Every neighborhood has it own and special inhabitant who specializes in peeking out their window and attacking you with trivial and mundane conversation at the most inopportune moments. I think there must be a local, state, or federal mandate that insures there is a "Gladys Kravitz" per number of households and within a proximity of service.
If you are too young or don't remember the original "Bewitched" series with Elizabeth Montgomery, Gladys was the old biddy nosy neighbor to end all nosy neighbors. You see this type of character in almost all Hollywood movies and television series. During casting calls for these films, the category of "Old Biddy Nosey Neighbor" must draw a line of wonderful character actors and actresses. One comes to mind, Kathleen Freeman, who has been in so many movies and shows typecast as this personality, she must; as Liberace stated: "Laugh all the way to the bank."
My "Gladys Kravitz" lives across the street and a couple of houses down. Her front and kitchen bay window give her an unrestricted view of my front door, lawn, and mailbox. Like all good surveillance personnel, she must keep a diary of every one's comings, goings, and daily routines.
Her day, kicks into high gear, when she sees the postman has finished his daily stuffing of our boxes with 80% sales materials, 15% charity brochures asking for money, 4% bills, and 1% mail you really wanted/needed & expected to receive last month, but somehow it just arrived in a very crumpled and muddy state of disarray.
My mailbox journey from the front door takes 15 seconds. I, then spend another 5 or 10 seconds, insuring all the mail is mine, before initiating the return trip of 15 seconds back to safety of my house. Less than a minute, but several times a week, as I turn to return, there's my Gladys. Her staccato monologue had started half way across the street and completely out of my range of hearing. How this elderly and allegedly feeble woman can cross that distance in such short time; would be the envy of every teenage Sonic delivery girl on roller skates.
Yesterday, I inadvertently got my revenge. Working at home, doing research for clients and writing, I, like all virtual office (work at home) individuals, tend to be lax in my dress code. Let's be honest, I work a lot of mornings in my PJ's and if I don't have to leave the house, I shower and shave (if I shave) later in the day or before bed. Lazy, maybe, but it sure beats last years $100 per month dry cleaning bill.
I digress. It was mid morning and I was still dressed in my PJ's. It was time for the dog's routine of anointing my wife's Petunia bed. I anticipate from this natural fertilization, these small flowers should grow to the size of jumbo elephant ear plants. Suddenly, there was Gladys. The dog, frightened, jumped and barked, before attempting to run for the front door. We were trapped.
Evidently today's subject was health and surgeries. As she prattled on, the dog gave me the look of curiosity, by turning his head and telepathically begging to escape. I was obliged to smile, nod, and give the obligatory: "Wow that sounds awful, I'm glad you are feeling better." By this time the dog is asleep at my feet. The monologue turned to her latest surgery and I sternly but politely declined to examine her scar.
Gladys then said: "You know your pajamas are on backward."
No, I did not realize I had made such a faux pas; but the gauntlet had been thrown down, so I had to respond.
"Of course, Gladys, I'm sure in this day and age of water conservation and cut backs to every one's budget, you would agree, it's imperative we save anywhere we can." "So, I wear my PJ's correctly for a week or so, then backward for a week or so, then inside out correctly, for a week or so, then inside out and backward for a week or so." "Just think of all the water, and money we save." "It also works great for underwear." "You and your husband should try it."
It worked. Gladys was speechless. Appalled but speechless. I started walking backwards toward the door. The dog must have thought it was game; as he was walking backwards on his leash. Gladys was still silent with her mouth agape as I left.
"Oh, one more thing you have to remember Gladys. When your pants are on backward you to walk and do everything in reverse." Hello" was the last word she heard from me as I closed the door.
The Moral to this story. If you think Reverse Mortgages are powerful, try wearing your pants backward to rid yourself of unwanted neighbors, relatives who have over stayed their welcome, or those pesky blind dates.
Hello
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
SKEWED THOUGHTS ON A STORMY AFTERNOON
|
Kay S. Hymowitz has
written a new anti-men book: Manning Up or How the rise of Women has turned
men into boys. She postulates that with the surge of women executives and
politicians, even combat warriors, that we men should just stay out of the
way and go play video games or discuss comic books. All I can say is:
"Thanks for all the hard work ladies, Pappy needs new hunting
boots"."
|
|
The greatest threat
to "Liberty and Free Speech" is political correctness."
|
.""
"The
Media reported this morning that medical research has discovered a
"talk" gene in the female brain, which seems to be missing from most male
brains. Women are reported to speak 20K words per day and men only 7K words per day. In men this
is called the "The Duke" syndrome.
John Wayne advised: "Say few words and mean what you say."
John Wayne advised: "Say few words and mean what you say."
"According to the
POTUS, many, many people will die and suffer from the "Sequester."
|
·
|
I was so naive in
High School that I would take a date to the drive-in movie and actually watch
the film"
|
|
President Obama is
to speak on the economy and the Sequestration this morning.
There is nothing worse than re-runs this early in the year. . . . |
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
PIGS ON A PLANE - NOT STARRING SAMUEL L. JACKSON
The FAA has recently approved the use and passage of "Service Animals" to accompany their owner/masters on commercial airlines. These approved "Service Animals include, dogs, pigs, ponies, and monkeys. They can be approved to fly as service companions, not only for physical afflictions, such as blindness, but also as "therapeutic" aids to deal with psychological issues. In their, the FAA's wisdom, snakes, other reptiles, rodents, spiders, and scorpions are not allowed to be considered "Service Animals," as the release of these animals would pose an unavoidable risk to the safety and health of passengers and crew.
JetBlue and US Airways have had experience with these new rules and the problems that may happen during a flight. This is the story of an ill fated flight from Washington DC to Seattle, Washington. The Saga of Flight 1313.
Ms. X bought a First Class ticket on Flight 1313. At that time, she advised the airlines, that she would be traveling with her well trained and certified, "Service Animal." She, Ms X described her "Service Animal," a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig named, "Cuddles", as her necessary "Therapeutic Companion". The pig, Ms. X stated was an experienced flier and weighed in at about 13 pounds.
On the day Flight 1313 was to take off, Ms. X and her companion were the last to arrive. Ms. X timed their arrival just as last call was tendered and the doors were being closed. All seemed well, with the exception of the fact that "Cuddles" weight, as provided by Ms. X was just a teeny bit off. It seems Cuddles weighed 300 pounds, not 13 pounds.
Flight 1313, now running late, decided to reconfigure the weight ratio and determined they still had enough fuel on board to make the flight. They departed. Upon lift off's rotation and climb out, Cuddles lost her balance and slid down the aisle, penning a hapless stewardess against the bulkhead wall.
Upon reaching altitude and leveling off, Cuddles was able to regain her footing and return to be with Ms. X in First Class. Cuddles was now calm and all hoped that Flight 1313 would continue without incident.
All went well, until the stewardesses began taking lunch orders. As usual there was a choice of salads or sandwiches. The man across the aisle from Ms. X without considering the consequences, ordered a 1/2 ham sandwich and a salad with extra bacon bits.
Cuddles, terrified of being lunch, panicked and broke free from the restraining arms of Ms. X. STAMPEDE Cuddles ran up and down the aisle frantically oinking and anointing the passengers with pig poop and other unpleasant bodily excretions. The three hundred pounder's running, jumping, and pounding was causing the plane to rock back and forth. SOMETHING HAD TO BE DONE.
To the rescue, came the Air Marshal, pistol drawn. Because of the pig's erratic movement, the Air Marshal, thought better of using his pistol and decided instead to use his electroshock Taser on this porcine adversary. The Marshal shot and the pig stopped for a moment, but then continued to attack. The Air Marshal upped the charge and Cuddles fell at his feet.
The odor of smoked ham wafted through the entire cabin. It entered the air system and was recirculated through the plane. It was intoxicating with it's delicious aroma, hypnotizing the senses of the passengers and crew. Their eyes glazed over, a rumbling of voices was heard to rise and fall. It had to happen it was inevitable. Ukulele music was heard. It started as a minor sound then grew and grew and grew - UNTIL
A SPONTANEOUS LUAU ENSUED. The stewardess, well trained for just such an occurrence, immediately began twirling and twirling until in a flash of light, their uniforms were transformed into Hula girl attire; complete with grass skirts and coconut bras.
Floral leis fell from the overheads, as the stewardesses tried desperately to lei all the passengers and give them the traditional Hawaiian Aloha kiss. Some passengers with children needed special attention to insure they leid their children first before leiing themselves.
Luckily, the pilot and co-pilot had on oxygen masks and were not affected by the aroma of the potential for pulled pork. Grasping the FAA guide book covering all emergency situations, the Co-pilot began leafing through its contents for the correct situational guidelines.
"Let's see" the Co-pilot mumbled as her perused the manual.
"Chapter one - Bomb Threats, Chapter two - Skyjacking, Chapter three - Drunks fighting, Chapter four, Alec Baldwin on board."
"Aha, here it is. Chapter five, Spontaneous Luaus" the Co-pilot was jubilant.
The manual stated the following procedures must be immediately initiated.
1. Make an emergency call to FAA using the code FIVE O as a reference
2. Immediately begin piping Don Ho's Tiny Bubbles and Elvis' Blue Hawaii through the plane's sound system
3. Replace all liquors and only serve Mai Tais. It is imperative you remember to raise the price of cocktails from the normal $4.00 per drink to the Honolulu price of $12.00 per Mai Tai.
4. Request rerouting to Honolulu. If fuel is an issue, demand rerouting to the nearest airport in a city with a Hawaiian name; such as Waikiki, Texas, Maui, Michigan, or Aloha, Alabama.
After closely following these procedures, I am happy to report the plane landed safely in Pearl Harbor, Pennsylvania. The stewardess/hula girls managed to keep all the frolicking passengers calm and happy; not to mention well fed and on a Mai Tai high.
There were very few injuries, during this Mai Tai melee. Mrs. Edna Craddick-Smyth, 88, of Mule Shoe, Texas, sprained her ankle when her walker slipped out from under her during the crew/passenger Limbo finals. One case of Poi poisoning was reported. All injured or those passengers unable to walk (a straight line) were taken by surf boards to awaiting ambulances/paddy wagons.
With the new ruling by the FAA, allowing pigs/ponies, etc to fly, this automatically reduces the number of seats for passengers; not only will an Air Marshal be on board, but also a Veterinarian, and a dog whisperer/lion tamer. Those with Service Animals will get priority for the coveted bulkhead seats
The TSA, after this ruling, is being phased out of their role to search all passengers at airport security entrances and is being replace by personnel from Barnum and Bailey.
This is essential no real change, just different clowns doing the "pat downs."
There have been protests to this ruling by anti-meat groups. To meet the needs of this group, Richard Branson is now introducing his newest airline venture, "Vegan Airlines." On Vegan you are allowed to bring your Service Veggie, such as Carrots, Zucchini, the Vixen of the garden, Kumquats or even nibble on Cauliflower ears. Virgin Airlines Olive Oil is available upon request.
So Bon Voyage on your next flight and don't be surprised to hear - "This is your Captain Arnold Ziffel and Co Pilot Rin Tin Tin, oinking and barking, a big Thank You for choosing AA - Animal Airlines
JetBlue and US Airways have had experience with these new rules and the problems that may happen during a flight. This is the story of an ill fated flight from Washington DC to Seattle, Washington. The Saga of Flight 1313.
Ms. X bought a First Class ticket on Flight 1313. At that time, she advised the airlines, that she would be traveling with her well trained and certified, "Service Animal." She, Ms X described her "Service Animal," a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig named, "Cuddles", as her necessary "Therapeutic Companion". The pig, Ms. X stated was an experienced flier and weighed in at about 13 pounds.
On the day Flight 1313 was to take off, Ms. X and her companion were the last to arrive. Ms. X timed their arrival just as last call was tendered and the doors were being closed. All seemed well, with the exception of the fact that "Cuddles" weight, as provided by Ms. X was just a teeny bit off. It seems Cuddles weighed 300 pounds, not 13 pounds.
Flight 1313, now running late, decided to reconfigure the weight ratio and determined they still had enough fuel on board to make the flight. They departed. Upon lift off's rotation and climb out, Cuddles lost her balance and slid down the aisle, penning a hapless stewardess against the bulkhead wall.
Upon reaching altitude and leveling off, Cuddles was able to regain her footing and return to be with Ms. X in First Class. Cuddles was now calm and all hoped that Flight 1313 would continue without incident.
All went well, until the stewardesses began taking lunch orders. As usual there was a choice of salads or sandwiches. The man across the aisle from Ms. X without considering the consequences, ordered a 1/2 ham sandwich and a salad with extra bacon bits.
Cuddles, terrified of being lunch, panicked and broke free from the restraining arms of Ms. X. STAMPEDE Cuddles ran up and down the aisle frantically oinking and anointing the passengers with pig poop and other unpleasant bodily excretions. The three hundred pounder's running, jumping, and pounding was causing the plane to rock back and forth. SOMETHING HAD TO BE DONE.
To the rescue, came the Air Marshal, pistol drawn. Because of the pig's erratic movement, the Air Marshal, thought better of using his pistol and decided instead to use his electroshock Taser on this porcine adversary. The Marshal shot and the pig stopped for a moment, but then continued to attack. The Air Marshal upped the charge and Cuddles fell at his feet.
The odor of smoked ham wafted through the entire cabin. It entered the air system and was recirculated through the plane. It was intoxicating with it's delicious aroma, hypnotizing the senses of the passengers and crew. Their eyes glazed over, a rumbling of voices was heard to rise and fall. It had to happen it was inevitable. Ukulele music was heard. It started as a minor sound then grew and grew and grew - UNTIL
A SPONTANEOUS LUAU ENSUED. The stewardess, well trained for just such an occurrence, immediately began twirling and twirling until in a flash of light, their uniforms were transformed into Hula girl attire; complete with grass skirts and coconut bras.
Floral leis fell from the overheads, as the stewardesses tried desperately to lei all the passengers and give them the traditional Hawaiian Aloha kiss. Some passengers with children needed special attention to insure they leid their children first before leiing themselves.
Luckily, the pilot and co-pilot had on oxygen masks and were not affected by the aroma of the potential for pulled pork. Grasping the FAA guide book covering all emergency situations, the Co-pilot began leafing through its contents for the correct situational guidelines.
"Let's see" the Co-pilot mumbled as her perused the manual.
"Chapter one - Bomb Threats, Chapter two - Skyjacking, Chapter three - Drunks fighting, Chapter four, Alec Baldwin on board."
"Aha, here it is. Chapter five, Spontaneous Luaus" the Co-pilot was jubilant.
The manual stated the following procedures must be immediately initiated.
1. Make an emergency call to FAA using the code FIVE O as a reference
2. Immediately begin piping Don Ho's Tiny Bubbles and Elvis' Blue Hawaii through the plane's sound system
3. Replace all liquors and only serve Mai Tais. It is imperative you remember to raise the price of cocktails from the normal $4.00 per drink to the Honolulu price of $12.00 per Mai Tai.
4. Request rerouting to Honolulu. If fuel is an issue, demand rerouting to the nearest airport in a city with a Hawaiian name; such as Waikiki, Texas, Maui, Michigan, or Aloha, Alabama.
After closely following these procedures, I am happy to report the plane landed safely in Pearl Harbor, Pennsylvania. The stewardess/hula girls managed to keep all the frolicking passengers calm and happy; not to mention well fed and on a Mai Tai high.
There were very few injuries, during this Mai Tai melee. Mrs. Edna Craddick-Smyth, 88, of Mule Shoe, Texas, sprained her ankle when her walker slipped out from under her during the crew/passenger Limbo finals. One case of Poi poisoning was reported. All injured or those passengers unable to walk (a straight line) were taken by surf boards to awaiting ambulances/paddy wagons.
With the new ruling by the FAA, allowing pigs/ponies, etc to fly, this automatically reduces the number of seats for passengers; not only will an Air Marshal be on board, but also a Veterinarian, and a dog whisperer/lion tamer. Those with Service Animals will get priority for the coveted bulkhead seats
The TSA, after this ruling, is being phased out of their role to search all passengers at airport security entrances and is being replace by personnel from Barnum and Bailey.
This is essential no real change, just different clowns doing the "pat downs."
There have been protests to this ruling by anti-meat groups. To meet the needs of this group, Richard Branson is now introducing his newest airline venture, "Vegan Airlines." On Vegan you are allowed to bring your Service Veggie, such as Carrots, Zucchini, the Vixen of the garden, Kumquats or even nibble on Cauliflower ears. Virgin Airlines Olive Oil is available upon request.
So Bon Voyage on your next flight and don't be surprised to hear - "This is your Captain Arnold Ziffel and Co Pilot Rin Tin Tin, oinking and barking, a big Thank You for choosing AA - Animal Airlines
Friday, December 7, 2012
CONCEAL OR OPEN CARRY - A GENTLEMAN'S DELIMMA
Recently, there has been extensive discussion on the pros and cons of "Concealed Carry and Open Carry" of handguns in Texas. There are over 400,000 concealed handgun permits currently in Texas; many of the licensees are women.
Rudyard Kipling's poem, "The Female of the Species" contains the line, "The Female of the Species must be deadlier than the Male." The Theme song from the movie "The Silencers" expounds the following image of the female of the species with these lyrics, from Femme Fatale, Cyd Charisse;"Don't need a gun, don't use a knife, my equipment is much more deadly, son."
I watch people. My years as an investigator, have taught me to always observe my surroundings. Yesterday, I ate lunch at "The Sweet Tomato" in Addison, Texas. This is an all you can eat, salad, soups, pasta, pizza, baked potato, & dessert bar. A fat boy with a big appetite's Valhalla.
As I ate, I was approached by an older woman, who stroked my hair, as she complimented me on the waves and its white sheen. A few minutes later, a younger woman approached and said I have "vivid blue eyes". Thanks to my Mother and Pappy for these genetic gifts.
Looking around, I saw two women, one seated with a man in the booth to my right and another seated directly in front of me at nearby table. Both of these women, totally different in ages and aplomb were openly carrying and not concealing their female
"Weapons of Master Destruction."
I began to wonder, if I approached either or both of these women to compliment them on these attributes or at the very least "Openly Carried" for public viewing, and complimented (no stroking), would they react with a humble "Thank You", as I did with my two visitors or call the manager and cops to have me hauled off as a pervert?
The lady sitting across from me, was very skittish. She had a tense and frightened look on her face. Her rather bugish eyes kept bouncing from table to table, and side to side. She reminded me of a fawn at a watering hole in constant fear of approaching predators. With these characteristics, you would think she would be dressed in a "Concealed" prudish manner. NOPE. She had her blouse unbuttoned to a level, where her cleavage might as well have been accentuated with a neon sign; stating "Grand Opening".
In the booth, next to me, the lady was laughing and obviously a very extroverted individual. She was tall and thin, with long blond hair. Although she did not have an exceptionally pretty face, she was obviously compensating by wearing blue jeans that had to have been "sprayed on". Talk about "printing" (showing you handgun under a tight shirt), she was proud of her long legs and area where the person meets the saddle.
Princess Derriere had a great appetite and she paraded several times back and forth to the soup and pasta bars. The motion resembled two puppies fighting under a blanket.
Raymond Chandler's quote came to mind. "She was a woman. A woman the Pope would throw a rock through a stained glass window, just watch her walk away."
So there you have the dilemma of an older white haired gentleman, raised to be courteous and complimentary whenever possible. The ladies can stroke my hair or compliment my blue eyes, but if I, with simple mannerly intent, mention "Open Carried" cleavage or the "Concealed but Printed Carried" rumble seat.
I would be "Persona non Grata" from my favorite restaurant & hospitalized if my wife found out.
THE MORAL OF THE STORY:
The female of the species don't need no stupid badges or permits, they are born with controlling equipment which will for eternity make them; "Deadlier than the Male."
Rudyard Kipling's poem, "The Female of the Species" contains the line, "The Female of the Species must be deadlier than the Male." The Theme song from the movie "The Silencers" expounds the following image of the female of the species with these lyrics, from Femme Fatale, Cyd Charisse;"Don't need a gun, don't use a knife, my equipment is much more deadly, son."
I watch people. My years as an investigator, have taught me to always observe my surroundings. Yesterday, I ate lunch at "The Sweet Tomato" in Addison, Texas. This is an all you can eat, salad, soups, pasta, pizza, baked potato, & dessert bar. A fat boy with a big appetite's Valhalla.
As I ate, I was approached by an older woman, who stroked my hair, as she complimented me on the waves and its white sheen. A few minutes later, a younger woman approached and said I have "vivid blue eyes". Thanks to my Mother and Pappy for these genetic gifts.
Looking around, I saw two women, one seated with a man in the booth to my right and another seated directly in front of me at nearby table. Both of these women, totally different in ages and aplomb were openly carrying and not concealing their female
"Weapons of Master Destruction."
I began to wonder, if I approached either or both of these women to compliment them on these attributes or at the very least "Openly Carried" for public viewing, and complimented (no stroking), would they react with a humble "Thank You", as I did with my two visitors or call the manager and cops to have me hauled off as a pervert?
The lady sitting across from me, was very skittish. She had a tense and frightened look on her face. Her rather bugish eyes kept bouncing from table to table, and side to side. She reminded me of a fawn at a watering hole in constant fear of approaching predators. With these characteristics, you would think she would be dressed in a "Concealed" prudish manner. NOPE. She had her blouse unbuttoned to a level, where her cleavage might as well have been accentuated with a neon sign; stating "Grand Opening".
In the booth, next to me, the lady was laughing and obviously a very extroverted individual. She was tall and thin, with long blond hair. Although she did not have an exceptionally pretty face, she was obviously compensating by wearing blue jeans that had to have been "sprayed on". Talk about "printing" (showing you handgun under a tight shirt), she was proud of her long legs and area where the person meets the saddle.
Princess Derriere had a great appetite and she paraded several times back and forth to the soup and pasta bars. The motion resembled two puppies fighting under a blanket.
Raymond Chandler's quote came to mind. "She was a woman. A woman the Pope would throw a rock through a stained glass window, just watch her walk away."
So there you have the dilemma of an older white haired gentleman, raised to be courteous and complimentary whenever possible. The ladies can stroke my hair or compliment my blue eyes, but if I, with simple mannerly intent, mention "Open Carried" cleavage or the "Concealed but Printed Carried" rumble seat.
I would be "Persona non Grata" from my favorite restaurant & hospitalized if my wife found out.
THE MORAL OF THE STORY:
The female of the species don't need no stupid badges or permits, they are born with controlling equipment which will for eternity make them; "Deadlier than the Male."
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
TO CONCEAL OR NOT TO CONCEAL, THAT IS THE QUESTION
Recently, I was asked to appear on a local Dallas talk/news television show to discuss the possibility of a pending "Open Carry" law, permitting licensed individuals to openly strap a handgun on their person and merrily walk among the populace.
Oklahoma, among other states, such as Arizona, have already enacted these statutes.
One of the arguments, in the Arizona legislative discussion, was that had this act been in existence, it might have acted as a deterrent and prevented the Gifford shooting, plus save other lives.
The major problem I see with this scenario is, if it did not deter the perpetrator, the ensuing volley of bullets would cause even more collateral injuries/fatalities. Statistically, police officers (allegedly well trained in the use and proficiency of firearms) when under the stress of a gun battle only hit the target one out of ten shots.
The other nine rounds, and the rounds being fired at the police are going into/through cars, buildings, bystanders, etc.
Currently in Texas it is permissible to obtain a Concealed Handgun License. I have carried these credentials and a concealed weapon for over ten years. I AM DEFINITELY NOT ANTI-GUN. I am an advocate of a system of continuing education and proof of proficiency on at least an annual basis. Too many people, who have never owned a handgun or fired one, suddenly qualify to carry either concealed or open. Often this gives the plebe licensee a false sense of bravado or a crutch to overcome real or perceived panic.
In high school, during driver's education, we were shown movies with graphic real or reenactments of automobile accidents. This same system of graphic education should be made a part of the curriculum in teaching handgun safety or conducting Open or Concealed classes. Gun shot wounds are gruesome and even minor wounds can be serious both physically and mentally. As much I enjoy action TV and Cinema programs, the rampant shooting and heroic immediate bounce back from wounds, can be a dangerous example for new license holders.
Open Carry is coming to Texas, most likely in this legislative session. I AM IN FAVOR OF OPEN/CONCEALED CARRY. As a seasoned Concealed Carry veteran, I will continue to carry concealed, but the ability to also be grandfathered in for Open Carry would be very convenient.
In concealed carry, I must at all times insure my weapon (whether loaded or unloaded)
is hidden from the public. A licensee can be punished for an "inadvertent" exposure of the weapon. The wind blows just a wee bit in Texas and it is not unusual for a sport coat to blow open; a wardrobe malfunction with more consequences than Janet Jackson's errant nipple. In Texas summers, to avoid sweat and wrinkles, I normally hang my coat in the back seat. With Concealed Carry, I must put the coat back on to hide my weapon before exiting the car. With Open Carry, if I need to stop for gasoline or a coke, I could legally run my errand with the pistol exposed.
There are many questions to be answered. Will this deter crime or increase it. How will the police have to react and interact with 911 calls concerning a man/woman wearing a pistol at Walmart.
So far, in Oklahoma, (Open Carry went into effect November 1, 2012), the police report very few sightings of open carried handguns and the increase in 911 calls has only jumped slightly.
It is a wait and see time. So far, OKC nor Tulsa has not turned in to Tombstone,
Arizona. As far as Texas goes. My best advice is "keep your powder dry and your coat buttoned".
Oklahoma, among other states, such as Arizona, have already enacted these statutes.
One of the arguments, in the Arizona legislative discussion, was that had this act been in existence, it might have acted as a deterrent and prevented the Gifford shooting, plus save other lives.
The major problem I see with this scenario is, if it did not deter the perpetrator, the ensuing volley of bullets would cause even more collateral injuries/fatalities. Statistically, police officers (allegedly well trained in the use and proficiency of firearms) when under the stress of a gun battle only hit the target one out of ten shots.
The other nine rounds, and the rounds being fired at the police are going into/through cars, buildings, bystanders, etc.
Currently in Texas it is permissible to obtain a Concealed Handgun License. I have carried these credentials and a concealed weapon for over ten years. I AM DEFINITELY NOT ANTI-GUN. I am an advocate of a system of continuing education and proof of proficiency on at least an annual basis. Too many people, who have never owned a handgun or fired one, suddenly qualify to carry either concealed or open. Often this gives the plebe licensee a false sense of bravado or a crutch to overcome real or perceived panic.
In high school, during driver's education, we were shown movies with graphic real or reenactments of automobile accidents. This same system of graphic education should be made a part of the curriculum in teaching handgun safety or conducting Open or Concealed classes. Gun shot wounds are gruesome and even minor wounds can be serious both physically and mentally. As much I enjoy action TV and Cinema programs, the rampant shooting and heroic immediate bounce back from wounds, can be a dangerous example for new license holders.
Open Carry is coming to Texas, most likely in this legislative session. I AM IN FAVOR OF OPEN/CONCEALED CARRY. As a seasoned Concealed Carry veteran, I will continue to carry concealed, but the ability to also be grandfathered in for Open Carry would be very convenient.
In concealed carry, I must at all times insure my weapon (whether loaded or unloaded)
is hidden from the public. A licensee can be punished for an "inadvertent" exposure of the weapon. The wind blows just a wee bit in Texas and it is not unusual for a sport coat to blow open; a wardrobe malfunction with more consequences than Janet Jackson's errant nipple. In Texas summers, to avoid sweat and wrinkles, I normally hang my coat in the back seat. With Concealed Carry, I must put the coat back on to hide my weapon before exiting the car. With Open Carry, if I need to stop for gasoline or a coke, I could legally run my errand with the pistol exposed.
There are many questions to be answered. Will this deter crime or increase it. How will the police have to react and interact with 911 calls concerning a man/woman wearing a pistol at Walmart.
So far, in Oklahoma, (Open Carry went into effect November 1, 2012), the police report very few sightings of open carried handguns and the increase in 911 calls has only jumped slightly.
It is a wait and see time. So far, OKC nor Tulsa has not turned in to Tombstone,
Arizona. As far as Texas goes. My best advice is "keep your powder dry and your coat buttoned".
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Foibles by Arthur: WAS THAT THUNDER???
Foibles by Arthur: WAS THAT THUNDER???: Whether you are listening to the radio or watching television, it is apparent, we can never get away from the plethora of advertisements on ...
Foibles by Arthur: HAVE INSOMNIA - WILL TRAVEL
Foibles by Arthur: HAVE INSOMNIA - WILL TRAVEL: Once upon a midnight weary, while I ponder the week with wonder, I found myself unable to shut off my brain for a few hours of time travelin...
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Foibles by Arthur: HAVE INSOMNIA - WILL TRAVEL
Foibles by Arthur: HAVE INSOMNIA - WILL TRAVEL: Once upon a midnight weary, while I ponder the week with wonder, I found myself unable to shut off my brain for a few hours of time travelin...
Saturday, September 8, 2012
HAVE INSOMNIA - WILL TRAVEL
Once upon a midnight weary, while I ponder the week with wonder, I found myself unable to shut off my brain for a few hours of time traveling back to the simpler days of youth. Sleep, in the bed, was just not the order of the night, so, I arose and instead of resorting to a sleeping "potion"; I chose the most effective of sleeping "positions."
I have discovered, after years of research, that by combining one part living room recliner and one part late, late night television, no human being can remain conscience. With today's numerous cable channels, the strength and depth of your journey to REM sleep can be controlled by content. The Science Channel, on this toss and turn Tuesday night, was showing a debate between two physicist over the credibility of the String Theory versus the Wave Theory. While on USA a marathon of "The Golden Girls" would have proven to be ten times more powerful than Ambien. Turner Movie Classics featured the 1,000,000,000th airing of "The Sons of Katie Elder" and TNT chose to show the entire series of "Hogan Heroes" reruns from pilot through the final episode.
It was a difficult choice, which media insomnia curative path to dreamland to explore, then my mind began to wander back to those glorious days of yesteryear, when late night television choices were sparse and all ended around midnight or 1:00 AM with a National Anthem sign off. Are you willing to to confess that you are old enough to remember watching the last dot of light from the extinguished B&W TV as it faded to oblivion?
In the late 60's, my favorite late night fare, only aired on Friday or Saturday. It was "Shock Theater" and was hosted by a cape clad, pale,dark eyed, and goateed "Count Gregor". The Count's banter was just perfect for a pre-teen in the throws of puberty. He was just eerie enough and included just enough innuendos to provide a slightly saucy edge to the scantily clad (though well within censorship rules) damsels in distress. Occasionally, with the miracle of "special effects" the Count would be magically superimposed into the B&W action of the film.
One of my favorite B&W films in his repertoire was "Attack of the Fifty (50) Foot Woman." A classic tale of an errant husband and his vamping, most unpleasant, but attractive wife. The wife, on one her drunken searches for the runaway mate, finds what appears to be a giant glowing soap bubble blocking the road. I don't know how you would react to this occurrence, but personally, I would reverse the car, and find a place to sober up, before reporting this to the Sheriff.
This is after all, a B&W horror movie where the heroines are hired to face all dangers clad only in sheer semi see through night gowns. They are cast for their ability scream or faint on cue, not to exhibit any common sense.
Our heroine leaves the car and is compelled to walk up and touch the glowing giant soap bubble.
She is, of course, greeted by eerie swishing sound effects and a really skinny undocumented alien/E.T dressed from head to toe in silver Spandex.
Guess what?? She faints. After the interruption of a commercial by Count G, the movie is rejoined with the Sheriff describing how he found her passed out on her front lawn, NAKED. Okay, so how did the "Bubble Baddies (in those days they were always from Mars), know where she lived? Should this movie have been titled: "Identity Thieves from Mars?"
The doctor arrives and for some unknown reason, he sees nothing abnormal about the fact his nurse has dressed the patient in a low cut flimsy bra top and what appears to be hot pants. Even at my young age, I found this outfit to be rather strange for medical recovery garb. The doctor leaves with the obligatory, "She needs lots of rest."
After being glowed, probed, or whatever happened(the damn censors would not let us see)(A pox on all censors), the vampy mean temper wife, begins to grow and grow and grow. She breaks through the roof of her home and starts yelling and pursuing her bad hubby and his ingenue at a local bar.
The amazing and rather disappointing part of this process of growth is that her "bikini top and hot pants" have also grown and still fit her. No "Spoiler Alert" here, I would not want to cheat you out of the electrifying ending of this Shakespearean epistle or the 60's special effect of a giant rubber hand being hydraulically pulled in and out of the bar scene.
I am sure you can find the film on Hulu or Google. Make sure it is the B&W original,not the remake.
Although, for sleeping purposes, the remake is a perfect choice.
DISCLAIMER: THIS FORM OF SLEEPING AID CAN BE ADDICTIVE. WATCHING ANY OF THE INFOMERCIAL CHANNELS AND DRINKING IS NOT RECOMMENDED. CREDIT CARD CHARGING IN BED CAN BE DANGEROUS.
I have discovered, after years of research, that by combining one part living room recliner and one part late, late night television, no human being can remain conscience. With today's numerous cable channels, the strength and depth of your journey to REM sleep can be controlled by content. The Science Channel, on this toss and turn Tuesday night, was showing a debate between two physicist over the credibility of the String Theory versus the Wave Theory. While on USA a marathon of "The Golden Girls" would have proven to be ten times more powerful than Ambien. Turner Movie Classics featured the 1,000,000,000th airing of "The Sons of Katie Elder" and TNT chose to show the entire series of "Hogan Heroes" reruns from pilot through the final episode.
It was a difficult choice, which media insomnia curative path to dreamland to explore, then my mind began to wander back to those glorious days of yesteryear, when late night television choices were sparse and all ended around midnight or 1:00 AM with a National Anthem sign off. Are you willing to to confess that you are old enough to remember watching the last dot of light from the extinguished B&W TV as it faded to oblivion?
In the late 60's, my favorite late night fare, only aired on Friday or Saturday. It was "Shock Theater" and was hosted by a cape clad, pale,dark eyed, and goateed "Count Gregor". The Count's banter was just perfect for a pre-teen in the throws of puberty. He was just eerie enough and included just enough innuendos to provide a slightly saucy edge to the scantily clad (though well within censorship rules) damsels in distress. Occasionally, with the miracle of "special effects" the Count would be magically superimposed into the B&W action of the film.
One of my favorite B&W films in his repertoire was "Attack of the Fifty (50) Foot Woman." A classic tale of an errant husband and his vamping, most unpleasant, but attractive wife. The wife, on one her drunken searches for the runaway mate, finds what appears to be a giant glowing soap bubble blocking the road. I don't know how you would react to this occurrence, but personally, I would reverse the car, and find a place to sober up, before reporting this to the Sheriff.
This is after all, a B&W horror movie where the heroines are hired to face all dangers clad only in sheer semi see through night gowns. They are cast for their ability scream or faint on cue, not to exhibit any common sense.
Our heroine leaves the car and is compelled to walk up and touch the glowing giant soap bubble.
She is, of course, greeted by eerie swishing sound effects and a really skinny undocumented alien/E.T dressed from head to toe in silver Spandex.
Guess what?? She faints. After the interruption of a commercial by Count G, the movie is rejoined with the Sheriff describing how he found her passed out on her front lawn, NAKED. Okay, so how did the "Bubble Baddies (in those days they were always from Mars), know where she lived? Should this movie have been titled: "Identity Thieves from Mars?"
The doctor arrives and for some unknown reason, he sees nothing abnormal about the fact his nurse has dressed the patient in a low cut flimsy bra top and what appears to be hot pants. Even at my young age, I found this outfit to be rather strange for medical recovery garb. The doctor leaves with the obligatory, "She needs lots of rest."
After being glowed, probed, or whatever happened(the damn censors would not let us see)(A pox on all censors), the vampy mean temper wife, begins to grow and grow and grow. She breaks through the roof of her home and starts yelling and pursuing her bad hubby and his ingenue at a local bar.
The amazing and rather disappointing part of this process of growth is that her "bikini top and hot pants" have also grown and still fit her. No "Spoiler Alert" here, I would not want to cheat you out of the electrifying ending of this Shakespearean epistle or the 60's special effect of a giant rubber hand being hydraulically pulled in and out of the bar scene.
I am sure you can find the film on Hulu or Google. Make sure it is the B&W original,not the remake.
Although, for sleeping purposes, the remake is a perfect choice.
DISCLAIMER: THIS FORM OF SLEEPING AID CAN BE ADDICTIVE. WATCHING ANY OF THE INFOMERCIAL CHANNELS AND DRINKING IS NOT RECOMMENDED. CREDIT CARD CHARGING IN BED CAN BE DANGEROUS.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
ANYONE GOT A SPARE ARK? A BLOG IN 3 ACTS
ACT 1
All my life, I have watched various newscasts showing some "Blithering Idiot" try to drive through deep rapidly flowing flood waters; only to need to be rescued by brave firemen or policemen. Well, now, when you look in your Funk & Wagnall's dictionary under "Blithering Idiots" you will see my smiling face.
My grandson, Ethan, had been spending two weeks with Pauline and I in Big D. He was scheduled to fly via Southwest Airlines back to Austin at 5 pm last Saturday. There was no doubt that Ethan had had a good time using and abusing the patience and soft touch of Pappy and Nana P (our pseudonyms assigned to us by the children and grandchildren). However, the fourteenth day,
the appointed day, for Ethan to return to the loving bosom of his Mother, Father, Dog, and friends, the "homesick hormone" was in full affect.
From his rising on that fateful Saturday morning, early by the way, he immediately began asking what time his flight was and although he can easily read a clock, continuously asked for the time.
To add insult to injury, the normal blazing heat of August in Dallas has metamorphosed into fall thunderstorms. Not only had we had a severe thunder, lightening, hail, and deluge of rain the night before, the forecast was ominously reporting severe storms for later Saturday evening.
Homesick or not, all the parents and grandparents unanimously decided they would not allow Ethan to fly unless the skies and storms in both Dallas and Austin had subsided. Thus began, a series of hourly phone calls between Pauline and our daughter Tracey, the airports, the national weather service, and if they could have found his cell number, Al Roker would also have been consulted.
By noon, the light rains had stopped in Dallas and were waning in Austin. The radars and weather specialists worldwide prognosticated that the rains would not affect these two cities again before 7 pm or so Saturday evening. WE DETERMINED, MUCH LIKE NASA, TO ATTEMPT LIFTOFF.
ACT 2
We turned into the entrance (Cedar Springs Road) of Love Field at 4 pm. It was overcast, but not raining. Luck seemed to be with us,as we actually found a parking space close to the terminal. Normally, the "maze" Love Field calls a parking garage, is a full and confusing beast, that I actually believe was designed by "terrorists" to undermine American morale.
I was almost becoming optimistic at the ease of the check-in process for Ethan. Security was not crowded and the gate was the second one passed security. The seats at the gate were mostly full. There were no three seats together. Ethan could care less, as he used this time to "milk" one last Cinnabon or Gelato out of Nana P. I glanced outside. It had begun a light sprinkling of rain.
Ethan is twelve and no longer considered by the airlines as an unaccompanied minor. His boarding pass number was B10. Therefore, he would have to wait to board until all of the 60 A boarding pass holders had grabbed the better seats. Nana P attempted to get him on earlier with the children, but the woman at the counter refused her request. Never send a woman to do a job best served by a charming, blue eyed elder gentlemen. As we waited Ethan was becoming more excited and nervous about the upcoming flight.
Randy, the Southwest ticket/boarding pass agent, approached the dias and began his monologue of, in his mind humorous and silly names for the waiting passengers. He was obviously thrilled with the sound his own voice and even happier to chat and pat the people as they passed his station. I assessed the situation and saw a perfect opportunity for Ethan to get on earlier than his boarding pass stated. There was a twenty something, very pretty brunette, wearing a TIGHT miniskirt and revealing low cut TIGHT white sweater in the A Line. I told Ethan to go get in line directly behind this woman, say hello, and tell her he is a bit nervous about his first flight alone.
"What about the man at the door?" Ethan asked. "Believe me Ethan, Randy will never see or pay any attention to you." I responded. "Why, not, Pappy." Ethan's inquisitive young curiosity had been peaked. "Remember your Raymond Chandler, Ethan. "She was a woman. A woman the Pope would throw a brick through a stained glass window just to watch her walk away." Nana P has a wicked right cross and the punch landed squarely in my upper right arm. I knew better than to look at her, but I could feel the laser death rays emanating from her eyes burning a hole through the back of my head.
Ethan joined the lady in line, spoke to her and enjoyed a hug and smile for his efforts. I can't swear to it, but I believe I heard Ethan's voice change and become much deeper directly after the hugging stopped. Nana P scolded me again. I think this one will leave a mark. Randy never saw Ethan, or the next five people boarding the plane.
Everyone was now aboard the "Big Blue Bird" The doors were closed and the ramp was about to be backed away from the plane. Two very intense lightening bolts lit the skies, the thunder rattled the glass of the terminal. ALL FLIGHTS WERE SHUT DOWN.
The rains came. It is now impossible to get Ethan off the airplane. It was a relatively heavy shower for about ten minutes. It seemed to dissipate and no more lightening or thunder was heard nor heavy winds detected. Southwest got the "Green" light to resume flights. The radar application on my Iphone, however, indicated more and severe weather headed our way from the West. It appeared to be on the other side of Fort Worth. It was currently about 40 to 50 miles to the west of Love Field. There should be "plenty of time" for Ethan's plane to takeoff and be out of harms way.
The plane did not move. It sat there, engines running, wing lights on; not moving, taunting our patience and nerves. Will it go in this "window of opportunity" or cancel; and release its cargo of weary nervous passengers? The rains had returned. Steady, gentle rain at first, but increasing in intensity with every minute we waited.
The Big Blue plane began to move and within five or so minutes it was taxing toward the runway. The rains still intensifying, but not yet torrential. Randy, our effervescent gate master/emcee, advised us that the plane was cleared for takeoff. Raucous Randy advised, Pauline and I, we could now feel comfortable about leaving the gate to go home.
ACT 3
Pauline was calling Tracey on my cell phone to inform her the plane had taken off about 30 minutes late. As they talked, I noticed Pauline had to raise her voice to speak over the noise of the now torrential rain hitting the metal roof of the terminal. The scene outside was impressive, the rain was coming down in a wave like motion. All the outside baggage, mechanical personnel we running for the cover of the terminal. We continued on to our car trepidatiously worried about Ethan, but resigned to the fact, there was nothing we could do. Hopefully, by now he was well above the storm clouds.
The parking garage was across a short street and was uncovered between the terminal and the garage.
Getting very wet, very quickly lay ahead of us. I grabbed Pauline by the arm and thrust us toward the garage. Surprisingly, we made it to the garage wet, but far from the soaking we expected. Retrieving the car, we discussed, taking our time going home due to the weather. Little did we know that our adventure was just beginning.
Exiting the garage, the rain required the full power and speed of the Infiniti's windshield wipers. The heavy drops were pounding on the roof making it almost impossible to talk. Cedar Springs Road exiting Love Field is a straight flat multi lane road. At the stop light, it intersects with Mockingbird which then leads east to the North Dallas Tollway. Normally, the fastest way back to our north Dallas abode.
Nearing the stop light, which was green, all traffic had stopped. A Lexus SUV was directly ahead of me. The other lanes were blocked by various cars and trucks. Behind us, the traffic attempting to leave the airport was stacking up blocking us all in.
Mockingbird was a torrid of rushing rising water. The higher pickups and some SUVs were attempting to navigate through this hazard, some made it. One, a Nissan MiniVan, died in the middle and began floating toward the ensuing traffic. A street lamp and high curb impaled the Nissan, stopping it before it hit any other vehicles.
The Lexus was just ahead of Pauline and I. The stop light weaved perilously in the high wind and rain. There were now waves of water gushing west to east on Mockingbird. Worse the water on Cedar Springs where we remained blocked in was rising quickly. I turned off the car, in an attempt to save the engine. I tested the electric windows to insure we could lower them in an emergency. Now all we could do is wait. Pauline is not a great swimmer and was nervously machine gunning questions about our situation. Questions, I had no answers to. All we could do is not panic and hope the water subsided.
I knew we were really in trouble when I saw "Annette" and "Frankie Avalon" wave as they surfed by.
The waves were getting higher, the water rising, then what we all determined to be a" sign from above," happened. A Corvette (a very low to the ground sports car) came down through the water of Mockingbird and turned into Cedar Springs. Leaving the rest of us questioning if a Corvette can make, surely we can.
The rain seem be stop. The Lexus moved forward and attempted to turn on Mockingbird, it lost control and managed to float into a Chevron station above the water line. It was our turn. I saw high ground directly in front of us and decided to try for the higher ground of Cedar Springs. As I accelerated, the rain returned with a vengeance. Slowly entering the water, the Infiniti was hit by two waves caused by other traffic and wind. The broadside wave started the rear of the car to drift, but I managed to straighten the car our just in time for the Cedar Springs Tsunami to hit the front of the Infiniti; lifting and dropping it or high ground. The engine died.
The theme song from Gilligan's Island began running through my head. The intrepid crew of the
SS Infiniti Minnow was now safe on high ground, stranded on an uncharted Isle near Mockingbird and Cedar Springs. Pauline and I were safe, but it took the sacrifice of our old friend the Infiniti. Little did we know that during our experimenting with possibly investing in Inifinti submarine stock, that Ethan and his Big Blue Bird had been stuck on the tarmac. It was now 7 pm, almost two hours since the plane had left the hanger. It finally departed for Austin.
AAA arrived about an hour later. The driver attempted to jump start the car, but it was obviously locked up, due to water in the engine. It is now, 8 pm Saturday night. Where isa video crew when you need it. It took the wrecker driver and myself to hoist my barely 5'1" short legged, Pauline into the very tall cab of his Kenworth wrecker. The wrecker returned the us to the safety of our house at about 8:45pm. The Infiinti sitting out in front of the house, was a lonely testament to the day's events. I felt like I was looking a long time pet of the family which I was just forced to put to sleep.
If there is a lesson to be learned from this experience, I now have room in my garage and totally understand why Leroy Jethro Gibbs of NCIS is constantly building boats in his basement.
All my life, I have watched various newscasts showing some "Blithering Idiot" try to drive through deep rapidly flowing flood waters; only to need to be rescued by brave firemen or policemen. Well, now, when you look in your Funk & Wagnall's dictionary under "Blithering Idiots" you will see my smiling face.
My grandson, Ethan, had been spending two weeks with Pauline and I in Big D. He was scheduled to fly via Southwest Airlines back to Austin at 5 pm last Saturday. There was no doubt that Ethan had had a good time using and abusing the patience and soft touch of Pappy and Nana P (our pseudonyms assigned to us by the children and grandchildren). However, the fourteenth day,
the appointed day, for Ethan to return to the loving bosom of his Mother, Father, Dog, and friends, the "homesick hormone" was in full affect.
From his rising on that fateful Saturday morning, early by the way, he immediately began asking what time his flight was and although he can easily read a clock, continuously asked for the time.
To add insult to injury, the normal blazing heat of August in Dallas has metamorphosed into fall thunderstorms. Not only had we had a severe thunder, lightening, hail, and deluge of rain the night before, the forecast was ominously reporting severe storms for later Saturday evening.
Homesick or not, all the parents and grandparents unanimously decided they would not allow Ethan to fly unless the skies and storms in both Dallas and Austin had subsided. Thus began, a series of hourly phone calls between Pauline and our daughter Tracey, the airports, the national weather service, and if they could have found his cell number, Al Roker would also have been consulted.
By noon, the light rains had stopped in Dallas and were waning in Austin. The radars and weather specialists worldwide prognosticated that the rains would not affect these two cities again before 7 pm or so Saturday evening. WE DETERMINED, MUCH LIKE NASA, TO ATTEMPT LIFTOFF.
ACT 2
We turned into the entrance (Cedar Springs Road) of Love Field at 4 pm. It was overcast, but not raining. Luck seemed to be with us,as we actually found a parking space close to the terminal. Normally, the "maze" Love Field calls a parking garage, is a full and confusing beast, that I actually believe was designed by "terrorists" to undermine American morale.
I was almost becoming optimistic at the ease of the check-in process for Ethan. Security was not crowded and the gate was the second one passed security. The seats at the gate were mostly full. There were no three seats together. Ethan could care less, as he used this time to "milk" one last Cinnabon or Gelato out of Nana P. I glanced outside. It had begun a light sprinkling of rain.
Ethan is twelve and no longer considered by the airlines as an unaccompanied minor. His boarding pass number was B10. Therefore, he would have to wait to board until all of the 60 A boarding pass holders had grabbed the better seats. Nana P attempted to get him on earlier with the children, but the woman at the counter refused her request. Never send a woman to do a job best served by a charming, blue eyed elder gentlemen. As we waited Ethan was becoming more excited and nervous about the upcoming flight.
Randy, the Southwest ticket/boarding pass agent, approached the dias and began his monologue of, in his mind humorous and silly names for the waiting passengers. He was obviously thrilled with the sound his own voice and even happier to chat and pat the people as they passed his station. I assessed the situation and saw a perfect opportunity for Ethan to get on earlier than his boarding pass stated. There was a twenty something, very pretty brunette, wearing a TIGHT miniskirt and revealing low cut TIGHT white sweater in the A Line. I told Ethan to go get in line directly behind this woman, say hello, and tell her he is a bit nervous about his first flight alone.
"What about the man at the door?" Ethan asked. "Believe me Ethan, Randy will never see or pay any attention to you." I responded. "Why, not, Pappy." Ethan's inquisitive young curiosity had been peaked. "Remember your Raymond Chandler, Ethan. "She was a woman. A woman the Pope would throw a brick through a stained glass window just to watch her walk away." Nana P has a wicked right cross and the punch landed squarely in my upper right arm. I knew better than to look at her, but I could feel the laser death rays emanating from her eyes burning a hole through the back of my head.
Ethan joined the lady in line, spoke to her and enjoyed a hug and smile for his efforts. I can't swear to it, but I believe I heard Ethan's voice change and become much deeper directly after the hugging stopped. Nana P scolded me again. I think this one will leave a mark. Randy never saw Ethan, or the next five people boarding the plane.
Everyone was now aboard the "Big Blue Bird" The doors were closed and the ramp was about to be backed away from the plane. Two very intense lightening bolts lit the skies, the thunder rattled the glass of the terminal. ALL FLIGHTS WERE SHUT DOWN.
The rains came. It is now impossible to get Ethan off the airplane. It was a relatively heavy shower for about ten minutes. It seemed to dissipate and no more lightening or thunder was heard nor heavy winds detected. Southwest got the "Green" light to resume flights. The radar application on my Iphone, however, indicated more and severe weather headed our way from the West. It appeared to be on the other side of Fort Worth. It was currently about 40 to 50 miles to the west of Love Field. There should be "plenty of time" for Ethan's plane to takeoff and be out of harms way.
The plane did not move. It sat there, engines running, wing lights on; not moving, taunting our patience and nerves. Will it go in this "window of opportunity" or cancel; and release its cargo of weary nervous passengers? The rains had returned. Steady, gentle rain at first, but increasing in intensity with every minute we waited.
The Big Blue plane began to move and within five or so minutes it was taxing toward the runway. The rains still intensifying, but not yet torrential. Randy, our effervescent gate master/emcee, advised us that the plane was cleared for takeoff. Raucous Randy advised, Pauline and I, we could now feel comfortable about leaving the gate to go home.
ACT 3
Pauline was calling Tracey on my cell phone to inform her the plane had taken off about 30 minutes late. As they talked, I noticed Pauline had to raise her voice to speak over the noise of the now torrential rain hitting the metal roof of the terminal. The scene outside was impressive, the rain was coming down in a wave like motion. All the outside baggage, mechanical personnel we running for the cover of the terminal. We continued on to our car trepidatiously worried about Ethan, but resigned to the fact, there was nothing we could do. Hopefully, by now he was well above the storm clouds.
The parking garage was across a short street and was uncovered between the terminal and the garage.
Getting very wet, very quickly lay ahead of us. I grabbed Pauline by the arm and thrust us toward the garage. Surprisingly, we made it to the garage wet, but far from the soaking we expected. Retrieving the car, we discussed, taking our time going home due to the weather. Little did we know that our adventure was just beginning.
Exiting the garage, the rain required the full power and speed of the Infiniti's windshield wipers. The heavy drops were pounding on the roof making it almost impossible to talk. Cedar Springs Road exiting Love Field is a straight flat multi lane road. At the stop light, it intersects with Mockingbird which then leads east to the North Dallas Tollway. Normally, the fastest way back to our north Dallas abode.
Nearing the stop light, which was green, all traffic had stopped. A Lexus SUV was directly ahead of me. The other lanes were blocked by various cars and trucks. Behind us, the traffic attempting to leave the airport was stacking up blocking us all in.
Mockingbird was a torrid of rushing rising water. The higher pickups and some SUVs were attempting to navigate through this hazard, some made it. One, a Nissan MiniVan, died in the middle and began floating toward the ensuing traffic. A street lamp and high curb impaled the Nissan, stopping it before it hit any other vehicles.
The Lexus was just ahead of Pauline and I. The stop light weaved perilously in the high wind and rain. There were now waves of water gushing west to east on Mockingbird. Worse the water on Cedar Springs where we remained blocked in was rising quickly. I turned off the car, in an attempt to save the engine. I tested the electric windows to insure we could lower them in an emergency. Now all we could do is wait. Pauline is not a great swimmer and was nervously machine gunning questions about our situation. Questions, I had no answers to. All we could do is not panic and hope the water subsided.
I knew we were really in trouble when I saw "Annette" and "Frankie Avalon" wave as they surfed by.
The waves were getting higher, the water rising, then what we all determined to be a" sign from above," happened. A Corvette (a very low to the ground sports car) came down through the water of Mockingbird and turned into Cedar Springs. Leaving the rest of us questioning if a Corvette can make, surely we can.
The rain seem be stop. The Lexus moved forward and attempted to turn on Mockingbird, it lost control and managed to float into a Chevron station above the water line. It was our turn. I saw high ground directly in front of us and decided to try for the higher ground of Cedar Springs. As I accelerated, the rain returned with a vengeance. Slowly entering the water, the Infiniti was hit by two waves caused by other traffic and wind. The broadside wave started the rear of the car to drift, but I managed to straighten the car our just in time for the Cedar Springs Tsunami to hit the front of the Infiniti; lifting and dropping it or high ground. The engine died.
The theme song from Gilligan's Island began running through my head. The intrepid crew of the
SS Infiniti Minnow was now safe on high ground, stranded on an uncharted Isle near Mockingbird and Cedar Springs. Pauline and I were safe, but it took the sacrifice of our old friend the Infiniti. Little did we know that during our experimenting with possibly investing in Inifinti submarine stock, that Ethan and his Big Blue Bird had been stuck on the tarmac. It was now 7 pm, almost two hours since the plane had left the hanger. It finally departed for Austin.
AAA arrived about an hour later. The driver attempted to jump start the car, but it was obviously locked up, due to water in the engine. It is now, 8 pm Saturday night. Where isa video crew when you need it. It took the wrecker driver and myself to hoist my barely 5'1" short legged, Pauline into the very tall cab of his Kenworth wrecker. The wrecker returned the us to the safety of our house at about 8:45pm. The Infiinti sitting out in front of the house, was a lonely testament to the day's events. I felt like I was looking a long time pet of the family which I was just forced to put to sleep.
If there is a lesson to be learned from this experience, I now have room in my garage and totally understand why Leroy Jethro Gibbs of NCIS is constantly building boats in his basement.
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