EMAW

Every Man A Wildcat.

When I think of wild cat, I think of feral. Why, oh why, would a cat insist, prefer, withstand paw freezing temps, rain, mud, beds of straw, being outmatched by virtually every other critter out in the wild...... not to mention be out there where the population can quadruple like China... lending to brothers, sisters, also perhaps being moms, dads, cousins, yuck.

Luna.  Luna wasn't a feral cat - but, me thinks in one of her prior 8 lives, she was tortured by a fat, redheaded, old geezer... not me, but, I think she thought it was me. I LOVE LOVE LOVE me some animules, even cats.  However, much as I tried, Luna treated me as if she were a table side Mongolian chef, slicing and dicing my arms, legs, face - with pleasure, accompanied by hiss.  I always laughed, which, of course, backfired. Try as  I might, I was never befriended. Ironic mebbe she was a female. I AM NOT A MISOGYNIST.  Ha.

There is a town called Manhattan.  Nuh uh, not that one. This one sits 'out there' in Eastern Kansas.  Purple.  Theys prouda their purple.  Kansas State Wildcats.  Ifn's I weren't such a die hard MIZ ZOU Fan, I'd hopscotch right on over that stench in Central Kansas (Is that bird really a bird?) and become onea them EMAW fans myself.

Colin Klein. Star QB, ultra religious, role model, nice, nice dude, talented.  Went on the become K State's Offensive Coordinator after he fell just short in the Heisman Trophy race.  Anyways, he was such a model of perfection - not only was he a virgin prior to marriage, he/she had never even kissed.  WHAT?  Uh huh, you heard it.

K State's FB coach now.  Sorry, kinda, not really, I'm a sport's geek. Nod off now, click that little X in the upper right hand corner, or, carry on brother (or sister.) If you live in Kansas City and you get/see the Jungle Law (personal injury lawyer commercials) you might relate to "He's good. Real good."  And, he is.  Chris Klieman worked his way up the ranks.  Prior to taking the K State job, he coached at the next level down, won BOO KOO National Champtionships (BOO KOO = lazy, noninvestigative blog research for 'more than one, prolly less than 100). He's good. Real good.

Well, they just lost a third game this year.  At home. Neither, third or home loss happens often.  I was taken back by Chris being emotional after the game, blaming himself of letting his players down...  "I'm just hurting for those kids, it's been a really hard two weeks for me, and I feel awful for those older guys that have my back. I let them down, it's been rough."  He went on to say,

"I've had as tough a week as I've had - non football related with some family things - and it puts a lot of things in perspective. I'm fortunate because I've got a ton of people around me that believe in me.  I've got a bunch of people in a lot of places that have looked out for the Kliemans and I'm thankful as heck."

WHAT?? COACHES ARE REAL HUMANS TOO? For behoogity sakes, it puts things in perspective....... assists us sports nerds, or anyone for that matter, "ya mean they lead real lives too? I'da never thunk it."

Last, but certainly not least drop of purple from EMAW, K-State, Manhattan, KS.  K State football sucked, quite literally, for many a year.  Along came a humble, organized, super nice fellow named Bill Snyder - and he turned the program around.  Ceptin' maybe Andy Reid, I don't think I've heard, seen a coach with as much respect as Bill Snyder.

I've probably told this story before. Don't care. Old farts repeat things.

I've probably told this story before. Don't care. Old farts repeat things.

Coach Bill, who now has the Stadium in Manhattan (not NY), KS named after him, got a letter from my friend's sister.  She, her family, HUGE EMAW Wildcat fans, rooms in their house purple.  Her son had a tragic accident.  Was working on a tower in Columbia, Missouri, fell many stories, was left paralyzed.  After awhile, in effort to help cheer her son up, she penned a not to Coach.  "Is there any way you could maybe send him a card... a decal.. a pennant? He'd be so honored."

A couple weeks went by.  Friday night.  The Friday before K-State was in Columbia to play MU, in walks Bill Snyder into the young man's hospital room.  There was no reporter there, it wasn't done for "see what coach did" it was done because he is a compassionate human being, and a dadgum good man.

Maybe next time, I'll share a Jerome Tang story.  He's a former HS basketball coach who went on to be an assistant at Baylor for 19 years, then, was picked for the K State job.  Prior to those 19 years at Baylor, head coach Scott Drew invited himself to the Tang's house for a visit, presumptive interview.  High school coaches, making what they do (NOT MUCH), had Jerome and his wife a tad worried.  They had $10.81 in checking and a half slab of ribs in the freezer.  Musta worked, tasted decent, after an hour, Drew offered him the job and that's some'a the Paul Harvey of that.

EMAW.

Columbia - hopscotch over you know where, (PEW!), Manhattan, KS...  I think I'd look good in purple.  So do they.

Later............  Victurd

Happy,........

Ain't that our goal?

We gots enough things in life that 'drain'.... accentuate the positive, ie, 'fountains.'

Your happy, my happy - may be COMPLETELY different, and, to me, that's what makes happy so spectacular.

Dogs (cats too, but this sentence, dogs).. Head out the winder of the car - it's like a 4 year old staring at the Christmas tree, knowing his first name starts with R, and he sees a big ole gift for R.  

Dogs.  Being walked, or, better yet, walking you/me.  Their excitement reminds me as if they're going down the jetway to get on board a Westbound 707 for Cancun.  That may be East, but you get the drift.

Finding a penny, heads up.  Pocketing.

Finding a penny, heads down, tails up.... flipping it over, envisioning the next chap's smile, good fortune.

Caller ID of a loved one.

Caller ID of one you have absolutely no interest in talking to.  No, that ain't necessarily happy, but, that their name lights up, ya think "no way Jose", that's happy.

Payday.

Tuesday.  For me, Tuesday is an absolutely 'nothing planned' day.  Yum.

Geezers, with roughly the same banana blackmarks, age as you... sitting around... discussing life, things we did, places we went, fitty+ years ago - tears of laughter coming to our eyes.

Liberty.  First, I love the Horace Greeley 'Go West' (or East) do'ers, go'ers of life.  It just ain't never been in my brain.  I love Liberty - and, continuing to live here affords me those tears of laughter fairly frequently.

Liberty, Horace combined.  Wednesday is a golf day, BUT, some buddies in my HS class, many, those that got the Go West Young Man itch years ago, every Wednesday, they have a Zoom meeting, happily connecting dudes from points across the land.  How cool it that?  It just takes one person to start something like that, something that affords a ton of happiness for all.  Kudos.

Seeing others happy.  Ain't it fun, better?  

Hugs, pecks.

Fist bumps, high fives.

Humor.  There's a guy I play golf with every week.  He's 79.  He's had some pretty ugly things happen to him in life.  He amazes me.  Positive, happy, and DAYUM funny.  He's Tim Conway, for free.  We draw straws to form teams, and every time I find we're on the same team I exclaim, "Damnit, NOW I gotta have fun."

Stool handles.  Of course, ya got the 1 and the 2, just move the stool handle down.  You're in a group of friends, coworkers, relatives, whatever - and someone starts by saying "did you hear what so and so said?... of, "Did you hear about so and so?".. and mebbe, "well, so and so was talking about so and so".... insteada the BP escalating, ya simply flush your internal stool handle.  Old age gives us that stool handle.

Old age.  Yes, old age can piss us off.  Last year, I went to a HS basketball game where fitty some years ago I could move (long jump, high jump, basketball, football, yada, average at all, but, point is I could move.) When I got to the ticket window I asked "and where's the elevator to get upstairs?"  That's, old age. That said, blessed.

Leftovers.  No cooking tonight.  Leftovers (thrift stores), or, I usually call 'em dead people's clothes... or any little needed (or not) knick knack.  Leftovers, the ones left in our life.  Blessed we are to still be here.

Beauty... in the form of Nature, and sure, the opposite sex.  I am human, sorry, kinda, not really.

Back roads.  I use 'em whenever I can.  To the tune of it's gonna take me 7 more minutes, don't care, leisurely, more scenic, heart rate stays perty normal, fingernails - still the same length.

Relationships.  They're like baseball cards, kinda sorta.  Turn it over, see the stats.  Some last years and years.  Others, brevity.  Some'a those long-timer stats, OMG... some'a the flash in the pan ones, not so much.  Bottomline though, hey, they made it to being on a baseball card - forever connected.

Beer. Sorry, kinda, not really.

Bloggers who have the internal fortitude to see a reader yawn, as in, Victurd it'd make me happy if you run along now.

Running along,

Happily,

Love, Victurd

Same ole same ole.....

This blog will start just like any other.  I have zero idea whatinthehell I'm gonna write about. Sorry, kinda, it is what it is.

I thought about copy/pasting the words to the  diarrhea song, you know, like:

When you're sliding into first
And your pants begin to burst
That's diarrhea, diarrhea

When you're sliding into two
And your pants are filled with goo
That's diarrhea, diarrhea

When you're sliding into third
And you feel a greasy turd
That's diarrhea, diarrhea

When you're sliding into home
And your pants are filled with foam
That's diarrhea, diarrhea

Certain you're aware. That song was from Parenthood, one of my favorite (probably sophomoric) movies.  It was a birds-eye of parenting and all therein. They don't giveya no 'structions on how to be a parent...  and lo and behold, long about late 2, early 3, the little snotnoses start talking back to you with real words, whatsup with that?  Therein starts, worries, crows feet, dad bods, sometimes financial despair happens.

I thought about a blog about leaks, but, that's kinda limited.  I did this simply because seems, at my ripe old age, pee is about all I do.. and.. the new tire I just purchased, leaked.  No cause for alarm, put the spare on, take tire back, our problems are solved.

Chronologically, spare was the next blog idea, because, my spare, yeah, the donut, was flat as well. Kid missed work (he doesn't drive, fat father takes him), finally all that was rectified.

Whilst this ain't (necessarily) about finances... next thought was the song 'Brother can you spare a dime'.   I learnt it was a song about the 'great' depression... Bing and Rudy Valee voiced it.  Twas titled such, per the lyricist "We had to have a title... Not to say, my wife is sick, I've got six children, the Crash put me out of business, hand me a dime. I hate songs of that kind." They'd ventured around Central Park NY, and heard "can you spare a dime" on way too many occasions. 

The collected ideas, poop, el baño?, the Depression, financial ruin, some aspects of parenting, flat tires, shops that put on a new tire despite instructions "fix the new tire that was on it" (oops, slipped, sorry)... all....... make one simply want Calm.

I ain't smart.  I have a minor in psychology. DO NOT be impressed, I failed to mention I majored in PE.  HA.  Psychology intrigues me.  I hate, truly, the above paragraphs I wrote.

A goal in life is to, at least attempt to portray positive from my 6' (ok damnit, I shrank, 5'11" or so) body... thereby, hopefully leaving folks with "ya know, he ain't a bad egg." Peace, happiness SHOULD come from within, not dependent on anything external. Not a fan of negativity, the game of "Ain't it awful", and Debbie Downers (VICTOR, YOU MISOGYNIST!) AM NOT!.  As I blogged plugged into electricity at Mickey D's, I was adjacent to one of my favorite peoples in the World, an 85 year old golfing buddy (and his daily coffee group) and I overheard him mention (VERYcalmly) to one'a the guys, 'Whateverhisnamewas' I forget, "your glass is half empty isn't it."  You tell 'em Charlie, I'll pat ma' foot and write about it.

I slip.  You slip.  Ok, maybe some of you don't.  

Then I think, holy guacamole, it's Saturday.  Uno, dos, tres days until the Election.  Is not the vast majority of American laying in bed, fearful to unfurl the bedspread to see the outcome, either way, the following two weeks, the ongoing 4 years?

HELP, I need somebody.  No you don't Victor, put on your big girl panties. HA

HELP, I need somebody, not just anybody. OK Victurd, Mr. Negativity, why don't you simply up and move, get the hell outta Dodge.  Even though YOU, yourself said 'Peace, happiness SHOULD come from within, not dependent on anything external', go, be a wussy, up and move.  

No matta' where ya live, poop, diarrhea, depression, pot holes (flat tires), move to (the children, they will find you).. grow up Victurd.

Eh, whatever. I think moving sounds yummy.  I think........

I think......

I found it.

WHERE VICTOR?   Influenced by "It never rains in California" - moving to Palm Desert?  Ahm, no.  Somewhere with a River?  Ahm no.  Good, because, don't forget......"Well, ya got trouble my friend, Right here I say, trouble right in River City."

I SAID I found it.

I'm moving to Calm, Missouri.  Uh huh, am.  I think it's a ghost town now. Down around the beauty of Southern Missouri, Northern Arkansas.  I just know I will never ever have another woe, worry, flat tire, fingernail biting stuff life dishes out.  Perfect.  There's even a Liberty Baptist church (or was) and a Liberty Cemetery.  I ain't fallin' for that little redheaded snotnose's weather forecast about "The sun'll come out tomorrow".. I'm gettin' the hell outta Dodge today.

Brother, can you spare a dime for gas money?

Oh doggie don't you poop on ma' boots.

Love, Victurd

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance

 With the stars up above in your eyes

A fantabulous night to make romance
'Neath the cover of October skies

Except, Bessie's hubby committed adultery years ago, leaving a 30+ year marriage beyond reproach... 

And all the leaves on the trees are falling
To the sound of the breezes that blow
You know I'm tryin' to please to the calling
Of your heartstrings that play soft and low

Oh sure, she was lonely, but.... today, October 31, 2024 was all about something different.  Bessie had reached age 65, Medicare set... after 34 years of driving to/fro the factory, retirement loomed the next day, November Uno.

You know the night's magic seems to whisper and hush
You know the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush

Hush Van, this is about Bessie making it to November 1.   The day began like any other... Coffee on, quick shower.. microwaved scrambled eggs, some ham and cheese tossed in.  She peeked outside.. Eerie.  Very eerie.  Dark, fog consumed the view.  Perfection given by Nature for the soon to march little goblins and vampires.

Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love?
Can I just make some more romance with a-you, my love?

Van, that ain't what this is about. Sure Bessie was...... close your ears... 'that'... but she had given into the fact Romance, Moondance, making love - were simply a button, song dialed up on Spotify, and she was OK with that.

Well, I wanna make love to you tonight
I can't wait 'til the mornin' has come
You know, I know now the time is just right
And straight into my arms you will run

Making love was now = retirement.

Tomorrow.  Retirement, tomorrow.

And when you come, my heart will be waiting
To make sure that you're never alone
There and then all my dreams will come true, dear
There and then I will make you my own

Hair now mostly dry, clothed, she grabbed her coat, headed out the door for THE last day at the factory.  Car cranked, a ding went off.  "Damnit, I need gas."  Dark, windy as hell, leaves, limbs, blowing horizontally across the road, a light rain falling..  Spooky as hell. She could do it. One more day.

And every time I touch you, you just tremble inside
And I know how much you want me, that you can't hide

Sure, retirement wanted her, or was it her wanting retirement.  The lights from the car way too damn close behind blinded her.  Why?  Why so close?  Bessie, it's Victurd the blogger and I ask the same damn thing virtually every morning.  Are they jealous of my 2002 Buick Century with one window (mostly) taped up?

Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love?
Can I just make some more romance with a-you, my love?

Make it thru the day.  Punch in, give my all, Bessie dreamed of sleeping until 10am November 1.  The car behind also turned into the Caseys to fuel up.  Right behind her. She'd dodged 7 downed limbs, couldn't see the damn white lines - but, managed to make it to pump 8 to fill.

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance
With the stars up above in your eyes
A fantabulous night to make romance
'Neath the cover of October skies

The "who the hell is in that car" presently won out over her thoughts of romance, making love - RETIREMENT, the next day.  The fact the TWO guys in the car behind were wearing masks...  Were they still skimpish of Covid?  Dressed up for Halloween for work?  Or, were they murderers who would rob, kill her, thereby removing any hope of an AARP card in her billfold.

And all the leaves on the trees are falling
To the sound of the breezes that blow
You know I'm trying to please to the calling
Of your heartstrings that play soft and low

Watching her closely, she punched the wrong dayum debit card 4 digit pin number in wrong six times.  One guy pumped gas in the dark colored car, the other guy sat in the passenger seat, and Bessie swore his phone had a binocular app as it was trained right on her shaky hand, this time, correctly getting the pin # right.

You know the night's magic seems to whisper and hush
You know the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush

Later Van, this is serious crap.  Bessie finished fueling... got her phone out... punched in 9 1, leaving it readied for entering the last 1, should they force her off the road, rape, rob and pillage her.

Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love?
Can I just make some more romance with a-you, my love?

The fog had partially lilfted, which, was good and bad.  By now, she could detect their faces (or, at least the masks that covered them) in the rear view mirror, and yes, following her...  VERY CLOSELY again.  In fact, they actually pulled up beside her, frantically signaling for her to roll down her window.  No way Bessie would comply.  No way.  One more day, leave me the hell alone.

One more moondance with you
In the moonlight
On a magic night
La, la, la, la, la, in the moonlight
On a magic night
Can't I just have one more, more dance with you, my love?

The two would not give up in their quest to talk to Bessie.......... begrudgingly, she said a Hail Mary and slightly cracked her window.  She just knew a bullet, maybe even a taser was upcoming.  One eye on what road she could see...  On eye on the masked, scary, men.  

"YOUR LEFT TAILLIGHT IS OUT, AND, WE HOPE YOU AIN'T GOING FAR BECAUSE YOUR RIGHT REAR PASSENGER TIRE IS ALL BUT FLAT!"

Her heart pittered.  Pattered.  Her expression went from hearing Ave Maria at her funeral, to quick shock, then, a baby smile... a wave... and a muttered "Thank you!".

Whew.  Or, was it a trick to get her to pull over?  She made it the last ten blocks to work.  Signs all about the parking lot "Good luck Bessie!". Well I'll be damned, the right rear tire WAS damn near flat.  Nothing Hammer, the work do all, fix all, couldn't help her with.

Emotions ran the gamut.  She finally punched (and caked), then, punched out that last time.  Thanks for the air in my tire Hammer.  "You're welcome, good luck Bessie."

Home. Quick sandwich.  Candy from WallyWorld poured into a basket by the front door to pacify the snotnose goblin and vampires.. Elsa's, Spidermen, all. Each and every doorbell ring, she'd peek out the blind to make sure it wasn't the two dudes in the masks that follered her this morning.

9pam, no knocks for over an hour.  She flipped the porchlight off, retired upstairs.  Bessie was gonna make it.  Take this job and shove it, I ain't driving there no more. Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance.

Makeup, bra off.  Face washed, alarm set.. oh, nevermind, don't need no stinking alarm.  She plunged into bed, the gravity of the day made that easy.

Just as her eyeballs thought they'd seen the last of her last day of the working world... she was about to drift off into AARP land........ a pair of eyeballs in the darkened walkin closet peered at her.  Was it the driver, and if so, where the hell is the other guy?  She, only for a sec, closed her eyes to hurriedly reopen them, making sure her focus saw what it saw.

Crap. They did.  Two eyes.  Not four, two.

With I hope you don't see me pulling the blanket back, she pulled the blanket back.  Grabbed her phone, got up, ran out, fortunately had her robe on the bedroom door handle........... dialed 911... she ran several houses away, detailing what was happening to the 911 dispatcher.

The small town had just hired, trained, a swat team.  And this, was to be their first test.  One by one, six cop cars pulled in and parked a block away from Bessie's.  In spite of having plenty of shields, vests, guns, ammo, simultaneously the six gulped their initial fear out.

Bessie was nowhere near.  The house was locked.  A battering ram fixed that.  Inside - they sped up the stairs, house still dark... bedroom door ajar... pushed it open... crawled, all six of em, inside.  Yep, there were the eyeballs Bessie spoke of.  They moved.

All hell broke loose.  ONE, TWO, THREE shots rang out.

FOUR, FIVE, SIX!  Awakened neigbors six blocks down the road.

Finally, SEVEN!  Then EIGHT!

Utter silence.

Bessie lived a little over 15 years after that day.  She was 99% lonely, no moondance, but she did make it to Cancun (one night fling with a landscape guy)...  Turks and Caicos, a brief thing with the piano player at the hotel shortly after him serenading all for the all you can drink mimosa breakfast.  Bessie was uncertain if it was his golden locks, his voice, or, the bottomless mimosas that rendered her bottomless that day.

She lived a good life in retirement.  But too sad, lonely, ne;er wanted, stated desire for that moondance.

One HUGE reason, her kitty cat, Luna, she of 9 lives, never ever sat on her lap, nor jumped in her bed after that fateful October 31st night.

Love, Victurd

Birdy Birdy in the sky.... Why did you do that in my eye?

I was born September 21, 1935, the 6th of 7 kiddos to Edmund and Dorothy.  They sent me to Saint Joseph's Preparatory School, where I was, surprise surprise, president of the Drama Club.  I am a mixture of English, Irish, German and Dutch.

At the ripe age of 8, I began my acting career, where I worked as a tourning performer for the Mae Desmond Theatre for nine years.  You there, reading this?  You paper boy kinda person. Did your first gig approach anything resembling NINE years?

There was a stint in the Air Force where I was an intelligence officer...  there, I also sharpened my comedy act, as well as poetry

Between 1957 and 1962 I was on the Tonight Show with Jack Paar..WHO? Jack Paar.  If you remember, you're old too.  I did comedy and a lotta poetry, and it was there, The Tonight Show... Jack wasn't feeling up to Paar (haha) and Jerry Lewis was the guest host.  Jerry took a liking to me and gave me my first real gig in the Movie The Nutty Professor.

Rolled on to a role as the poetry reciting cowboy on The Beverly Hillbiillies (Quirt Manly) and, bugged My Favorite Martian's show oncer..  

Then, on to Laugh In.  OOOHHHHH, OOOOHHHHHH, MR COTTIERRREEEE I KNOW I KNOW! Calm down brother, not yet.  

Sometimes plagiarism ain't enough, ya gotta bite the bullet and give in to copy/paste... this, from Wiki :

"He often played "The Poet", reciting poems with "sharp satirical or political themes". ______ would emerge from behind a stage flat, wearing suit and tie and holding an outlandishly large artificial flower. He would bow stiffly from the waist, state "[Title of poem] — by _____ ______" in an ironic Southern U.S. accent, again bow stiffly from the waist, recite his poem and return behind the flat.

I had a fun time.  I think I counted 39 movies... I was in 107 different TV shows... it was always fun doing my taxes...  W-2's all lined up...  Most everything I did surrounded fun. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Nashville, The Blues Brothers, Wedding Crashers.  Not a bad life too eh?

Oh, I worked in animation too.  I was the voice of Wilbur the pig in Charlotte's Web.. My wife Lois and I were fortunate to have three boys who all went on to work in the Entertainment industry.  Jonathan, and Executive with Universal Pictures, Charles, a director and visual arts supervisor , and James, a screenwriter.

I passed in September in 2009.  What I, James Bateman, wouldn't give to write and perform a political satire poem on the state of affairs of today.  I would sign it with......

By Henry Gibson

Love, Victurd

Big sceeen..... and..... little bitty picture in picture

The times, they done changed.

Take you back...

Do do do do

Take you back

Victor, not that song....... please?

Whatever Mick.....

My last 'date' was actually a couple years or so ago.  Beautiful young lady - we went to 'the bigscreen' to see Clifford, The Big Red Dog. Holy guacamole...  Bigscreens BIGGER... theater was sparse... the seats were heated... vibrated... and you could push a button and actually lay down.  My six year old granddaughter tried out three different seats - laying down, getting toasty on that Winter day... and giggling at the vibration.

Without intent, my son accidentally put my bigscreen outta commission a few days back, and I've simply been remiss on going to Wally to get an El Cheapo replacement.

It's actually kinda been nice. Armed with my El Cheapo Android, and the laptop or chromebook thingy.... I can watch TV any dang time, place, I wanna.  I know you knew that, I'm a simpleton, behind the changing times of electronics.

This morning as I blog, my phone is plugged in to boost from zilcho percent to usable - so, blogging 'here' (chromebook) and....... watching the local news - picture in picture, in a little box, mebbe 1 inch by 2 inches - over here------------> in the right hand corner.

It made me think of life.  I know, I know, much does.  We do do (there we go with that again... ) we do do that though - picture in picture with our eyeballs.  I just closed my eyes, saw my grand, a couple years younger, flip flopping from this seat, to that seat - and it was a very good thing, as I haven't seen her in waaaaaayy too long.

As we focus on the Bigscreen (life), little snippets pop-up.. ---------->  here,

of reminders.  We see, visit with a friend - in the real, live, bigscreen of life - but, in our mind, we can tune into that little bitty screen and peek at 'em back in the day when we sat side by side on the Little League bench.  In Freshman English class.  That time we went fishin' at Hooter's pond.

Picture in picture.

Picture in picture in the Bigscreen of life - is, simply awesome.  Up can pop 'videos' of those who no longer walk beside us on the face of the Earth.  The beauty, ya ain't gotta dig out a VHS, get it transferred to whatever it is you transfer it to... stick it in the tv machine thingy, then watch.  Picture in picture of the Bigscreen of life. Built in, we gots all them rods and cones, photo receptors that brilliantly display 'yesterday'.

Picture in picture, I reckon, is kinda like 'on demand' in the real world.  Not exactly Netflix and chill - but... yesterday and smile.

One beloved friend, who, over time has gone completely blind - STILL has that picture in picture recall of yesterday.

Ya don't need no remote to 'flip the channels' of the picture in picture.  You kinda I Dream Of Jeannie 'blink it' to whateverinthehell mem you wanna have.  Mebbe, first day on that geological job?  Offroad jeeping in the Colo mountains?  First time you stepped behind the podium for an Economics lecture?  A replay of Big'ns "The Shot"?  You got it, right there, in the Blockbuster of the brain.

The first horse you painted, yep... back when you won the hunnerd yard dash your Senior year, uh huh.  36 Moss Street, oh baby.  Mebbe when you sit and peek out the Bigscreen, ya think, "Did I really usedta be able to run, do a roundoff, THEN a backspring?"  Yep, all ya gotta do it peek......------------------>  over here... in the picture in picture of life.

Hey, remember when you were named a Little All American up there in Nebraska?  And you over there, ya paid a photographer boo koo dolla' for 1,763 wedding photos, don't need em.  All ya gotta do if peek out the Bigscreen of life, find that picture in picture and there you have it, the beauty of she, he, it all.

I don't mind not having my fitty-five inch TV in disrepair.  I may keep it this way for awhile.  I love my little 1 inch by 2 inch, picture in picture of life, then and now.  Just image the rolling of 'the credits'.  The characters.  The fun. 

Yum.

Sorry, kinda, got carried away.

Even Clifford looks huge in the little box over here ------------------>

The Bigscreen of life - life, and little bitty boxes, loom large.

Party on Garth.

Love, Victurd

Don't stop.........

I've always enjoyed them two words.  Oh baby, what a difference a comma makes.  Let's eat, grandpa!  Let's eat grandpa!

I like cooking, my family, and my pets.  I like cooking my family and my pets.

DON'T STOP!  DON'T, STOP!

… If you wake up and don't want to smile
If it takes just a little while
Open your eyes and look at the day
You'll see things in a different way

… Don't stop thinking about tomorrow
Don't stop, it'll soon be here
It'll be better than before
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone

Over the river and through the woods we traverse the roller coaster of life.  E = mc2.  No, damnit, or, no damnit, your call. That ain't it. We have days fit for a king, and winter mood days where we wanna hibernate like a bear.

… Why not think about times to come?
And not about the things that you've done
If your life was bad to you
Just think what tomorrow will do

Victor?  Yes?  Do we HAVE to do positive crap today?  Well, I reckon we don't.  I suppose, one could don a pair of Depends, go lay in bed, and continue to lay in bed when the urge hits to you know, ie, waller if ya wanna.  Eww.

(I'm reminded of a recent trip I took on Greyhound. Bus driver/speech-maker let's us load up in Kansas City...  Stands, announces... 'Now, we're going to Topeka, and Wichita, and Ok City, and then all the way to Dallas.  Some'a you is riding all the way with me. There's a bathroom in back. Go #1 all you want, but, don't go #2 because I don't wanna go all the way to Dallas smellin' that crap.')

Driver really said that?  Uh huh.

… Don't stop thinking about tomorrow
Don't stop, it'll soon be here
It'll be better than before
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone

Some, don't wanna go to Dallas...er, I mean, don't have interest in tomorrow.  Ya ever seen them 'Complain complain is my name' types?  They play Baseball Ray?  No, they play "Ain't it awful." No matter.  No matter what you present to assist. "Nope, that won't work."  But what if you tried (enter comforting suggestion here.). Already tried, didn't help.  But maybe you could...  Huh uh, tried that too, didn't work. Bottom(Depends)line, they basically wanna lay in misery... No matta', you give 'em thirteen suggestions - they wanna wall'r all day in #2.

… All I want is to see you smile
If it takes just a little while
I know you don't believe that it's true
I never meant any harm to you

… Don't stop thinking about tomorrow
Don't stop, it'll soon be here
It'll be better than before
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone

I kinda feel... (Oh crap Victor, here comes your Joel Osteen impresssion.)

Ahm, OK, call it what you want.

… Don't stop thinking about tomorrow
Don't stop, it'll soon be here
It'll be better than before
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone

I kinda feel, sure, yesterday is gone, BUT, yesterday has brought us SO MUCH, it only makes sense to think about tomorrow.  Look back on all the smiles we've collected in life.  All the memories, people, fun occasions, loved ones, rivers, mountains, pets, CHILDREN... all... all the thrills along the way.  Thinka what the fridge would look like if we attached every fun, wunnerful, emotionally uplifting moment with a refrigerator magnet.  We might not even be able to see, get into the milk to spill it.

… Don't you look back
(Ooh)
Don't you look back
(Ooh)
Don't you look back

I get it, Fleetwood Mac.  But too, if we don't think about all the beauty, love, fun, folks we've met along the path... the teachers.. teammates.. brothers, sisters...  cousins.. CHILDREN... things we've seen, times we've danced..  wouldn't all that make us reason, there'll be more, tomorrow?

Don't stop thinking about tomorrow

I don't have a Paul Harvey Dallas ending... I got off in Ok City.

Seeya tomorrow? TGLW.

Love, Victurd