it the whole way. I managed to sneak a couple of peeks along the way and would maybe have like to stop and check it out, but there was no place to do it.
By four o’clock it was starting to get dark and decided to find a motel and re-calculate what I was doing. Nothing. I stopped in a little roadside pit stop and asked some guy if there were any motels around. He thought for a minutes, and then said, “Nope. Probably nothin’ til you get to ???”
About six thirty, I pulled into some town that I don’t even remember it’s name. The first think I saw was a KFC. I pulled in there and asked the girl at the counter, “You’ve gotta have a motel someplace in this town. Where is it?”
She pointed to the sign which was immediately across the street and off I went. Met some nice young guy in the lobby who lived there. He told me he’d had two jobs in his life—the US Army and the coal mines. Anyway, he pulled out his smart phone and pulled up the road on his GPS and showed me how to get off that ungodly road I was on and head north to the PA Turnpike. I was so nice about it, I actually took the time and wrote down the directions knowing I’d call “Tillie” in the morning and get the turn-by-turn directions.
So I did, and oh, was life ever easier after that. About four-thirty in the afternoon I pulled into Lansing and headed directly to the car wash even before going home and unloading. Able to recognize my own car again after peeling off layers of mud, helped the frame of mind immensely. The best part, however, was sleeping in my own bed that night. I’d made it home all in one piece—even after the WV mountains.
I do not understand how and why some people do some of the things they do. Within about a mile or so and across a lake from where I spent the last week in Florida, four thugs held up a pawn shop. The police arrived immediately and they took off. One was apprehended immediately, one was cornered in a house where he promptly killed a 70+ year old woman and her 50 something daughter before sneaking out to the garage, starting the car, and crashing through the door trying to make a getaway. He didn’t get too far before he crashed the car and was captured.
That left two of them being tracked down by over a hundred police. The county sheriff was in charge of the investigation was interviewed a couple of times and he made the situation very clear. “We want you to surrender peacefully. If you choose to get into a gun fight, we will shoot you a lot.” As there was an instantaneous $5,000 reward put out for them, they were “ratted out” by people and captured by morning. One was hiding in a shed.
My question becomes, “How much money could these goons think they were going to get out of a pawn shop?” Here in Florida they provide capital punishment for murder. Of course, it will take twenty years before they insert the plunger full of toxic juices, so he’ll get a nice long time to think about it before they do. The other three will probably get life for armed robbery.
Being very generous, let’s say they were able to get $4,000 in cash out of a pawn show robbery. Dividing that among the four of them gives them a grand apiece. I don’t claim to be the world’s greatest mathematician, but let’s just say they all spend twenty years in jail. That’s 1040 weeks. If you divide the $1000 they “might” have gotten if they’d managed to pull it off, that works out to .96 a week, or .02 cents an hour on a forty hour week. Fortunately for society, they’ll all spend more than that. Was it worth it, boys?
“Stories from Williamston’s Past”
Irrelevant Rants is taking a slight slant today. Instead of ranting about something, I’m promoting something different. A former colleague of mine at Williamston High School has written an historical, non-fiction treatise on some of the more interesting stories of Williamston history. Following is the “Review” I put up on Amazon.com tonight. Sometimes it takes a day for it to become live, but you can read it here now.
Mitch Lutzke, Noted historian of Williamston, Michigan lore, has compiled the non-fiction work titled Stories from Williamston’s Past.” After years of study and the compilation of a twenty page bibliography, Mitch has been able to bring to life many stories and events of Williamston’s past.
Many of the stories I had heard bits and pieces of, but not all the details. We all knew of Chief Okemos patrolling the shores of the Red Cedar, but not the chief’s history per se. Several of the stories held my interest more than others. Discussions regarding transportation such as the development of the railroad, the old plank road coming out of Detroit, and the attempt at developing a steam engine automobile factory I found especially intriguing.
Other industrial attempts I found compelling were stories of the creation of the knitting factory, coal mining, an attempt at being part of a very early professional Michigan baseball league and all of its problems, and, of course, the attempts to build “get rich quick” industries.
Then there was the gruesome Haney murder. That one was worth the price of the book.
Obviously, the most fun reading for me was the inclusion of my grandfather’s diary that he illegibly kept from 1895 to 1914. As I read the entire diary way back in my college days, it had special meaning. Items not shared in Mitch’s diary excerpts were the Indians coming to the door begging when the “men folk” went to town or the excitement portrayed when my own father was born—“Grace gave birth today, another boy.” Since that was the sixth boy in a row, I guess it didn’t present much of an adrenalin rush.
I found “Stories from Williamston’s Past” extremely interesting and a great read. I give it a five star rating and recommend it to anyone with any interest of the history of a small Michigan town.
On The Road
One of the nice things about life is that we get to make decisions—at least while we are still able. I did my two plus day journey from Lansing to Florida over the weekend and arrived at destination about noon yesterday. It was seventy-eight degrees here and when I checked the computer this morning, it was minus four in Lansing.
Therein come the decision part. Do I want to make this drive again? The super highways are long and boring. There were some programs on NPR that I heard three times. Wouldn’t it be easier and probably cheaper to fly? Yes, but it puts on some limits. For instance, on the way I stopped off in Indianapolis and had lunch with my cousin. When I leave here, I’ll stop by and have lunch with another friend in northern Florida, and then head over to VA Beach and spend a day with an author friend and his wife.
If nothing else, I did well on my diet. On Sunday, I had oatmeal for breakfast and then nothing else until I landed at some flea-bitten motel in GA. There was no restaurant or gas station at that particular place—just one motel. So I ordered a pizza to be delivered and only ate half of that. I left the other half for the clean-up crew. Yesterday, I had one meal—an exceptionally good spaghetti dinner. Even had breakfast this morning so I guess I won’t starve. Bet I don’t lose any weight either.
If I fly, I won’t be able to have those connections. Therefore, I have to make one of those decisions between now and next January—fly or drive.
Had something really strange happen recently, but first you need some background. All my life I’ve had this “thing” about having/being an identical twin. I remember when I was in the sixth grade, there were identical twin girls in my class that I was jealous of. I always thought it would be so much fun.
Over the years while teaching, I periodically had twins in class. I always fantasized about how much fun they had—especially the identical ones who would try to pull something over on their teachers. I had one set of “mirror twins” in middle school that I especially remember. One was left handed and the other right. One wore a 9 size left shoe and a 9 ½ right. His brother was just the opposite so their parents would buy two pair of shoes and they would trade the odd one.
Since they were in different classes, I noted on my seating chart an L for the left hander and an R for the right hander. One was more English/social studies oriented, and the other was more math/science. Being the suspicious type and having heard rumors, I started checking on test days. I caught them once. All I did was say, “???, go to your right class and send your brother back.” They never tried it again—that I know of.
Anyways, growing up in the fifties, sex education was pretty much non-existent. School ignored it, my dad never said a word about it, and my mother would answer any question I had very factually about any question I might have regarding body parts, functions, etc. These never strayed off into any kind of lecture. She answered the question and then changed the topic.
To bring this up to date, at our monthly Williamston Writer’s group, we always spend the first hour getting something to eat and chatting about whatever. Somehow or the other we started talking about sex education back in the day. One of the people went off to college totally oblivious—no one had ever told her squat. One’s mother handed her two books and told her to read them, and others in the group had similar experiences.
While sitting there talking, a memory flashed in my mind of me sitting at the kitchen table while my mother cooked dinner. That’s where we always had our discussions. Dad wasn’t home from work yet, and my two sisters were out and about. I remember telling her that I always wanted to be a twin and almost felt like I was one. I can still see her. She’d been stirring something in a pot on the stove. She stopped, turned around and gave me “the look” and said something to the effect in a very stern tone, “Well, it didn’t turn out that way, did it?” The subject was dropped.
Chalk Up One for the Bucket List
Back in 2007, after reading “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows” I told myself, “One of these days, I’m going to sit down and read all seven books back-to-back and watch the movies.”
About two months ago I told myself, “The time has come.” My goal was to get all seven books re-read and movies watched before the end of the year. I had a couple of surprises along the way. Number one, I had never even taken the wrapper off of book five. Also, I didn’t have the movies for six and seven. Have no idea why not. I checked on line at Amazon.com and the last two books weren’t available there.
I have breakfast every two weeks on Tuesday morning with a fellow author. He told me about a used CD store across from the Lansing Mall that I had never heard of. I checked it out. They had the movies. Ta! Da!
I finished book seven on Sunday the twenty-eighth. Monday and Tuesday were jammed on the calendar. Therefore, on New Year’s Eve I watched I watched both movies associated with “The Deathly Hollows” while a host of other people were out partying. I bet I felt better than those people did on Thursday.
I’d forgotten how much fun those books were. J.K. Rowling’s imagination is fantastic. How she could come up with all of the scenarios, plot lines, conflict and drama is mind boggling. Things did tend to drag now and then, but overall they were page turners. I guess when you’re reading seven and eight-hundred page books, it’s not too unusual to have a few slow parts.
What I also found interesting was the amount of content in the books I’d forgotten. That’s probably not too much of a stretch since the last one was published in 2007. For the fun of it, I may put this back on the Bucket List and do it again one of these days.
The Four “F” Words for the Holidays
Family, Friends, Food, and Fun—that’s what it’s all about. The rest takes a back seat. Obviously, people’s beliefs and the gift giving are all intertwined with the four “F” words above, but how we deal with the above is what makes it all special.
For many, the holidays revolve around religion. For some it doesn’t. For some it is all about the gifts—especially if you’re young. For me I’m perfectly happy with the beliefs of Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or anything else one might choose to celebrate. What makes the season special for me are those human relationships that come about because of those holidays that are being celebrated.
What we don’t need in social settings are religious and political arguments for or against any of the above. If people want to sit down together and discuss their differences one-on-one, fine. As a friend of mine told me once, when new recruits join the fire department, they are told right up front. “We are a community. We live together for twenty-four hours a day. Two topics are verboten—politics and religion.“
I guess it causes some other “F” words to mix in to the fray, and who needs that?
The Lansing schools, like most urban schools, have been pretty poor in the performance area for some time now. The superintendant and board are discussing a new plan for one of the poorest performing elementary schools—making it an all-boy school. Personally, I think this is a great idea. However, I think they should go one step further and have another school in town for all girls.
Because of the Schools of Choice dictum, there should be at least one school choice for each sex. Early elementary aged boys tend to be behind the girls in maturity, growth, brain development, etc. As a result, many boys are behind the girls when they start and kind of give up. Sometimes that’s easier on the morale than actually trying and failing—or never being able to compete with so-and-so. As a result, many boys act out, get in trouble, fall farther behind, etc.
That’s one reason why middle schools were developed in the first place. After puberty kicks in during the sixth, seventh, and eighth grades, boys go on growth spurts physically and mentally and catch up. I’ve heard that for an excuse for same-sex middle schools, but I prefer the concept for elementary.
One issue I didn’t notice being discussed much was that of the teaching staff. It might be impractical having an all male staff in the elementary, but I would definitely like to see an emphasis on that. Little boys need that positive male image and influence in their lives. In way too many of these homes in the urban areas, it’s mom and the kids with dad nowhere in sight. In some of these situations there is an evolution of “Uncles” who wander in and out of their lives.
I think the same holds true in the all-girls school. There should be as many males as possible for that very same reason. In those schools that stay mixed, I would propose a healthy mixture of both sexes for teachers.
I think the day has come and gone where the elementary schools are dominated by female teachers. Obviously, the kids need their educators, influences, and role models to be a mixture.
As I said in an earlier rant, the holiday season is upon us—whether it be Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanzaa, looking in the mirror, or whatever it is you celebrate. The time has come. I am hoping that we can all celebrate the season, have a good time with friends and family, and forget the negativity and drama for a change.
If nothing else, think of the kids who have to listen to this all the time. When you’re spouting off about something irrationally, how does it affect your surrounding atmosphere? If you grew up in a household where all you heard were your parents screaming at each other or at you and your siblings, how did it affect you? How does it affect your kids?
I’m not talking about debate or discussion, I’m talking about sitting back and listening to yourself. Is this how you want people to view you—a screaming, blathering, idiot? I have defriended five people on Facebook in the past couple of years because the only thing that comes out of their mouths is negative, political, diatribe that goes on and on.
If all else fails, listen to this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-diB65scQU It’s a YouTube video of Bobby Mcferrin singing, “Don’t Worry Be Happy.”
Today’s “Irrelevant Rant” is about as irrelevant as one could get. However, since it’s the holiday season, I don’t feel too badly that I’m not really complaining about anything important.
Ever since I finished book seven, “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows,” in 2007, I’ve wanted to go back and read all seven books one after the other and watch the movies. I had the first five movies, but for some reason or the other, I never bought six and seven. I looked at Amazon and couldn’t find them. Some friend told me about a used/resale DVD store across from the Lansing Mall so I checked there. They had copies of each. Voila! I was set to go.
A few weeks back I started. Currently I’m on roughly page 450 of book six. Now, for those of you who have forgotten, book five was 870 pages. Fortunately, book six is about 200 pages fewer. Since my goal is to finish this before the end of the year, or I go blind, whichever happens first, I think I’m doing pretty well.
Some of my harshest critics claim that I have a tendency to over describe and ramble on and on. Well, to those of you who feel that way, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” Since J.K. Rowling’s net worth is over a billion dollars, I only think it’s fair and reasonable to see if I can top that 870 page mark on my next literary masterpiece. While you’re waiting, you’ll have to settle on the seven that are available now.
As if the legislature isn’t stupid enough to entertain the idea of raising the speed limit to 80 on some of the nation’s worst roads, now they are talking about raising the bar-closing time to four a.m. if the establishment is willing to pay an extra $10,000 a year “fee” for the privilege. (That money could be well spent refurbishing legislative offices.)
If they pass that brilliant scheme, those with alcohol contents of .10, .20, or .30 and above will be out driving the roads and trying to get home as many people are just getting around and leaving for work. I know several people who work early shifts who leave home between four and five a.m. in order to get to their jobs on time. At least with a two a.m. cut off, the only ones on the roads are the drunks. Now, I know that might be a bit of a stretch, but it’s probably pretty close.
On the positive side, think about how many lives can be saved if all those fine folks out boozing it up until 4 a.m. have signed their organ donor cards. Be sure to sign yours today.
12/07/2014…Conspiracy Theory 101
Interesting. Michigan roads are rated among the worse five in the country. So, what does a faction of our glorious legislature want to do? They want to raise the speed limit to 80 mph on the highways that are not all that heavily traveled.
Conspiracy Theory 101—here we go. Everyone knows that the faster one travels, the lower the gas mileage you get. Let me use my car as an example. With the cruise set at 72 while driving from here to FL, I get about 25 mpg. In those states where the speed limit is 65, I get between 28-30. To repair our roads it is supposedly going to take something like two billion dollars a year for the foreseeable future to get them up to safe and satisfactory. The governor and legislature has been talking about doubling the gas tax over the next four years to pay for this. People are whining big time. They want the roads fixed, but they don’t want to pay for it.
So, the easy solution is to make I-96, I-94, and I-75 race tracks. Since the police normally ignore anything up to five miles over the speed limit, that means we can all drive 85. I figure that at 85, my gas mileage will drop to at least 20. Now, if I were driving from here to Detroit everyday for work like some people do, think about how much more gas I would have to buy by cutting my MPG by 7-8. Now, multiply that by the millions of cars out there driving every day, and that’s a ton of extra taxes brought in.
Not only that, the extra usage will cause a shortage of gas causing the price to raise higher and higher bringing in more and more tax money.
Just one more thought on the subject, how would you like to be driving so fast that you couldn’t see or avoid an 8” deep pothole on one of those “super” highways? Wouldn’t that make for an energizing, creative, and exciting driving experience? Can’t you just hear that big “Boom!” of the front tire just before you go into that twenty-five rotation roll? Be sure to buckle up and sign your organ donor cards.
12/04/2014 … Cannot believe that the season is winding down so quickly. Whether you’re celebrating Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, all of the above/none of the above, it’s almost here. In four weeks we’ll be into the start of 2015. Slow down, clock. You’re spinning too fast.
One thing to be thankful for and look forward to is the fact that there will be no big political elections where we have to be inundated with commercial after commercial that nobody ever listens to anyway. Since the only thing they accomplish is to keep the advertisement industry flush with the millions upon millions spent on the things, you’d think they would dispense with them and actually try to accomplish something for the country.
With any luck, the winter in the northern states will be a little milder and less ferocious than last year. We’ve already had our Polar Vortex hit for the year. Places in the UP had fifty inches of snow more than normal in November. Even mid-Michigan had twice its normal snowfall for the month. Who knows how it will work out.
The drought stricken areas of California had more rain this past week than they’ve had for the rest of the year combined. Now all of those thousands of acres that burned this past summer are turning into mudslides because the ground cannot absorb the heavy rain. Weird…
If nothing else, let’s all be grateful that we’re still here and doing the best we can. Our lives may not be perfect, but look around. There are a lot of people who are in a much worse situation than you are.
Do you ever get sick and tired of all the “Drama” that we run into everyday? I don’t know if it’s just me or everyone, but seems like everyone I know is mired down in it. Had breakfast recently with a friend, and all I heard about was the drama his family is being dragged through with the antics of one of his kids.
One delightful day between classes many eons ago, two girls stormed into the room in the middle of a pissing match over some boy (I think). They continued on with it before the bell rang to the delight of everyone listening. Some boy, I can’t remember his name, and he was probably repeating something he heard on television, rolled his eyes, threw out his arms, and said, “Can’t we all just get along.” I laughed along with the rest of the class.
I don’t know where he picked that up from, like I said earlier, it probably something he heard on TV, but it sure was appropriate. But, the big question in my mind is Why? Why do people have to fight, argue, and carry on continuously? If you cannot get along and co-exist peacefully with someone without all the drama, why don’t you separate and go your own ways?
Many married couples say they are sticking together for the sake of the kids. Bull! Think what you’re doing to your kids when all they hear is the bickering, screaming, yelling, accusations, etc. The kids would be much better off if they never had to hear that. And, Heaven help us, don’t rip on your ex in front of the kids if you do. Can you imagine where that puts the child if he/she is with one parent or the other and all they hear is a continual harangue about the other?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a big advocate of divorce. I was just using that as an example. What I am an advocate for is people getting along with each other and checking their egos on the hat rack. You don’t always have to be “right.” You don’t always have to have everything “your” way. Life is a two-way street. Remember, there are always a minimum of two ways of looking at everything. Usually, there are multiple ways. Accept the fact that people in your life are different and deal with it. End of rant for the day
11/23/14…“Fred & Ginger Would Be Delighted”
I saw love, today,
although I wasn’t looking.
It interrupted my lunchtime,
and I had to stop to watch.
It moved silently,
through the McDonald’s
like a well-choreographed dance
without a melody or lyric.
Just a pair of practiced partners
performing a perfect pavane.
the trash was gathered.
he slid out of the booth.
she slid him the tray.
he stands and takes the trash.
she slides toward the booth edge.
he disposes of the trash.
she begins to stand up.
he takes her by the hand.
she makes it to her feet.
he slides her walker into place.
she puts on her crocheted scarf.
he helps her with her coat.
She closes and buttons up.
Her oxygen bottle is in position.
she moves toward the exit door.
He dons his coat and fedora.
He turns and steps to the door.
Its open and out she goes.
He steps to their car.
the door opens as she arrives .
she gets in the car.
he folds her well-used walker.
she settles into the car seat.
the car’s trunk lid pops open.
he puts the oxygen bottle in the car.
he carefully stows her walker.
the trunk lid is closed .
he gets into the car.
the car backs out.
they drive away.
11/20/14…Believe it or not, even I can use a little common sense—once in a while. I was supposed to go to Grand Rapids this a.m. to get the oil changed, tires rotated, and all that other good stuff. It didn’t look too bad around here, but thought maybe I should call them and check things out.
The service manager’s message came through loud and clear, “Uh, stay there in Lansing. It’s nasty over here. Let’s reschedule for next week.”
So, I did. Not wanting to waste the concept of changing clothes just for the trip to the dealership, I slipped over to Mijo’s, a small neighborhood restaurant kind of across from the Capitol City International Airport, and had breakfast. I took the sports section and read that while I was there and figured my day had started a lot saner than it would have if I’d driven into that blizzard in G.R.
11/17/14…Today’s rant is REALLY important. I can’t figure out exactly how I want to work a certain part of my latest W.I.P. In a nutshell, the book is a takeoff on “Damey & Grandpa Tutor.” The story takes place twenty-five years later when Damey has a PhD in robotics engineering and is vice president of a local robotics firm. Damey’s life consists of robots and the Z-team—namely, his wife, Zandra (Zandy) and three sons, Zachary (Zack) 13, Zaiden (Zaid) 12, and Zane 11.
The overarching problem in the story is that Damey gets sent to the Antarctica with his brand new underwater nuclear powered robot. Originally, I had him going in search of a submarine that has disappeared under the ice shelf with absolutely no trace. The sub had gone under in search of a suspected illegal oil well that is leaking. (Exploring for oil, gas, and minerals in the Antarctic has been part of an international ban that is to last fifty years.)
My concern is the whole scenario just might be way too farfetched. So, I’m debating with myself to just have him send the robot under the shelf in search of the leak. If there is an illegal rig down there, his robot can find the source, identify it, fix it, and photograph it so the Navy can identify the “culprit.” If it’s a natural leak out of the ground, that’s a different story.
Naturally, that isn’t all there is to it. There has to be a major disaster on the icebreaker Damey is working off of. However, that works itself out in the book. In the meantime, I’m learning way more about Antarctica than I ever figured I wanted
If anyone has any input, email me privately at firstname.lastname@example.org
11/16/14…Two things I never discuss or debate are religion and politics. However, I do have my opinions—right or wrong.
The state of Michigan is known for having some of the worse roads in the entire country. Apparently we like it that way because our politicians refuse to do anything about it except fight. Wonderful! They refused to do anything the past two years because we were headed for an election. Aren’t we always? They started talking about the 2016 electoral slate immediately after the 2012 election. Some think something can get done in the “lame duck” period between now and January because none of these fine folks can be held accountable.
Nobody wants to pay more taxes, but the money has to come from someplace. I know of one source that is not taxed now and I think would make a sensible place to get more from roads—services. People get haircuts, manicures, go to the tanning salons, get their lawns mowed, driveways professionally plowed, etc. I personally blow about forty bucks on a half-hour massage every couple of weeks. If I can afford $40 for that, then I can afford to add on the 6% cent state sales tax and make it $42.40.
Now, I’m sure I’m not looking at all the facts and am probably crazy. But, I also know that if they double the gas tax I will probably drive a lot less just because I can. The poor smuck who has to drive forty miles round-trip to work every day doesn’t have that choice, but I do. I, who can afford that extra gas tax, have the choice. You, who are working and struggling to support young families, don’t.
11/14/14… Where is that line drawn between common sense and political correctness? After our wonderful winter of Polar Vortexes trashing two of my trees last year—resulting in MY paying for the removal of one that was lying on the cable wires Christmas day, the Board of Water & Light came through last week notifying me that they wanted to “trim” the other.
I suggested he take a good look at the tree. Someone in all their wisdom years previously had planted the thing directly under the power lines, or had installed the power lines directly over the tree. Not only that, the storm had broken several large limbs in the tree and it was aesthetically shot.
“Why don’t you just remove the tree and get it over with? If we have another storm like last winter, it’s going to trash the wires anyway,” I said.
“The tree huggers won’t let us do that. If the tree is reasonably healthy, all we can do is trim it.”
Yesterday they came through and “trimmed” the tree. There are something like two scraggly limbs going to the right and two to the left. In the middle is this huge, ugly V effect.
In the very near future, one of my kids and grandkids will come over, remove the tree, and take the firewood for the winter. So much for the BWL’s policy.
***Tis that wonderful time of year. The yard is full of leaves, the garden is full of dead plants, and here I sit banging on the keys of the computer. It’s too cold to go out and do anything foolish like yard work. That should all have been done last week when the temps were in the fifties. Fortunately the John Deere does a good job of mulching. The leaves packed against the fences will have to wait.
I guess I can’t complain too much. In the UP they received over thirty inches of snow in the past couple of days, and this is only the twelfth of November. Records like that somebody else can have.
***On my bike ride yesterday and passed an open drain hole at an intersection where some idiot had stolen the grate. This was less than a full block from a city park that always has a bunch of little kids playing in it—especially on the weekend. I came home and checked the phone book for a local police number that wasn’t 911. Nothing in the phone book so I looked it up on Google. I notified the dispatcher around four pm. She said she’d have someone check it out.
Right at dusk—3 ½ hours later I rode by there again just as a young kid 8-9 years old raced around the corner on his bike. He was looking for cars and missed the hole by maybe 6-12 inches. In the meantime, there were no warning devices of any kind—safety cones, barrels, etc. It had been totally ignored from the looks of things. I will check it out again today. I realize that yesterday was Sunday, but a little kid could fall through that hole on Sunday as well as 9-5 on a week day.
I certainly hope the character who stole it gets at least fifty cents for the scrap metal.
**Last night I went to a private premiere showing of “Second Shift—from crisis to collaboration.” I was invited by our former mayor and his wife, Dave and Christine Hollister. The documentary told of the collaborative effort by politicians and unions of every persuasion to come together and convince General Motors to stay in Lansing. The factories were old and outdated, and the decision had been made to phase out production and close them.
Dave initiated a “Lansing Works! Keep GM” campaign bringing all of the various factions together to make it a reality. Fortunately, people working together for a purpose and forgetting their own political agendas saved over 15,000 jobs and resulted in hundreds of millions of investment dollars. Without it, Lansing would have probably ended up as another bankrupt Detroit or Flint.
The goal of the film is to show other cities and communities how their leaders can put aside their politics and rally people around to save and improve their own communities by working together.
Thank you Mr. Hollister and all of the others for your inspiration and tireless efforts in making this work.
**Does anyone besides me get tired of all the political BS that we’re inundated with on a daily basis? I don’t care if one is Democrat, Republican, Independent, or wears Depends. It’s all the same. Name a politician—anybody. If you are a politician, at least 50% of the people hate you just because. If you’ve been in office more than six months, that percentage rises.
One of my Facebook friends even went so far as to blame the current respiratory virus attacking children in parts of the nation on all of the immigrant kids who sneaked over the border and are seeking safety from their own crazy countries. So now a rampant virus outbreak on children is political?
Right about the time Kay died, I unfriended four people who I know quite well—former colleagues and students. Why? Every single thing they posted was a negative, political rant. At that particular point in time, I didn’t need all the negativity. I still don’t. (Given that, I admit this whole thing has been a negative political rant.) Oh, well. As my good friend and fellow author, Lee Carey, always says—keep smilin’.
**This week I celebrate my birthday. Why? Because I’m having another one instead of the alternative. I cannot believe that I am officially older than dirt now. When I look at the number of former students who are now grandparents, it’s scary. None of them can be that old.
I look at the calendar, and there’s a regular lineup of September birthdays. Some old dude that I went to school with who walks Sams with me regularly is the same day as mine. He’s much older than I am though. He was born at two in the morning and I didn’t arrive until 6:55 pm.
After that, I have a D.I.L on the 14th., another friend on the 15th., grandson on the 16th, and granddaughter on the 20th. That’s way too many people so I think it only fitting that we forget everyone else and concentrate on mine. Works for me
**Just because my cherubs have absolutely no taste when it comes to food is no reason the rest of us don't. For them, if it isn’t beef, fried, or deep fried, it’s inedible. However, for those of us who are “normal,” there are other options. Below is my latest smoothie recipe. Believe it or not, it tastes good and might even be healthy. (I’m betting healthier than a double cheeseburger with extra cheese.)
Feel free to copy the following recipe for smoothies.
4 cups red grapes
2 large tomatoes
2 large cukes
1 Can pineapple chunks/ or blueberries
1 Qt. vanilla Greek Yogurt
Puree in the blender—makes two blenders full so plan accordingly. Chill on crushed ice and drink. (Royalty checks are not necessary)
**Today’s irrelevant rant is actually a rant. When “Damey & Grandpa Tutor” was published, I posted on Facebook and via email that I would give away copies to the first thirty people who asked with the following three stipulations: 1. Read the book; 2. Review the book at Amazon.com; 3. Lend or give the book away to anyone else who was willing to comply with the first two conditions.
Altogether I have given away fifty-eight books between the paperbacks and PDF files that could be downloaded onto one’s E-reader. As of this morning, I have seventeen reviews. (Far short of the 116 it could be if everyone lived up to their commitments.)
I do realize that this was done during summer vacation and many people have been tied up with family activities—vacations, child care, etc. I have heard a whole list of excuses, many valid, many maybe bordering on procrastination. Some haven’t responded.
Where my rant comes in, why would one accept a free book agreeing to the above stipulations and then ignore it? Between buying fifty paperbacks and mailing out forty of the them at $2.68 a clip, it’s become about a four-hundred dollar marketing experiment gone bad.
According to two marketing sources I read, the magic number on Amazon is twenty-five reviews. That pushes your search engine capabilities to the next level. I decided to try for a hundred just to see what would happen and how it would affect sales. Interestingly, nearly half of those seventeen Amazon reviews are from people who bought the book on their own instead of taking a freebie.
In the meantime, my goal of one-hundred appears to be dead in the water, but I’m still hoping to get over the twenty-five mark to see what happens.
**Using Fewer Infinitives (Reference: Delta Writers’ Roundtable: Bill Koons; Editor-Proof Your Writing, Don McNair, 2013)
We’ve all been told not to use the words “started to,” ‘began to,” “decided to,” “going to,” or even things such as “managed to.” This advises us to stress the action and the meat of a story, without telling, or as McNair says: “without the mess.” The reason is, we wish to reinforce the immediacy of a piece of writing, the feeling of being there, not being told what is going on somewhere the reader is not. This is what is referred to in fiction writing as the fictional (or “fictive,” if one takes it back to its roots, iz. William James) dream. That feeling we get, if the writing is good enough, that we are no longer reading, but are there, in the scene, hearing what the characters are saying.
These examples are from the McNair book: (Bill Koons’ comments)
1.She started to walk toward her car(Hides the action) a.She walked toward her car. 2.Jim started to splash frantically.(less fog, stronger verb) a.Jim splashed frantically. 3.He began to hobble along the planks. a.He hobbled along the planks. 4.She decided to add more sugar. She did, and tasted the mixture. Yes, it was better. a.She added more sugar and tasted the mixture.(Less redundancy—more direct) 5.The knife seemed to glow in the sunlight. (Uncertain. Did it glow or not? Be certain of your meaning. When we use “seemed,” we imply that the realty is contrary to that.) a.The knife glowed in the sunlight.(No doubt) 6.She’s going to walk into that room. a.She’ll walk into that room.(More direct/OR/ She approached the room.) 7.The plants are going to die in the winter. a.The plants will die in the winter.(But even better) b.The plants will not survive the winter.(More power—stresses helplessness.) For My Cherubs*
This week’s Irrelevant Rant is directed at my three cherubs who all think that fruits and vegetables are four-letter vulgarities.
As I looked in my refrigerator at the pile of stuff I had sitting in there all getting overripe, I came up with a brainstorm. I would make my very first smoothie. Believe it or not, it turned out pretty good. For those of you who intend to print this off for posterity, I would like to remind you that the quantities are estimates—since I didn’t measure anything. Here goes:
2 Cups green grapes
1 Cup blueberries
2 Cups cherry tomatoes
1 Very large cucumber
2 Cups Watermellon
Multiple gobs of vanilla Greek Yogurt
Blend to a sloppy, soupy mess and drink.
This recipe made probably four full glassfuls.
There are a number of methods to edit while writing short stories or fiction novels. None are necessarily the way it should be done, but all discussed below work for a number of people.
Many authors indicate that they write the entire document first without ever looking at what they’ve written. Once finished, they go back and start the process of what should stay, go, change, etc.
Those with more money than me, get the manuscript to the best possible place they can, and then hire a professional editor to polish it.
Personally, my first edit is done after writing about ten pages and then getting away from it for the rest of the day. The next day I read over those ten pages, make numerous changes, and then write another ten.
After about a week, I go back and read that first sixty to seventy pages to check on how if flows. I repeat this process every week or so until the first draft is finished. Once I feel the document is how I want it, I print it off and read the entire thing out loud to myself. (I try to do that when nobody else is present. Don’t want them hauling me away in a straight jacket.) Even after multiple edits, a handful of typos always appear. I even had a second party read “Damey & Grandpa Tutor” and at least three typos survived that I’m aware of.
Outline Vs No Outline In Fiction*
There are a minimum of two sides to every issue. One of those issues is whether or not to use an outline while writing fiction. Personally, I never do. I know the beginning, sometimes have a vague idea of the ending, and away I go.
I typically have a couple of scenes hashed out in my head before I start, but more importantly, I have my main characters well established in my head. I’m mulling in my brain a sequel to “Damey & Grandpa Tutor.” The story takes place twenty-five years after Damey’s twelve-year-old adventure with Grandpa to when Damey is a husband and father of three boys whose names all begin with the letter Z.
There’s his wife, Zandy, and his three sons, Zachary 14, Zaiden 13, and Zane 12. I have all kinds of scenes developed in my mind around the family, Damey’s job as the vice president of a robotics engineering firm, the differences and similarities between the kids, etc. I just have no plot, no thoughts about an ending, and no idea where the story’s going, or whether I’ll do anything with it or not.
The point is, if I do, I’ll just start writing and let the characters tell the story. When it’s done, I’ll copy/paste entire scenes as I move them into more appropriate places in the story.
I find outlines too restrictive. If I have a pre-planned outline going from scene one to two, three, four, etc., I feel I have to stick to it. If something different pops into the head in the middle of a scene, I would have to flick it away like a bug because it didn’t follow the plan.
Other people swear by them. It keeps them organized and on task. They have planned out their perfect story and want to stick to it. That’s fine if it works. For me, it doesn’t.
Why I Write*
I’ve been numerous times why I spend my time writing when I could be fishing, going to movies, watching television, you name it. Some of my relatives think I’m a bit odd because I can’t share with them the latest the latest television program that everyone’s “gotta watch” because I don’t.
Writing is how I entertain myself. Dreaming up weird situations for my characters to get themselves in and out of keeps me smiling. Do I do it to sell a million books and make a sack full of money? No. Would I turn it down if I did? No. I do know that a lot of people who read my short stories and novels like them and some don’t. That’s okay. Everyone is different. A good friend doesn’t like the “Damey & Grandpa Tutor “ book and that’s okay. He has his reasons and he explained them when he reviewed the book on Amazon. That’s good. I appreciated honest feedback.
Writing is a great way to let the imagination and mind soar to different places and times. My brain asks the questions, “What if?” and “Why?” a lot. I always try to put myself in the middle of the scene as either an unseen by the audience participant or observer. Then I ask myself, “What would I do?” Fortunately, my characters tell the story so I don’t have to spend a lot of time pondering the “What ifs?”
Back in the Dark Ages when I was working on my Bachelor’s degree, I had history as a minor. One of the projects I had to do was to write a paper using original sources. What I did was to take my grandfather’s diaries from 1895-1914 and write the historical document from them.
There were tales of the Indians coming up from the Red Cedar River begging for food when the men-folk had gone to town. Grandma would round all the kids up, shoo everyone upstairs, and lock all the doors.
Williamston was a bartering society back then. Grandpa would take squirrel and rabbit pelts, a bag of beans, corn, or whatever else was newly harvested and go to town to trade the stuff for groceries and supplies. It was the only A+ I ever received in college for anything.
A few years back, I decided to write a diary as well. I started out writing a thirty-page, single spaced, auto-biography ranging from my earliest memories until 1969 when Kay and I got married. The years between that time and when I started the diary, I ignored because the kids were old enough to remember anything important anyway.
I don’t write every day, but at least a couple of times a week. Since I started in August, 2011, I’ve added over 120 single-spaced pages. I’m well enough aware that nobody will ever read it, but at least it’s there. I even have it printed out—just in case.
Diaries are important for a number of reasons. One records the events that are relevant in his or her life at the time. It gives one a chance to reflect on events without necessarily including the emotions of the moment. In other words, it’s therapeutic. When I’m on the other side of the grass, it can be tossed along with all the other knickknacks that nobody wants. It doesn’t matter then.
What “really” happened to Francis Gary Powers?*
In 1960 I was stationed at Incirlik Air Base in Adana, Turkey. I know, the first question that comes to mind is, “So what?” That’s when Gary Powers flew out of our base and ended up getting shot down over Sverdlovsk, Russia flying his U-2 spy plane during a joint USAF and CIA mission.
That incident just about blew the Cold War right out of the water. At first, the Eisenhower administration, let by Vice President Nixon attempted a huge cover-up to no avail. Finally, the President came out and admitted that it wasn’t a lost airplane flying way off course.
I was a weather observer and spent about half my working time in the control tower. For emergency purposes, an experienced pilot was always in the tower during the time that the fighter jets were out flying around on training missions. Naturally, the tower operators and weather guys were all nosy about the U-2. We played spy and would always ask the fighter pilots loaded questions. Some of the pilots would talk to us, and some wouldn’t. Most were bored and willing to chit-chat.
Pooling a variety of sources, (The ground radar boys told us they blipped off the radar screen at 90,000 feet still going almost straight up.) we determined that the U-2 must be flying in the vicinity of 120,000 feet. When he was shot down, Gary Powers was at 65,000 feet. Why?
The pilots carried with them an epi-pen device with an extremely fast acting poison in case they were in danger of being captured. He didn’t use that. Why?
According to rumor, the U-2 had a switch that could be thrown in case the plane crashed, that would explode and destroy the entire plane. That switch wasn’t activated and the plane landed pretty much intact. Why?
Gary Powers was convicted of espionage by the Soviets and sentenced to seven years at hard labor. In 1962, the US made a trade with Russia—Gary Powers for a top Soviet spy, Rudolf Abel.
In 1967, acting as a helicopter pilot for a local news station covering brush fires in Santa Barbara County, CA, he ran out of gas and crashed. The official diagnosis was, “Pilot error—poor fuel manatement.” Gary Powers was a seasoned military pilot who had climbed the ranks to captain. He had flown multiple missions with the U-2 for the CIA. He wouldn’t know when he was low on fuel while checking a brush fire? Did the CIA have anything to do with it? Hummm, let’s see. Conspiracy theory #963,487.