Termites of Sin

Rolex 24 Hours in 24 Seconds

2012-01-31T13:11:00.001-05:00

This past weekend I met up with my old buddy Punch for the Rolex 24 Hours of Daytona. This race is a tradition with us as we have been going to it for years. This weekend was the 50th Anniversary of the event and we were both at the first one in 1962. Teenagers at the time mind you, but we were there. So, this weekend was kind of special and, indeed, it turned out to be about as beautiful as you could hope for.

As the name implies, this is a 24-hour race, so the pace around the paddock is a bit slower than at most races and it's an overnighter to Daytona Beach for us both. Here's a down and dirty photo tour of the race weekend at the track with no tricks or touch-ups. Hope you enjoy.

After the drive down from Gatorville on Saturday morning, my first stop was a pit stop. Thought you ladies might like to see how sophisticated, no, make that downright elegant the men's facilities are.

Early in the morning and the stands are bare. Gives you some idea of the enormity of the facility.

Fans begin to trickle in.

While still pretty vacant, the pace is beginning to pick up in the garage area.

The Fan Zone is beginning to fill and the high school cheerleaders are getting ready to do their schtick.

Cars going through inspection to be sure they don't violate the rules. As you can see, it's a pretty thorough process.

Beautiful Ferrari Italia leaving inspection. There are two classes of cars racing in Grand Am, GT (Grand Touring) such as the Porches and Ferraris, and the DP (Daytona Prototype), hand-crafted speedsters such as the 02 car pictured below.

Drivers and teams go through last-minuted preparations prior to the start of the race at 3:30 pm EST.

A portrait of the artist as an old man. This is shot through a window in the garage area. Each of the garages has a window which allows fans to see their heroes without the expense of a garage pass, about $500 for a NASCAR Sprint Cup event. The Rolex 24 is a lot more low-key, and low-attendance, than Sprint Cup, a two-day garage pass costing only $35. As a military veteran, my two-day infield and garage access pass cost me $50. The best deal in racing. Don't know what the attendance for this race is, I would guess about 50,000 over the weekend. This is an infield spectator event with hardly anyone sitting in the stands so it's difficult to visually guestimate attendance.

Officials clear a path in the now packed house for the cars to roll onto the track. This is the most exciting part of the weekend. Really electric.

The Marching 100 leading the field to the grid.

Teams push the cars to their spot on the grid, followed by the drivers. This is the Chip Ganassi uber-team comprised of F1 and NASCAR star Juan Pablo Montoya (on the left) and 3-time Indy 500 and Indycar Champion Dario Franchitti (Mr. Ashley Judd, wearing dark shades and hair, 3rd from right). This team also featured two other pretty well known drivers, Scott Dixon and Jamie McMurray. They finished 4th.

The eventual winners, a small-time team owned by Michael Shank (in black pushing the car). That's driver Justin Wilson in blue & white to the left.

Proof that cars aren't the only things that are fast at Daytona.

Up on the front straight "low" banking just prior to the start of the race. Gives you some idea of how steep the "high" banking is in the corners.

Believe it or not, there are cars lined up in the pit lane in front of the tents.

Finally, the race is underway and the action is fast and furious as the faster DP cars begin to lap and pick their way through the GT class.

The home team dominated the GT class through most of the race but had to settle for a third-place finish due to a fuel miscalculation at about 6 hours to go. A win would have given Hurley Haywood his 6th victory. He still holds the record at 5.

200+ mph on the high banking.

Sometime about noon on Sunday, I took a stroll through the 4th turn campgrounds. It's always fun but by that time, many people were packing up to leave. I did the same. Sensory overload and besides, if I left at mid-day I could be home in plenty of time to watch the finish of the race on TV along with a beer and a nap. Now that's what I call a perfect weekend.

Dad makes awesome video with kids

2012-01-29T21:34:00.000-05:00

Great weekend at the Rolex 24. Flicks from me and Punch to come. Meanwhile, check this out.

Exclusive: The Truth Behind the Costa Concordia Shipwreck

2012-01-27T13:56:00.000-05:00

Mr. C's gone to Daytona Speedway for the Rolex 24. See you on the flip side.

Finally, Logical Proposal To Save Social Security

2012-01-25T15:04:00.000-05:00

Arrrrggggh! Nine More Months of This?

2012-01-22T08:36:00.001-05:00

I don't believe I can stand another nine months of this political campaign nightmare. Sometimes it's so bad that I have even taken refuge in.... college basketball!! Another overblown, bloated, "amateur" activity. Arrrgggh! Can it get any worse?

But, there is hope on the horizon. Again, Comedy Central to the rescue.

If your haven't been watching the Colbert Report and its flaying of campaign finance through Super Pac's, then you are not only missing the best thing since Chris Rock at the Democratic National Convention, but also the single most influential political educational tool reaching and forming the opinions of the youth of the nation. A portent of things to come.

In a nutshell: As a ruse, Stephen Colbert tried to form a Political Action Committee to see how difficult it would be. He found that his parent company, Viacom, opposed it because PACs have to be closely linked with a specific entity, i.e., a corporation, institution, union, etc. But, a Super PAC has no such limitations as they can receive funds from any source and can spend them as they see fit. So, Colbert formed his own Super PAC. When Colbert decided to "explore" the possibility of running for president, he had to dump the Super PAC as they are not allowed to "coordinate" with a specific candidate. Not wishing to give up all of that wealth and influence, Colbert transferred control of the Super PAC to John Stewart of The Daily Show, promising that they would not "coordinate" in any way.

Colbert's Super PAC is a real, legal entity subject to the same rules and regulations as any other Super PAC, including those of the political candidates and to be sure they stayed within the law, they hired a nationally respected constitutional attorney to advise them. The comedy skits are in fact a total expose' of the farce campaign reform has become. Additionally, when Colbert found that he missed the deadline for getting his name on the South Carolina ballot, he decided to raise Cain. Literally. He proclaimed that a vote for Herman Cain, who's name was still on the ballot, is a vote for Colbert. The rest is history. Don't miss it folks.

The Tyrany of The Minority

2012-01-19T12:41:00.002-05:00

I first heard that expression used by a notable landscape architect as he was describing an unsightly and, in his opinion, unnecessary wheelchair ramp in a local park.

The fact that the ramp was unsightly was undisputed. The argument was over its necessity. The architect argued that it was impossible to provide handicapped access to all areas of the park and that the ramp, apart from being ugly and virtually never used, was very expensive and took away limited funds that could have been used to enhance the park for the greater good. I agreed with him.

Some years ago, when the American's With Disabilities Act (ADA) was interpreted by the courts to apply to parks and recreational facilities, I was a park planner with the city of Gatorville. At the time of that judgement, the planning and construction of nearly every trail system in the country came to a screeching halt. It took an act of Congress to modify ADA to exempt wilderness trails from the handicapped access requirement. But it didn't exempt other recreational facilities.

At the time, I was charged with building a two-story story scorer's box, commonly called a press box, at a very popular baseball park. The scorer's box would have served four ball diamonds which all backed up to the building and which housed restrooms and concessions on the ground floor. The athletic association badly needed the elevated stand to score league play when all fields were in use. ADA required that we provide handicapped access to the second floor regardless of the fact that there were no handicapped scorers involved in any of the leagues. It would have been impossible to build a ramp and the cost of an elevator was way out of the budget. The result? The scorer's box was never built and the hundreds of kids and adults who used the facility did without it on the off chance that someone in a wheelchair might need to get to the second floor.

In another case, I oversaw the construction, at a cost of approximately $500,000, a handicapped accessible trail to augment a popular ADA playground in one of our parks. It was a paved trail with no steep grades that crossed a little creek and meandered through a beautiful wooded area down to a lovely spot on the river. It was about 1 mile in length. Not once, not even at the grand opening of the park, have I seen a wheelchair on that trail. Twenty years later I visited the park and still saw no signs of wheelchair use. In the meantime, a large soccer association that served over 1,000 children had to wait for badly needed new fields for lack of funding.

In this morning's paper I read where the parents of a severely retarded child were suing a hospital for refusing to put the child on a kidney donor waiting list. The hospital argued that badly needed organs should go to those to whom they would do the most good and that children with this child's condition rarely live past the age of 20 years.

It's a moral dilemma, but one that must be addressed. At some point, common sense has to prevail. Majority rule with minority rights is one of the great milestones of mankind. But when the tail begins to wag the dog, things are out of balance.

The same principle applies to education. We spend an enormous amount of precious resources helping the "disadvantaged" child and it is right that we do help them. But we're doing it at the expense of programs that serve the best and brightest. The future leaders of society. Does that make any sense?

I thank God everyday for my blessings. I know that there, but for fortune, go you or I. But bad things happen to people and while we can and should be empathetic and sympathetic, we should not, and cannot, sacrifice the greater good of all for them.

Mr. C's "Advice For Men Only" Today's subject: Women's Chests

2012-01-16T08:20:00.006-05:00

Once again Mr. C finds himself in the role of Father Advisor in his endless quest for enlightenment of the male of the species. Today's lesson, women's chests.

Doesn't it really piss you off when a good looking dame comes strutting by in revealing clothing only to scowl at you if you dare to look? It does me. Ladies, if you don't want us men ogling, then cover that thing up. You know as well as me that you dress that way to gain attention. That's great and we love it, but don't start in with that phoney "What are you looking at?" baloney when you get it.

However, we all know that Dale Carnegie wouldn't approve of this message and he's right. If the goal is to reach an objective, then you have to be smarter than the prey. Here's an example. Pay attention.

Now, that's how it's done guys.

Of course, there's always going to be some wimps out there (like a couple of characters AKA Punch and JJ) who will pander to the fairer sex and proclaim how sweet and innocent their motives are. For them, I offer the following:

That's our lesson for today guys. We know we're at a huge disadvantage in the "wiles" department so be alert.

Mr. C

You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?

2012-01-13T08:34:00.007-05:00

Back in the 70's, while living in a small west Georgia community, I went to a party where I met a guy who was a classmate and friend to mutual friends. He was your typical bright-eyed and articulate hippie type, likable at first meeting. The friends were all excited that he was there and greeted him like a long lost brother. In small towns, everyone knows or knows about everyone else in the town and I had never heard anyone mention this guy so I was curious about him and his story.

I opened the conversation in typical American fashion by asking "What do you do?" "I panhandle," was his answer, which somewhat took me aback. "You mean you're a bum?" I replied. "No," he said, "I travel around the country and panhandle for a living."

Until that time I had never given panhandling much thought. Panhandlers were mostly dirty people whom you tried to avoid on the street. This was way before the "homeless" became commonplace and panhandlers were considered either hobos or bums. Now, there's a distinction between hobos and bums. Hobos choose the lifestyle of riding the rails and will bristle if you lump them in with Bums, who at the time, were comprised mostly of drunks and winos. Anyway, I divert.

I asked the young man how he traveled, assuming he hitch hiked or rode the rails. He said, "Some hitching, but mostly Greyhound." Curious as to how he could afford to ride the bus, I pressed the issue. "Really?" I replied. "Well how much money can you make panhandling?" He thought a moment and then answered, "I'm not really sure, but last year I made about $35,000." Now, I really was taken aback. This guy was making nearly twice what I was earning as the manager of the local chamber of commerce, income tax-free! These are 1970's dollars folks. The equivalent of about $70,000 today.

I was reminded of this conversation by an article in the local press about modern-day panhandlers right here in River City and the turf wars that sometimes erupt between them. There was one guy who had a desirable corner in a ritzy area at the beach who was pulling in over $800 a week. He had it down. He actually lived on the west side of town and commuted to the beach to panhandle, returning home at night. During the day he would hide most of his cash in a nearby wooded area because if he got arrested, the cops would confiscate it and he would never see it again. But he had a wad of crumpled bills totaling more than $100 in his pocket which he showed the reporter to prove how lucrative his spot was.

He talked about the psychology of begging, of how the big difference between him and most street beggars is that he intimidates people into giving by scowling and thrusting his tin can at them. He claimed that being meek and looking for mercy doesn't work.

It has been my habit for many years to give anyone who approached me on the street a dollar. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I'm just in a pissy mood or simply don't have a dollar in my pocket. The other night, while in downtown Gatorville, a really tattered looking man approached me as I walked up the street carrying a freshly bought cup of coffee. He asked me if I could please spot him a cup of coffee. I gave him a dollar. He said, "Bless you."

When I left my meeting and returned to the car I found this note, scribbled on a piece of cardboard, on the windshield. I think I will continue to give a bum a dollar.

Mitt Romney, Man Of The People

2012-01-11T07:54:00.000-05:00

It always amuses me when political candidates present themselves as "friends" of the common man. As people who care about the middle class and the erosion of the environment and public education. I actually got a belly laugh the other night when Romney said there was no such thing as class warfare.

But still, I'm willing to give someone the benefit of the doubt and not reject them on first impressions. I believe you can tell a lot about a person by where they live, by where their heart is. After all, as the old saying goes, birds of a feather flock together.


Romney's Utah home. Notice his concern for the environment. How he's left the open spaces undisturbed. Always a good sign. Shows he's really concerned about the future and clean air and stuff.

Romney has left plenty of room for entertaining. Probably for when he has open house for the "average man" to visit and share his problems and concerns.


I read recently where Romney has just purchased this house on the ocean in California for $12 million. I also read where he has houses on the East coast and Florida as well. I guess that's OK. He probably wants to have a lot of open house days so that he can mix with the middle class and "feel" their pain. But now he wants this house as well...

Enough is enough. How many houses does one man need?

Things Found While Looking... Body Art

2012-01-08T20:31:00.000-05:00

While looking for something else, I ran across a website for the World Body Painting Festival. Always one to check out beautiful naked girls, this was a no brainer. What I found was some pretty incredible stuff. Check it out.

Confused about religion? This will help.

2012-01-06T08:01:00.000-05:00

A Holiday For Drunks. How About One For The Rest Of Us?

2012-01-03T08:56:00.002-05:00

This thought crossed my mind some time ago and resurfaced over the weekend. Why is New Year's Day a holiday?

I mean, if you take a look at all of the other Federal holidays, they each have a purpose:

Thanksgiving and Christmas, religious holidays;

Martin Luther King, civil rights,

Washington's Birthday, now President's Day, hero worship,

Memorial Day, once Armistice Day to celebrate the end of the War of Wars, WWI, now some vague tribute to those who fell in combat,

Independence Day, the birth of the nation,
Labor Day, celebrating the working stiff with an "extra" day off following the traditional last week in August vacation for most factory laborers. Now, another vague holiday that almost no one knows the meaning of,
Columbus Day, celebrating the guy who didn't discover America,
Veteran's Day, another military salute (it always seemed to me that the veterans should have the day off while everyone else worked),
And lastly, New Year's Day. A day off in celebration of the drunks who were late, hung over, or missed the day of work altogether from imbibing too much the night before. Of course, it is now intrenched as the day to watch college football and not really a holiday at all since everything except government offices and banks are open for business.

It seems to me that there should be another national holiday. One for the rest of us.

How about I Don't Give A Shit Day? It could be on April 1st, April Fools Day. The weather should be nice across most of the nation and it would be a good excuse for all kinds of parties with April Fools pranks and tricks. A party simply for the sake of partying.

Sounds right to me.

The Jews Created This Mess, They Need To Clean It Up

2011-12-29T09:07:00.003-05:00

A headline caught my eye the other day.

BEIT SHEMESH, Israel — A sign outside a row of synagogues directing women to walk on the other side of the street has turned this town near Jerusalem into a front line of a raging national debate about the imposition of strict social codes by ultra-Orthodox zealots.

A community of 86,000 about a half-hour’s drive from Jerusalem, Beit Shemesh has a growing ultra-Orthodox population. The town has become a cauldron of tension in recent days, with crowds of black-cloaked men assaulting television crews and facing off with police, pelting them with rocks and eggs.

These dumbasses actually believe that women shouldn't walk on the same side of the street as men, among a plethora of other ridiculous nonsense that they espouse.

Then, in this morning's paper...

BETHLEHEM, Israel - The annual cleaning of one of Christianity's holiest churches deteriorated into a brawl between rival clergy Wednesday, as dozens of monks feuded over sacred space at the Church of the Nativity. The monks were tidying up the church ahead of Orthodox Christmas celebrations in early January, following celebrations by Western Christians on Dec. 25. The fight erupted between monks along the border of their respective areas. Some shouted and hurled brooms.

Jesus H. Christ! I don't need to go into the equally ridiculous shenanigans of Islam to make this point. All three of these religions, Judaism, Christianity and Islam, were given birth by the Jews. Each of them claim Abraham as their father. They each worship the same deity. Each of them have caused more trouble on this earth and been a bigger pain in the ass than all other religions combined.

The Jews created this mess, they need to clean it up.

God, protect me from your followers.

No Margin For Error Vegetable Market

2011-12-28T18:12:00.000-05:00

Peace and Beauty on my doorstep.

2011-12-23T07:57:00.000-05:00

A couple of my favorite things this time of year.

My mother's Christmas cactus. I inherited the cactus ("saved" would be a better word) following my mom's passing a couple of years ago. It was forgotten and parched. Each year it rewards me with its beauty and memories.

My Pink Perfection camellia. If Nature produces anything more beautiful, I don't know what it is.

And, last but not least, the wonderful feeling of kindness and compassion that fills the air at this time of year.

May you all be blessed.

What's Wrong With Me? Don't you have any respect for the dead?

2011-12-19T09:16:00.005-05:00

This is the time of year when we are supposed to look back and wax nostalgic about people and events that have passed. As I grow older, more and more the great giants, names that accompanied me throughout my lifetime for good or bad, have gone to the other world. Usually there is at least one name each year who influenced me, be it politician or poet.

But this year, there was no such name in the news. After scouring the NYT and Washington Post pages for deceased notables, I could find no one who had much influence on me at all. Sure, there were those who were giants in their industry, but none that made me pause and reflect, including Bin Laden (especially Bin Laden). Be that as it may, there are a few that bear recognition, at least from my perspective. In alphabetical order:

James Arness. How in the world is the world going to be safe without Marshall Matt Dillon? Even today when I need something to fall asleep to, I'll look for Gunsmoke. I enjoy seeing future stars in their guest appearances on the show, like Kurt Russell as a little boy. Countless hours spent as a kid patrolling the neighborhood with my cap pistol ready to stand tall like Mr. Dillon.

David Broder. Pulitzer Prize winner, columnist, pundit. It was my pleasure to meet and share lunch with Mr. Broder on several occasions when he would be a guest speaker at a small college where I worked. I miss his segments on the Bob Edwards Show (XM-NPR). A little more conservative than me, but a really nice guy with a great objectivity and knowledge of goings on inside of the beltway and a great conversationalist over a glass of wine.

Joe Frazier. Heavyweight Champion of the World. Nobody my age can forget the Thrilla In Manilla where Smokin' Joe knocked out Mohammed Ali. No live television back then. We all huddled around the radio hanging on every word. Never met the man and don't know much about him but by all accounts a "nice guy" in a brutal sport.

Steve Jobs. Here's a guy who had influence over me whether I liked it or not. If I never hear another Apple groupie extol the virtues of Macs over Windows again it will be too soon. Those people who rave over how much better Macs are fall into two categories, games and graphics. Those who do business in the real world need an open source operating system that communicates and cooperates with everyone else. Apple never quite seemed to figure that out. But they do make fine toys. I like my iPhone.

Andy Rooney. 'Nuff said. Entertaining and insightful enough to make you sit through ten-minutes of obnoxious commercials to catch his three-minute segments.

Elizabeth Taylor. This obituary surprised me. I thought she was already dead. Few actors have the talent to make you love or hate them like Elizabeth Taylor. An over-the-top primadonna in an over-the-top period, the last of the big budget studio stars. Fell in love with her in National Velvet and hated her in Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolfe. Of course, Cleopatra was one of the great spectacles of all time.

Dan Wheldon. Champion. Indianapolis 500 winner. Died in a horrific crash in the last race of the 2011 Indycar season. Don't know why, but I really liked the guy. The first thing you think is, why did it have to happen to such a nice guy? But then, you have to ask yourself if not him, who? Racing is a dangerous sport, but so is football. Comes with the territory.

Why Older Women Will Have Sex With You

2011-12-14T08:37:00.005-05:00

That was the headline that grabbed my attention at the Huffpost this morning. I wondered, has something changed? Is there something I need to know? Are there other reasons why older women are more likely to sleep with you than the reasons I already know?

It turns out that the answer is, no. There aren't any new reasons. Older and wiser and know what I want. Past the social and mental hang-ups to one-night stands. No longer thinking about relationships and having children, etc. The same old reasons apply. But now, it seems, there is a new twist. It's now... trendy. So trendy in fact, that there is a whole section of the Huffpost dedicated to it. Love Post50.

Geese! I thought this trendy thing started years ago with Sex In The City. You know, another one of those TV shows that reflect real life... four beautiful women to whom sex is a hobby. The kind of thing you see everyday. Right?

Of course, it is true that women in their 50s are a much softer touch for sex. Something any astute male figured out long ago. Kinda like men figured out in the bar scene that "go ugly early" or "go for the fat girls" greatly increased your chances of getting laid. But this new trend has nothing to do with the bar scene. It's a social shift.

There's a huge retirement development in Florida called The Villages. It's well known that there is more sex going on between the golf cart and walker set than any other place in the state. My wife, who sells Medicare insurance, occasionally gives seminars at The Villages where she informs the oldsters about their insurance options. But the geezers know what they want. To hell with cancer, high blood pressure or gout, they go straight for the plan that pays for their Viagra. At one recent seminar an impromptu discussion broke out between attendees on the best way to cut the Viagra tablets so as to get the maximum mileage out of them.

The psychologists and social bloggers can study this phenomenon for its root causes all they want. I can save them a lot of time and effort. The free love generation has now gotten education, careers, families, AIDS, and stuff like that behind them and it's time for a little fun.

Sex - Drugs - Rock n Roll! Yeah baby!

Of Vampire Bats and Warm Cockles

2011-12-11T08:57:00.003-05:00

I ran across this video at the Huffpost this morning and it reminded me of something similar that once happened to me.

When I was a little boy I found a baby bat in the yard. He was no larger than the one in the video. Of course, I brought him inside and put him in a shoe box where I made him a nice bed out of an old sock. My mom got me an eye dropper so I could feed him warm milk. My dad wanted to destroy him because bats were known carriers of rabies and he was afraid for my safety. But I wouldn't let him do it.

To be honest, I was afraid as well. Not of getting rabies, but of being bitten. For all I knew, he was a vampire bat and I could see he had sharp little teeth. Besides, bats are just scary creatures in the first place. But my sense of compassion overcame my fear and I began nursing him. I was able to get him to take the milk from the dropper and over the next week or so he grew stronger. I was esthetic that I was able to save this little creature and had become really attached and devoted to him.

Then, one day when I picked him up to feed him, he reached up with his little claws and grabbed onto my finger, just like in the movie. It so startled me that I jerked my hand away, which threw him across the room, against the wall, and killed him dead.

Wheel of Missed-Fortune

2011-12-06T19:58:00.006-05:00

She used to drive me crazy that wife of mine.

It had become our routine to eat dinner and watch television while sitting on the floor at the coffee table. And, like so many other American families, we frequently found ourselves stranded in the wasteland between the national news and prime time. In our part of the country, that meant Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy.

“The category is Titles,” Pat announces. The contestant spins the wheel and calls out, “Give me an ‘R.” “There is no R,” replies Pat. The next contestant spins the wheel. “Give me a C.” “There are two ‘C’s”, announces Pat. The audience applauds. Vanna turns the letters. “The Iceman Cometh,” announces my wife. "Who?,” was my informed reply. It takes the contestants another five minutes to figure it out.

The next puzzle is two words comprised of about two dozen letters. The contestant spins the wheel and after three letters are displayed, “Chrono-synclastic infundibulum,” proclaims my partner with glee. “WTF! There's only three letters on the board!” I exclaim. Another ten minutes confirms her answer.

At the end of the program, Pat and Vanna, standing arm in arm, announce that if you would like to be a contestant on the show the Wheel of Fortune motor home will be in the following areas. Sure enough, there it is, Baja Georgia is a stop on the way. Wife has a gleam in her eye. A month or so later she gets a phone call during dinner and starts jumping for joy. Seems we’re headed for La La Land and the Big Wheel in the Sky!

It turned out that the Wheel of Fortune motor home did indeed visit Baja and wifemate decided to audition. She didn’t say anything about it because she was afraid she wouldn’t be selected and would be embarrassed. I could have calmed her fears for I knew that anyone who could rip through the Daily Jumble and the NY Times crosswords like she could was a shoe-in.

“So how does this work?,” I asked. “Do they send us plane tickets?”

“No,” she replied, “We have to buy our own.”

“Well, do they put us up?” I asked.

“No,” she answered, “We have to get our own rooms.”

“Well what the hell do they pay for?” I inquired.

“Nothing,” she responded. “But we get a discount at the Universal Hilton.”

Okay, two round-trip air tickets and five days at the Universal Hilton (We decided to hang for a few days to visit friends and family.)… $2,500 (in late 80’s dollars).

“Dang,” I thought, “for that kind of cash we could go to Paris. She’d better win or we’re screwed.”

The day of the show dawned bright and early. Had to be there by 9:00 am. Caught a cab for the short ride over to Universal Studios.

She was impossible to live with. PMS on steroids. The ultimate stage fright anxiety attack, although we were both on-air television veterans. By the time we got to the studio I was the most inconsiderate and worthless SOB on God's green earth. We were off to a good start.

Fortunately, we were separated immediately upon arrival, contestants off into the nether-world, the rest of us into the studio audience where we were given instructions on proper behavior and told to keep an eye on the guy with the “applause” sign. No food, no drinks, no nothing.

After about an hour of sitting in a dark studio I decided to go in search of a cup of coffee. It turned out that the only source for such was a vending machine. I opted to go across the street to a café. The security guard informed me that if I left the building I might not get back in. I informed him that I had a medical condition that required me to have a bottle of water at all times and pointed out that none such was made available by the studio nor any mention of lack of same in the instructions sent to us from the show’s producers and that if I had an attack and died, the responsibility would be on his shoulders. Luckily he bought the blarney and I enjoyed a badly needed cup of coffee and a bagel before returning with a bottle of water.

I got back and took my seat just as the proceedings began. The first three contestants came out, my wife not among them. It took about an hour to tape the show followed by a thirty-minute break. Next group. Wife not among them. Repeat same. Again, no wife, no food, no refreshments, no nothing. By now, it’s late in the afternoon and I’m the one with PMS on steroids. If you've ever sat through an entire day of Wheel of Fortune, then you understand.

Finally, the last group comes out and there she is, somewhat bedraggled but giggly and chipper as ever. Dutifully, I applaud and violate the rules by hollering out, “Go Punky!” Evil-eye from floor manager. I look around like, “Who, me?” Floor manager knows he has a wise-ass on his hands.

First contestant up, wifemate! Big puzzle. Lot’s of words. She’s playing it like a pro. Milking it for all it’s worth. Her prize total is something like $18,000! Now I really am hollering and cheering. Not only that, I’ve got everyone around me hollering and cheering as well cause they’re all just about as bored and ready for some action as I am. The floor manager is pissed but he can’t figure out what to do about it. There’s safety in numbers.

Then it happened. The inexplicable. Punky got flustered and called for the same vowel twice! BUZZZZZZER!! “Sorry ‘bout that,” quipped Pat. On to the next contestant. The whole thing… visions of grandeur, new car, big screen TV, Bermuda… down the crapper. Punky was devastated. Me too. Fortunately, she managed to recover her composure in time to rack up $2,300 in cash on the last puzzle. But still, there it loomed before her, The Big Winner… $63,000 in cash and prizes and a new car... and it wasn’t her.

When we got back to the hotel we went straight to the bar. Martinis, straight up, with a twist. After a few of those babies things looked somewhat better and we decided to go up to the rooftop restaurant and get a bite to eat. The elevator opened and we got on, joining another person already there. It was Telly Savalas. We looked at him. He looked at us. You could see the “Oh shit” in his eyes. Trapped with two crocked tourists. After a moment I muttered, “Wheel of Fortune.” He cracked up laughing and asked, “Did you win?,” to which Punky replied, “What does it look like?” He laughed even harder, as much relieved not to be faced by two pawing autograph seekers as the humor of the situation I’m sure.

Over dinner I apologized for causing a commotion in the audience and distracting her from the game. She said, “Forget it, you could hardly hear the audience from the stage anyway.” “I just got over-excited and blew it,” she continued. “But thanks for the thought.”

At least we got an almost-free vacation out of it and for several weeks thereafter, strange packages arrived at the door. A cheap-ass vacuum cleaner, some sort of kitchen gadget, a variety of food stuffs and more I’ve since forgotten. And, of course, a story for my blog these twenty-odd-something years later.

Postscript:

Susan and I split up some years ago. I suppose it was just too much to expect that a BBQ loving Florida Cracker and a charter PETA New York Jew could really pull it off. But we gave it a good run and remained close friends. Sadly, Susan lost a battle with cancer a few months ago, shortly after this picture was taken. In my heart I still love her and I'm deeply saddened that I will never see her again.

Viya con Dios lover.

Mumbai, U.S.A. A bedtime story.

2011-12-03T08:46:00.005-05:00

Picture this… You’re a diplomat stationed in Bombay, India, late 1960’s. You live in the diplomatic compound, a high-walled community that virtually shuts out the outside world. Within the compound live diplomats and their families from all over the world. The grounds are beautiful. Lush vegetation and colonial-style buildings. Servants attend to their every need. They have all of the amenities and social interaction of any close community. A club with pool and tennis and restaurant and bar and snooker… you get the picture.

By day the diplomats go to their various embassies or consulates and represent their respective country’s interests, which often gets pretty heated. But by night they lounge and enjoy cocktails together at each other’s homes or at the Club.

No one leaves the compound on foot or unattended. If you do stubbornly decide to go for a walk outside of the compound, a couple of Gurkas go with you. Although this is highly unlikely because there is every reason not to walk outside. For outside the walls of the diplomatic compound lie the streets of Bombay, a teeming mass of humanity living on the verge of extinction.

This scenario is true, related to me by my uncle who was a diplomat working for the U.S. Information Service at the time. Propaganda was his game and he was good at it because he liked and embraced the different cultures in which he was stationed. People naturally gravitated to this tall, handsome American with gentlemanly manners.

Uncle Milo told me he once insisted on taking a walk outside but it took some time for the two Gurkas to open the man gate. Something was blocking it. It turned out to be a dead body on the sidewalk outside. He told me that the thing that got to him most on the streets outside of the compound was the stench. Even more than the permeating filth and poverty and death. He said that the contrast between the haves and have nots in India was so stark as to be shocking.

It wasn’t at all unusual to see great antique Rolls Royce’s, Bentleys, Auburns or Dusenbergs on the street in perfect operating condition because the wealthy owners simply had new parts milled every time anything broke. He said the cars were often better than new. Uncle had the best of everything while there, tailored clothes, the finest medical care, household servants… because he could afford the best of everything. A bureaucrat’s salary made you a well-to-do man there, in that place and time.

Here’s the take-away. Do gated communities adjacent to public housing ghettos sound familiar? Do run-down county medical clinics crowded with the unwashed, or simply unlucky, sound familiar? Do people who are simply cast aside and living on the street because of accident of birth or situation sound familiar?

No child in this country should go hungry, but they do. No one who is disabled and unable to take care of themselves should have to fend for themselves on the street, but they do. No one should be left destitute in old age because they’ve been stripped of everything they have by the medical industrial complex, but they are.

The scene depicting India above is happening to some degree or another right here, right now, in the good ole U S of A every day. If you believe that good medical care, a good education, a meal and a roof over your head is the least we can do for each other, it’s time to speak up. If you voted for and really want Change, you had better start raising hell about it! The money grubbers are pulling out every trick in the book to kill it... and you.

Jaws... for real!

2011-12-01T08:05:00.000-05:00

My nephew, a Master Chief in the Coast Guard, was fishing with some buddies just offshore of Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina when a visitor showed up, a fish not common in these waters. Worth a look.

I used to fish for sharks in the surf when younger and I can tell you, if you swim in the ocean, you swim with sharks. Fortunately, none of them see you as bait, except for this guy, who sees you as lunch.

He's Back

2011-11-29T08:33:00.007-05:00

Mr. Charleston is home from turkey day in North Carolina with the grandkids. A great time was had by all but I'm glad to be home and back in the blogosphere. A few photos I think you will enjoy.

A visit to nearby Ft. Mill, South Carolina and a park known as the Greenway. This is the homeplace of the Rev. Billy Graham's grandfather, described by Billy as a "hard drinking, hard cursing man." He must have scared the bejesus out of his tribe for he spawned eight preachers. Does eight preachers constitute a movement? An interesting thing about the cabin is the pink mortar, from the red clay content.

A detail of a nearby cabin moved to the site from three miles away. The park is traversed by the Nation Ford Road, part of the Great Philadelphia Wagon Road which was the original road between the Philadelphia area and Florida. This cabin was the homestead of a soldier who fought in the Civil War and walked the road home from the surrender at Appomattox. It was a cool, rainy day when we were there and I tried to imagine myself in that place and time faced with a 250-mile walk home while cold, tired, and hungry through a dangerous countryside ravaged by four years of brutal war. I can't imagine it. I'm far too fat and comfortable. But sometimes I get close enough that it makes me shiver.

Two generations of Charlestons, daughter (Amy) and granddaughter (Hayes), walking the Nation Ford Rd. down to the Steele Creek ford from which the road got it's name.

The Kensington Plantation house near the Congaree Swamp in Wateree, South Carolina. I have tried for years to see this place but it was never open when I went past on my journeys to and from Florida and North Carolina. The gates happened to be open for some maintenance workers this time past so I took the opportunity to get some photos. Originally the manor house for a 3,300-acre plantation, the photo doesn't do the 12,000 sq. ft. house justice. Another one of those time-lapse moments when you try to imagine life on a plantation worked by slaves. An interesting sidebar, the percentage of Southerners who owned slaves... approximately 1%. Hummm. Sound familiar?

2nd Annual Islamic Pit Babe Review

2011-11-22T19:28:00.002-05:00

As the Formula One season draws to a close, it's time again to take a look at the seemingly incompatible relationship between one of the richest, most gauche, immoral and outright depraved expenditures of resources on earth and... Islam?

Formula One represents the absolute heights of cutting edge engineering and design technology. There is no other sport on earth quite like it. The only other one that comes to mind is the American's Cup yachting competition and it occurs only every 4-years. The cost of campaigning an F1 car for a season is a closely held secret, but it's been estimated to be somewhere in the vicinity of $200 million for each car and most teams have two cars at the track and two in reserve. Ferrari employs over 600 people in its F1 effort alone. It is a sport that attracts the most glamorous of the glamorous. Celebrities and royalty walk the paddock. The drivers and team managers are multimillionaires. 7-time world champion Michael Schumacher is a billionaire who's salary as a driver was $40 million a year! Champagne, caviar and beautiful women.

How, one might ask, can this sport possibly be welcome in Islamic countries? But it is. In fact, as the F1 circus makes its world-wide tour it has stops in 5 Islamic nations: Bahrain, Abu Dhabi, Malaysia, Singapore and Turkey. The following photos are representative of the beautiful Islamic women in the F1 paddock, but more importantly, they represent a peek into the modern, liberated Islam that you simply won't find in any local Western news media.

Abu Dhabi

Bahrain

Malaysia

Singapore

Turkey

Not exactly your grandmother's burka eh?

Mr Charleston is off to visit grandkids. See you on the flip side. Happy Thanksgiving. Peace

Mr. Charleston Exposed

2011-11-18T18:38:00.006-05:00

I don't normally indulge in these things, but... (you can see where this is going) Susan, over at I Think, Therefore I Yam , challenged me to one of those Truth or Dare thingy's where you receive an award and therefore, you are obligated to tell seven secrets about yourself that inquiring minds want to know. To begin with, it's pretty much impossible for me to dredge up seven secrets out of the seven-thousand or so hiding in the closet and I wouldn't put you through that anyway, but I will share something you might find interesting, or at least, amusing.

Not long ago a young woman asked me where I was from and I replied that I was a 9th-generation-or-so Florida Cracker and that I was raised in a fish camp. I wasn't surprised that she was a little astonished as few families in this neck of the woods have been around as long as ours (1786), but I turned out to be the one astonished when she asked, "What's a fish camp?" It had never occurred to me that there might be people in this world who had never heard of a fish camp. A little nonplussed I yammered, "Why, it's a place where you rent boats to go fishing." So, these several days later while lost in a muse another brilliant insight struck me, "If there's one person in this world who had no clue about fish camps, maybe there are others!"


This folks... is a fish camp. Photo of the homestead 1946. My parents purchased the camp soon after I came along and just after WWII. At the time, we lived so far in the woods that there was no electricity. I clearly remember wind-up phones and the iceman bringing a block of ice for the fridge. But we were in high cotton because, thanks to a naturally pressurized artesian well, we had indoor plumbing. Our neighbors had an out-house. A two-holer. They also had the only two-story tar paper shack I have seen to this day.


This was the office-kitchen-store-bait shop-dining room-dance hall main building. It was a log cabin with a coquina chimney. Note cane poles leaning against the house and picnic tables under the trees. I still live on this property today although now, it's inside of the beltway.

My dad in a little boat he had turned into a trawler. The net would yield washtubs of shrimp, a soft-shell crab or two, and a cornucopia of other creatures. While my older brother helped my dad sort out the shrimp, I would poke through the teeming load of adventure laid out before me. Tiny fish all all kinds, crabs, starfish, jellyfish and worms. I especially liked the small puffer fish. We, of course, released everything back into the water. A lifetime of respect and love for Mother Nature.

Sometimes, the river was dead still. On a hot, sultry day, you couldn't see the separation of water and air on the horizon. They just sort of blended together.

Mr. C catching a ride with Uncle Dennis. One of the two buildings in the background housed a generator which dad would crank-up on Saturday nights for the weekly fish fry and dance. The generator would drive the lights and the jukebox. Hank Williams as he was meant to be heard. But I must say, my folks were fond of Swing and that's what was played mostly. Tommy Dorsey, Glenn Miller and company.

Grandfather keeping an eye on me.

This photo has nothing to do with the fish camp. It's my great-aunt and great-great uncle posing amongst their charges at the Jacksonville Alligator Farm, which they managed. It's just a cool photo. There were plenty of gators in the river where we swam. We reached a truce with each other early on. If they didn't get too close, we wouldn't clobber them with a stick.

So there you have it fellow travelers, Mr. Charleston bared to his roots. Is this OK Susan?

Intelligent Design

2011-11-14T07:19:00.002-05:00

I recently ran across something I first encountered while in college. I remember how profoundly it affected me at the time and how it pretty much set the foundation for my spiritual beliefs, whatever they are. If pressed, I would probably answer agnostic, but only because I am easily confused and the feeble attempts of most of the world's "great religions" only cloud the water further. Regardless, the philosophical and mathematic "proofs" of a Prime Mover, Intelligent Design, God... call it what you will, are undeniable and worth a revisit if only for the all-encompassing beauty of it.

It's worthy of note that the Fibonacci Numbers referenced here were written in 1202 A.D. by Leonardo of Pisa. However, the first record of this equation goes even further back to early Indian mathematics related to Sanskrit. In other words, this has been around and understood an awfully long time, time enough, you would think, for us to have gotten our act together in some sort of cosmic harmony.

If it had happened to me, I would have killed them myself.

2011-11-11T06:50:00.005-05:00

Over the years I have heard one group after another come up with all kinds of reasons, proofs, and studies claiming that punishment does not deter crime. I don't agree. Do I believe there are too many people incarcerated for non-violent crimes, yes. Do I believe that there are far too many offenses where the punishment is worse than the crime, yes. Do I believe that the Justice-Industrial-Complex is way out of whack, emphatically yes. But I do not agree that harsh punishment, even execution, is a futile deterrent.

Case in point:

A wild scene unfolded in a South Carolina courtroom on Thursday when two former lovers became hysterical after receiving a pair of life sentences for the murder of a three-year-old girl. The defendants, both 25, were living together as a couple in 2009, when police discovered the toddler covered in cuts and bruises, the Charleston Post and Courrier reports. Butts, identified as the child's godmother, was caring for Serenity while her mother, Ieshia Richardson, moved from Detroit.

You will never convince me that anyone who knew these women or their families won't think twice.

In my view, execution would have been a proper sentence for these two. Now, the taxpayers are on the hook for the $2-million or so it's going to take to support this trash for the rest of their lives. I have two three-year-old granddaughters. Had anyone done to them what these women did to that little girl, I would have killed them myself.

A Walk Through Occupy Baja

2011-11-06T13:58:00.008-05:00

Sunday morning dawned overcast, rainy and chilly here in Baja Georgia. I had read in the paper a couple of days ago that the Occupy Jacksonville movement was underway and that they were determined to create a 24-hour presence like their Wall Street brethren. I decided to take a ride downtown and see if this was for real or just another fair weather occupation.

I was greeted by the erstwhile group who had taken up camp in front of city hall. I thought the traffic signal was a nice touch.

This encompasses the entire Occupy movement here in Baja, an area of the country painted solidly red. The protesters wanted to set up shop in a large, central-plaza park across the street but park rules, in an effort to discourage the homeless, prohibit camping. Camping is also prohibited on the sidewalk so the protestors had to stay within the narrow orange brickwork between the sidewalk and the street. But still, they seemed to be in good spirits and even offered me an apple.

Meanwhile, across the street in the central park, the real occupiers of downtown were lining up for lunch, along with Bibles, being distributed by a small Christian church. People on the front lines trying to make a difference. Conspicuous by their absence were congregates of the 20,000-member First Baptist Mega-Church located just one block away.

Residents enjoying their lunch and a card game. Note iPod headphones. I guess life on the street for some ain't as austere as we've been led to believe.

Another resident, enjoying her brown-bag lunch and a new Bible, loudly proclaiming to one of the church members, "Ya'll oughtta be gittin' paid for this!" "Ya'll shouldn't be out here doin' this for free." I'm not sure which is the case, she doesn't understand Christian charity or Economics 101. Apparently, both. But she was happy.

Another resident, who disturbingly looked like she could be any one of us, found a quiet spot to read her Bible and enjoy lunch.

An interesting juxtaposition, the facade of Baja's new $350 million courthouse located two blocks from the square. Justice has its cost.

The facade of another $350-million Baja boondoggle. A place where, in Jesse Jackson's words, "My people can entertain you" before they visit a more familiar facade.

A Love Song For The Ages... or is that Aged!

2011-11-04T07:47:00.002-04:00

Spooktacular Weekend

2011-11-01T20:57:00.001-04:00

Decided at the last minute to hitch a ride up to North Carolina with daughter #2 to visit daughter #1 and party with the grandkids over All Hallow's Eve. Let me tell you, Halloween ain't what it used to be. But first, I guess I should share that I live in a pretty secluded house at the end of a sparsely populated street and therefore, rarely get any trick-or-treaters at my door. Now that I think about it, I can't remember the last time a goblin visited my abode during what is becoming America's most rapidly growing holiday, (I always thought a holiday meant a day off work.) one that's beginning to rival Christmas for sales of junk and New Year's Eve for partying in the streets.

I really didn't realize the full truth of that last statement until this past weekend. Daughter #2 lives in a fairly new development, one of nice homes and an active homeowners association that organizes community events that bring neighbors together. Halloween is such an event. While not sponsored by the association per se, all of the residents agree to work together to make it a real event for the kids and a party for the adults. It was the perfect trick-or-treat fest with hundreds of spooks of all kinds parading throughout the neighborhood collecting treats that were mostly goodies from health conscious parents.

Our crew (4 grandkids and friends) ready for action.

Some people are simply over the top. This is the morning-after shot and doesn't begin to illustrate the full extent of this place. Man-made fog, lights, characters in costume jumping out at the tricksters. A tunnel with a dead man rising from a coffin. Hundreds of spooky characters, cob webs, tombstones and colored lights. The kids loved it, and I must say, so did I, but I can't imagine even beginning to duplicate it. The owner told me it took he and his family 40-hours over three days to erect it.

I couldn't resist a day in the mountains and the fall colors. Had some beautiful shots to share with you but an evil flash card ate most all of them. This is from the top of Morrow Mountain State Park just east of Charlotte.

A B&B I ran across in Ansonville, NC, a pretty little town near the Uwharrie National Forest and Morrow Mountain Park.

Frank Lloyd Wright - Genius

2011-10-26T11:01:00.000-04:00

A while back I promised a re-visit to the campus of Florida Southern University, the core campus of which was designed by renowned architect Frank Lloyd Wright. Probably like many of you, I know of Wright, have seen his books and photos of his works. I even made it to Taliesin West in Scottsdale, Arizona once only to find it closed for renovation. But this visit to the Florida Southern campus with my buddy Punch a couple of weeks ago was the first time I have been able to immerse myself in one of his works.

It could hardly have been more perfect. Early on a Sunday morning. The campus to ourselves. When we finally encountered a security guard, she stopped to tell us that the chapel was open and that we were welcome to go in.

I have to tell you, you cannot appreciate this man's genius until you visit one of his creations. It takes control of your senses. I found myself being lead as if through a ring in my nose... by my eyes. Shadows and light. Angles and focal points, all worked together to draw me ever deeper into the structures. It was fascinating.

I have prepared a few photos (none of which do the place justice). I hope you enjoy.

The main building.

Plazas, people spaces, beckon toward portals that promise enlightenment within.

The campus is connected by covered walks that, with their angles, overhang and ornate details, are a feast for the eyes as you walk about in a lush, green Florida environment.

Wright's trademark use of personal enclosure, tight dark spaces opening to bright, endless space is apparent everywhere. The dynamics of space and light are amazing. Sadly, the buildings are in need of serious repair, something the college is undertaking with limited funds.

Inside of the main chapel. A riot of texture and light.

Are things as bad as they seem? Apparently not.

2011-10-23T07:26:00.002-04:00

I remember, many years ago, standing in the middle of the great ball field at the Mayan ruins of Chitzen Itza, Mexico and trying to imagine being there in that time and place as those ancient warriors played a form of Lacrosse for their lives, literally, as the winning team's captain was sacrificed to the Gods, an honor for which they fought tooth and nail.

I remember standing there, in that place, and musing on the brutality of sport in that time compared to the brutality of modern-day sports and how far mankind has progressed over the past three-thousand years or so. Mind you, there are still plenty of barbaric sports around, even in Western society. Football isn't all that sophisticated and Rugby seems to be only an excuse to fight legally in public. Add to that a few other winners like boxing and hockey and the degradation of modern-day cage fighting and you have to wonder if things have changed all that much.

But then, there are some bright spots, like the banning in Spain of the most barbaric "sport" I have ever witnessed, bull fighting.

A spate of recent books, "including one by prominent Harvard psychologist Steven Pinker reveal dramatic reductions in war deaths, family violence, racism, rape, murder and all sorts of mayhem." according to an article in this morning's newspaper.

The facts seem to speak for themselves:

The number of people killed in battle - calculated per 100,000 population - has dropped by 1,000% over the centuries. Before organized countries, battles killed on average 500 out of every 100,000 people. In 19th century France, it was 70. In the 20th century, with two world wars and a few genocides, it was 60. Today, three-tenths of a person per 100,000.
The rate of genocide deaths per world population was 1,400 times higher in 1942 than in 2008.
Murder in European countries has fallen from 100 per 100,000 in the 14th and 15th centuries to about 1 per 100,000 now.

The reason given for this decline in violence? Education! Can you beat that? Someone has finally figured out that the more educated people are the less likely they are to be violent. The more educated they become the more tolerant they are, the more likely they are to be concerned about things like the environment and the betterment of mankind.

Damn, you learn something every day.

Post Cards from Mirror Lake. Wish you were here.

2011-10-18T07:23:00.002-04:00

This past weekend was one of my semi-annual sojourns to God's Waiting Room and a visit with my old pal Punch. The occasion of this journey was the Mirror Lake Classic, a concours/antique/new/hot-rod car and other stuff show in Lakeland, Florida. I had never been to Lakeland, nor the Mirror Lake Classic, and was looking forward to a new adventure. I wasn't disappointied.

The weather was perfect, the venue beautiful.

The show sprawls around the beautiful promenade of a small downtown lake, Mirror Lake, and spreads into downtown, taking up altogether, 14 city blocks. Hundreds of cars are grouped by period and personality surrounded by a festival atmosphere.

Included is a small, but nice, classic boat show.

Did I mention there were cars at this show?

A bit of nostalgia. A Triumph TR4, the car I drove while in college, only mine was red. I was a married student with a child and we would place the kidling in a carry-all on a small shelf behind the seats. If you did that today, you would be arrested and jailed for willfull neglect and child endangerment.

A prize winner. Yankee great Honus Wagner's Chrysler 300. The owner, in uniform, told me that the unrestored interior would remain that way because it has Honus' DNA in it. I thought that was nice tribute from a true Yankee fan.

Downtown Lakeland was a beautiful venue.

A little pomp and circumstance as the hotel's waiters deliver lunch to the show's judges. A nice touch, only I felt for the waiters who had to carry these trays about a half-mile from downtown, down the promenade, to the judges located on the lake.

Things that happen along the way. An Hispanic coming-of-age ceremony in the gardens adjacent to the show.

On Sunday morning, we visited the campus of Florida Southern University, a campus designed by world-renowned architect Frank Lloyd Wright. It was a spectacular complex that will be revisited in another post.

On the way back to Baja I encountered, in the middle of nowhere, one of those things that only happen in places like Florida, a menagerie of giant aluminum creatures of all sorts surrounded by thousands of pots, objects-de-art and bric-a-brac. Lord, is my home state weird.

All-in-all a great weekend and a badly needed break. The only thing that bothered me was that more and more, Punch and I no longer look out of place in God's Waiting Room.

Obama's Revenge

2011-10-13T06:23:00.004-04:00

Yesterday I was in the doctor's office and happened to mention to the nurse that I was a guitarist. She asked, "Have you heard what happened to Gibson?" (Gibson Guitars, Inc.) "No, what?" I replied. "The IRS raided them and took all of their Rosewood," she said. "Why?" I asked. "Because they won't play ball with Obama," she elaborated. "They're a non-union shop and oppose his policies."

I let the subject drop for the moment but when I got home I Googled "Gibson" and "rosewood" to see what in the world she was talking about. It turns out that Gibson Guitars was raided by the government, but by the Justice Department, not the IRS. It seems that Gibson is guilty of buying protected Indian rosewood, the harvest and sale of which is illegal. The government claims that Gibson not only bought the endangered wood knowing it was illegal, but went so far as to send representatives to Madagascar to make arrangements for the illicit purchase with the unrecognized "government" who are harvesting and selling the wood in spite of international sanctions against it.

For those of you who may not know, rosewood is used in basically every guitar manufactured world-wide, as it's a favorite wood for use on fretboards and bridges. The other, even more rare, wood used is ebony. And you pay more for it.

You may ask yourself, as I did, how about the other guitar manufacturers? Why weren't they raided? The answer came from Charles Martin, Chair of Martin Guitar Co., who basically said they were offered the same deal by the Madagascans but refused because they knew it was illegal.

This is not the first time the Gibson factory has been raided. The first time was over two years ago, pre-Obama, during the Bush administration. So, I asked myself, where on earth did this woman get the idea that this event is somehow Obama's Revenge? How, or why, do people come up with this stuff?

A little more sleuthing and... you guessed it... Fox News. Fox News turned this whole thing into an editorial that laid the blame for this egregious violation of "Constitutional Rights" directly at the feet of Barak Obama.

Now here's the thing, Fox News is owned by... Rupert Murdoch, the demon butcher of Madison Avenue. Rupert Murdoch, an Australian, has done more to divide and harm our country than all of the Communist or Jihadist infiltrators combined.

Why do we allow it?

0's and 1's still blow me away

2011-10-09T14:06:00.001-04:00

Euthanasia... For Fun and Profit

2011-10-04T07:32:00.005-04:00

Finally, a concept for humane euthanasia, the Euthanasia Coaster, a roller coaster designed to kill its passengers.

The perfect solution to the death penalty. I'll bet they'll be lining up to go out with a bang! And what a great spectator event. Attendance to rival NASCAR. Sensors could tell spectators the exact time of death and wagering would be intense, even more exciting than the horses. The income from these babies could support the entire penal system, and it would be super-efficient. Each client would be encapsulated in their own container that simply rolls off of the coaster and into the incinerator at the end of the run. No muss, no fuss. One less thug to terrorize society while providing their victims some entertainment to boot. How can you beat that?

The Euthanasia Coaster was designed and made into a model by Julionas Urbonas, a PhD candidate at the Royal College of Art in London. According to Urbonas, the concept is to take lives with, "elegance and euphoria." The seven loops put the body under such stress that it causes the brain to be starved of oxygen so that everyone will go out euphoric and smiling.

I don't know about you, but I would die of fright after the first plunge.

Euthanasia Coaster from Julijonas Urbonas on Vimeo.

The Path To Success

2011-10-01T13:40:00.000-04:00

What is 100%

MORE than 100%? Ever wonder about those people who say they are giving more than 100%? We have all been to those meetings where someone wants you to give over 100%. How about achieving 103%? What makes up 100% in life?

Here's a little mathematical formula that might help you answer these questions:

If:

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

is represented as:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26.

Then:
H-A -R -D-W-O -R -K
8+1+18+4+23+15+18+11 = 98%

and

K -N -O -W-L -E-D-G-E
11+14+15+23+12+5+4+7+5
= 96%

But ,

A-T -T -I -T -U -D-E
1+20+20+9+20+21+4+5 = 100%

And,

B -U -L -L -S -H-I -T
2+21+12+12+19+8+9+20 = 103%

AND, look how far ass kissing will take you.

A-S -S -K -I -S-S -I -N-G
1+19+19+11+9+19+19+9+14+7 = 118%

So, one can conclude with mathematical certainty, that While Hard work and Knowledge will get you close, and Attitude will get you there, it’s Bullshit and Ass kissing that will put you over the top.

Time for a break - A kinder, gentler Mr. Charleston

2011-09-26T20:38:00.001-04:00

Rick Perry's Vacation Cruise

2011-09-22T06:48:00.005-04:00

Pirated from tothepointnews.com

Technology: Sometimes Good, Sometimes Not So.

2011-09-19T07:20:00.000-04:00

Some things give us hope.

Some things remind us it's hopeless.

It's a remote-controlled spy plane that can fly up to 400 feet above the ground, snoop quietly on wireless networks below and attack one if it wants to.

Sorry, the embed code has been disabled, but here's the link: ZOOM! It's worth a look.

Civil Disobedience that would make Thoreau proud

2011-09-15T07:09:00.000-04:00

In 1849, Henry David Thoreau posed that governments are typically more harmful than helpful and therefore, unjustified. He also stated that Democracy was no cure for this, as majorities simply by virtue of being majorities do not also gain the virtues of wisdom and justice.

It seems that at no time in our nation's history is that point more poignant than today, witness the Department of Homeland Security, an over-bloated bureaucracy that is literally trampling our 4th Amendment rights.

But Hark! There is a glimmer of hope. For in the end, civil disobedience will prevail if we each do our part.

Here's one of the most novel ways of disobedience that I have come across, 4th Amendment Underwear!

Metal imprinted underwear that sends a pretty clear message. Great stocking stuffers for the traveler in your family.

Sunday Morning, September 11, 2011

2011-09-11T18:11:00.000-04:00

A morning's ride to a favorite place.

Sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes the bug.

2011-09-10T11:26:00.001-04:00

The Finer Points of Swinedom

2011-09-07T21:58:00.001-04:00

Mr. Charleston, always alert to different and exciting life experiences, decided over this past holiday weekend to take in that perennial Baja Georgia favorite... the Labor Day Swine Classic.

My travelling partner on this day was my good friend Pat, who upon receiving the invitation remarked, "What? Are you inviting me to a hog show?" "Yeah," I replied. "You should be flattered. After all, how many girls get invitations to a hog show?" "Besides," I continued, "we can finish it off with lunch at the Kingsland Catfish Festival." Being a country girl, that last bit got her. No respectful Bajaian can refuse a fried catfish lunch. So, bright and somewhat early on Saturday morning, we set off to the bustling metropolis of Callahan for a day of down-home country.

When we got there, we found the competitors riveted in anxious anticipation of the impending competition.

The contestants, ready for action.

This hog show stuff can be big time business. Note generator for powering fans in the trailer.

No being able to afford a generator, this boy keeps his hog cool the old-fashioned way, by spraying him with water. Note the belt buckle. A first-place trophy from another show.

Now we're getting down to it, the contestants enter the ring.

The idea is to parade the hogs around in a circle, under the watchful eye of the judge. Someone forgot to tell the pigs.

The judge, a high-school teacher, took the time to work with every one of the contestants. His instructions: always keep the pig between you and the judge and always keep an eye on the judge. I missed exactly why they were supposed to keep an eye on the judge but as you can see from the girl behind him, the contestants often had more pressing matters to attend to, like a pig making a break for the hay.

A veteran.

Hogs will be hogs after all.

Having had our fill of hogs, we turned our attention to the catfish festival.

Enjoying a 90 degree day whilst making four pots of ice cream. A really interesting contraption powered by an antique Briggs & Stratton. I liked the t-bucket parked out back.

Never too early for Christmas stuff. A porker of a different sort.

I had never seen this before. I wondered how long these kids could stay in there before suffocating. I didn't find out.

Redneck entrepreneur. An old lawn tractor and a few 50-gallon drums and you've got a ride worthy of Disney.

And, of course, the ubiquitous pony ride. I always feel sorry for the ponies, no matter how many times I see this. But the kids sure enjoy it.

It was only later I realized that we were so hungry for catfish that I completely forgot to take a picture of any. Oh well, a ride down the coast and across the St. Johns River ferry finished the day. Got home in time to put my feet up and enjoy a beer and an afternoon of college football.

Eat your hearts out city-slickers.

Tub-O-Lard. This is just plain sick.

2011-09-03T09:23:00.002-04:00

When I first read the news that there's a movement afoot to declare obesity an illness, my first reactions were twofold. 1) Another excuse to blame something else for lack of self-control and personal responsibility, and 2) There must be an insurance or medical industry profit motive involved.

Here's someone who's trying to do both.

Now You See It. Now You Don't.

2011-09-01T16:44:00.000-04:00

Cleveland, along with a growing number of other cities nation-wide, is solving the foreclosed and abandoned housing problem once and for all, by removing them.

This video pretty much reflects what's happened to the American Dream.

Don't worry, a good job is on the way

2011-08-29T07:09:00.000-04:00

General Electric is planning to move its 115-year old X-ray division from Waukesha, Wis., to Beijing. In addition to moving the headquarters, the company will invest $2 billion in China and train more than 65 engineers and create six research centers.

This is the same GE that made $5.1 billion in the United States last year, but paid no taxes.

The same company that employs more people overseas than it does in the U.S.

So President Obama appoints GE Chairman Jeff Immelt to head his commission on job creation?

Immelt is supposed to help create jobs?

I guess the president forgot to tell him in which country these jobs are supposed to be created.

Cool Hand Luke - The Real Story

2011-08-24T22:13:00.016-04:00

I once worked with a guy named Louie.

I can’t explain what it was about Louie that attracted me.  (For some reason I find myself attracted to society’s misfits.  My friends are all artists, musicians, general ner-do-wells.  The kind of people you find in places like drumming circles or in the middle of the woods.  You know, the sort of places where you are likely to find me.)  Anyway, I liked Louie from the moment I saw him.

He was an older, frumpy sort of guy with a large, bushy mustache and a floppy-brimmed crusher hat and he drove a not-restored-but-still-running vintage VW beetle convertible.  A lifer bureaucrat who got the job because of his sister, a sitting city councilwoman and scion of the black community.  Not one who took favorably to being over-worked or being in too much of a hurry, Louie none-the-less got the job done and, in my view, earned his keep.  He was a favorite lunch companion as we always shared good conversation and a laugh or two.

One day over lunch Louie announced that he knew Cool Hand Luke.  And furthermore, that Luke had lived right here in Gatorville, that is, before he went to federal prison in Atlanta.  Needless to say, he had my undivided attention.

It seems that about ten years earlier, he and Mrs. Louie had moved back to Gatorville from D.C. and were looking for a place to live.  One Saturday, while out driving around, they passed a once elegant riverfront estate in a now somewhat rundown area of town.  Out of curiosity, they stopped the car and looked through the open gate into the yard, just checking it out, when Louie noticed a large, garage apartment out-building.  He and Mrs. Louie thought this would be a great place to live and wondered if it might possibly be for rent.  They figured it was worthy of an inquiry.

At the end of the tree-lined drive they came abreast of the apartment and stopped to look it over.  They were too busy gawking to notice that someone had walked into the driveway in front of them.  When they looked up they were staring straight into the business end of a double-barreled shotgun.  The gunman walked around to the driver’s side, the shotgun held inches from Louie’s face.

Louie described it well.  "He was a long, lanky, grizzled old Cracker in a filthy jump suit unzipped to his navel," he said.  "He had about five days growth of beard with tobacco stains running down the sides of his mouth and he wore unlaced brogans with the tongues hanging out and no socks."  "And, he didn’t look any too friendly," he elaborated.  "The guy said, "Whatta yew tew niggers want?"

I do not remember the details, don’t know that I ever heard them, but somehow Louie not only managed to talk the man into lowering the gun, but also into allowing them to take a look at the apartment!  They learned that he was, indeed, the owner of the place and before it was over the old man had invited them in for a beer and agreed to rent the place to them.

I’ve got to hand it to Louie.  I don’t know about you, but had it been me, I would have been pleading… gimme three steps, gimme me three steps mister and you won’t see me no more.

Louie said the man was a hermit.  They never saw him.  They had no idea how he got groceries except that about every month or so, he would appear at the garage completely transformed into a well-groomed businessman in a beautiful silk suit.  Out of the garage he would drive a spotless, new Lincoln Continental.  He would be gone for a few days and when he returned he would close the car up in the garage, go into the house, and that’s the last they saw of him until the next time.

This went on for about two years until one Sunday morning, as Louie and the missus were having breakfast, when half of the police vehicles in Gatorville came screaming down the driveway, sirens whaling, lights flashing, cops everywhere.  "There must have been fifty police officers,"  Louie said.  "And they were locked and loaded."

They watched as the police led the old man out of the house and into the paddy wagon.  Louie said that he and the missus moved to the window in order to see better and that’s when the police first noticed them.  Suddenly, they were the ones with fifty guns pointed at them.  Next thing you know, several armed officers came crashing into the apartment, led by an FBI agent.  Breakfast interruptus.  When the dust had settled, Louie had a chance to ask the agent what the hell was going on.

He learned that the old man was a notorious bank robber who called himself Luke and that he had been on the FBI's most wanted list for over a decade.  The FBI had nick-named him Cool Hand Luke because of how cool he was during the robberies.  He would go into a small-town bank pretending to be a successful businessman, feigning to open a business account and make a deposit.  The bank soon realized it was actually a withdrawal he had in mind.

  Louie asked the agent if the old man was the same Cool Hand Luke that was in the movies and the officer replied, "Hell no.  All that crap was just made up."

Don't believe anything you hear and only half of what you see

2011-08-22T07:53:00.000-04:00

Think you know it all? Here's a ditty for you.

Here's the link to the template: http://i.imgur.com/Bf8xi.jpg

However, being ever inquisitive and a model citizen, Mr. Charleston has done the heavy lifting for you.

This is the template:

And the big test:

Hummm... Things just ain't what they seem.

A Story for America

2011-08-20T09:59:00.003-04:00

The object of this post is to send you to another post, a great story about a small town gardner and an unintentional look at socialized medicine. You will enjoy it, trust me.

Friko's World

Too Funny

2011-08-16T20:54:00.002-04:00

This thing has gone viral so you may have seen it. If not, prepare for a good laugh.

I've said it before and I'll say it again... The founding fathers screwed up.

2011-08-12T17:08:00.011-04:00

In trying so hard to make it impossible for a monarch to rise to power, they created a system so compromised and complicated it has reached gridlock.

The issue is further complicated by Machiavellian scheming surrounding Redistricting, something the entire country has to go through following each census to be sure local and congressional districts are equally populated. However, an outshoot of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 allowed the creation of districts which could have irregular shapes in order to increase the percentages of minority voters and thereby, increase the number of minorities elected. You would think this was a good thing, but it turns out to have been a huge mistake.

Some time ago Republican schemers figured out that by concentrating , or "packing", heavily Democratic minority districts, they could seriously undermine the chances of a Democrat being elected in any non-minority district, which tend to be mostly Republican.

Example. In Gatorville, Democrats are a majority of the registered voters, but out of 19 council seats only three are Democrat. All of them minorities. The reason being that during the last Redistricting the Republican dominated statehouse gerrymandered the voting districts so that nearly all blacks are concentrated into three districts. Had those districts been drawn properly, there would have been several with a majority of blacks, some with a mixed distribution, and some with a majority of whites. Had that been the case, those districts with a majority of blacks would have quite probably elected a black Democrat as their council representative. Those that were mixed districts would quite possibly have elected some white Democrats as their city councilperson, and the Republicans would have carried the all white districts.

The result of packing minority Democratic voters into three districts is that almost no Democrat, white or black, has a chance of being elected in a non-minority district. Multiply this by state and national congressional districts and you begin to get the picture.

And here's another complication. Most voters don't vote in primary elections and those that do tend to be the most ideologically committed. The result is, those who are elected in the primaries tend to be those candidates who appeal to the extremes. People who are committed to "My way or no way." Multiply that times state and national elections and you begin to get the bigger picture.

And if that's not enough, far and away the profession most represented in the halls of our statehouses and in Congress is the legal profession. I read where 60% of the Congress and 40% of the Senate are lawyers. By years of schooling, and probably by aptitude as well, these people have been trained to win at any cost. In the courtroom right or wrong doesn't matter, it's the debate that counts. Your job is to win for your client. These boneheads carry this same intractableness into their congressional debates while pretending to do what's "best" for the people. Right.

So not only are our elected "representatives" egotistical ideologues, but never-give-an-inch lawyers to boot.

But wait, there's more. Finally, if all of the above isn't enough for you to agree that the founding fathers screwed up, there's one final blow to the empire. The great majority of those who make up our elected representatives on both the state and national levels are millionaires, people who not only have no clue what it's like to be an average citizen struggling to smile each day, but who flat couldn't care less.

Here's something to make you smile.

There I was, having fun in the sun when...

2011-08-07T19:03:00.000-04:00

Sometimes a picture really is worth a thousand words

2011-08-05T15:54:00.002-04:00

Roadside sign in Duval County, Florida, a county that ranks next to last in the quality of public education in a state that ranks 48th nationally in per-student expenditure. But we are not to worry, Gov. Skinhead Scott is going to take care of it by cutting millions from the education budget. We'll soon have the distinction of being last.

Hope this guy cooks better than he can spell.

Wanted, Full-Body Condom

2011-08-02T14:29:00.002-04:00

The Political Flow Chart

From the top, everyone below is a shithead.
From the bottom everyone above is an asshole.
Truth be told, they are probably both right,
however
there is a layer missing here.
The very bottom layer isn't represented.
You know, those who don't get shit on at all because
they are protected
by a giant taxpayer-funded full-body condom.
(You don't have to watch the whole thing to get the idea.)

I can't decide what is more upsetting,
that the taxpayers are giving this guy
$500 a month to blow
or wasting $22,000 a year on a scholarship
which could be going to someone who deserves it.
This kind of crap is why the Tea Party exists.

How Anal Can It Get? Or, A Married Man's Lament

2011-07-29T21:36:00.003-04:00

This past week, my wife had to take a trip down south to help out a friend. The night before her departure she approached me and said, "I have a favor to ask." I raised an eyebrow. She continued, "Can I take your car? I just discovered that my headlights aren't working."

I, of course, replied (while cringing inside), "Sure." And, being a manly-man, said, "Don't worry Honey Bunny, I'll fix it while you're gone."

Now her car is a semi-luxury car, a tricked-out Nissan Altima with every upgrade available at the time. A really fine, well made car that's held up remarkably well under her abuse.

Lest you think I'm being cruel, let me put it in perspective. First, she averages about 30,000 miles a year and has done so every year for the five years she's owned the car. Once, when my buddy Punch was visiting, we happened to follow her out of the neighborhood up to the crossroads where, in the distance, we could see her make a right turn. We pulled up to the light, which was red, and waited. Just as the light turned green, my wife comes flying through the intersection going in the opposite direction. Punch calmly observed, "That might account for how she puts so many miles on the car." And I thought, not to mention the repair bills.

The car has been in the body shop at least four times that I can remember, once for a caved-in door, once for a caved-in front bumper, once for something I can't remember, and the last time, because she tore one of the outside mirrors off against the house while backing out of the carport. She claimed she was trying to avoid one of the dogs. She once hit something so hard it broke all three motor mounts and cracked a wheel bearing. That little caper cost $2,500! See what I mean?

Anyway, I'm driving her car and I'm stopped at a light when I notice, located on the driver's side arm rest between the mirror adjustment knob and the power window switch, there is a patch of what feels like braille.

OK, I know you've been here before. Kinda like braille at drive-up ATMs right? But you can almost understand the drive-up ATMs. The same machine goes everywhere, walk-up or drive-up, so in order to save money... bla, bla. But braille inside of a fricking car?!!! In the driver's seat! How damned anal-retentive can you get?

I can't help but wonder what it says. You are on the wrong side dumb-ass, get the fuck out! Or maybe, You're in for the ride of your life. Lower the windows so you won't miss anything.

But you haven't heard the worst yet. The anal-retentive worst, that is.

I am taking the car to the body shop to change the headlights because, after a couple of hours of trying to figure it out, I have concluded that there is no way to get to the damned bulbs short of removing the entire headlight assembly and I can't see anyway to do that short of disassembling the entire front end of the car. So, I am taking the car to our favorite body shop as I figure they know more about these things than the local grease monkeys who do our regular mechanical repairs, and it turned out I was right.

After carefully looking it over and checking all of the fuses and relays, Ron, the body shop guy says, "The only way to get those out is to drop the front end. What a pain in the ass."

After consulting his book, Ron concludes it will be about $200 in labor alone. After calling the local parts store it turns out that the high-tech, deluxe, Xenon bulbs will cost one-hundred-five dollars each! That's right. $105 EACH! Ron advises to replace all of the bulbs in the assembly while we've got it apart, which makes sense, and by the time it's all said and done, the cost to replace six frigging light bulbs is $475! And that's about a $150 savings over taking it to the dealership where the labor alone would have been $300.

Ron is just about as pissed as I am. He says that almost all of the new car manufacturers deliberately build in expensive complications like this so that you have to take the car back to the dealership for repair. He also said that with each new model special tools are required for key, critical repairs. I know this to be true both from my own experience and from a friend who is a Snap-On tools distributor. He says that Snap-On pays the manufacturers to get specialty tool designs and even then, they don't get them all.

It's like the phamaceutical industry and their patents. Vital drugs cost us 4 times what it cost to get the same identical drug from Canada.

I am more and more beginning to feel like I'm in a huge school of fish desperately darting here and there trying to avoid the sharks who swarm around us devouring mouthfulls of flesh with each pass.